Page 55 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“Is that so?” Andrew said. He suddenly recalled her sitting with her basket, needle, and colorful threads in the drawing room. Perhaps she sold her embroidery or cross stitching or whatever it was she worked on every evening.

“The lady paints,” Mrs. Johnson said.

Andrew looked around the crowded little shop. “Er, you sell paintings?”

She gave an earthy chuckle, and his gaze naturally dropped to her quaking bosom. “Not paintings. Fans.”

“Indeed?” he said, not sure what else he could say.

“Mmm, very lovely ones.”

Well, that was…interesting.

Andrew realized the shopkeeper was staring up at him, still pressed against him.

“Er, the gloves?” he reminded her.

She quickly hid her disappointment and escorted him to her small selection, leaving him when another customer pulled her away with a question.

The choice was easy because there was only one pair that fit. They were dark brown and he preferred black, but it was bloody cold, and a functional pair was better than no pair.

He took his purchase to the counter and waited while she finished another transaction. He noticed the discreet sign advertising alterations and repairs and thought about the missing buttons on his favorite doeskin breeches, and a few other articles of clothing that needed some mending. He knew Chatham’s valet would gladly do the work, but he did not like imposing.

He took out his notecase and handed her the money for the gloves. “If I send over a few other items that need mending will your seamstress have time to do the work before—say, a week from now?”

“Certainly, she will.”

“I will have a servant run them over.”

“Or you could bring them by yourself. Later tonight.”

Andrew paused in the act of reaching for the coins she slid across the counter. He raised an eyebrow. “You are open late, are you?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her.

“I live above the shop and can always be available for a few...favored customers.”

She was an attractive woman. He knew he would enjoy an evening spent with her. And yet…

He smiled politely. “That is generous of you, but tomorrow is soon enough. No, you needn’t wrap them,” he said when she laid the gloves in tissue. “I will wear them out. Good day to you, ma’am.” He nodded and left the shop, pausing outside to pull on the new gloves.

He could not resist glancing toward the tea shop. Miss Martin and Captain Walker were at a table in the window. He watched for a moment as the two smiled and talked, obviously at ease with each other.

Andrew had the strongest urge to foist his company on the pair and see if he, too, could coax something other than a scowl out of Miss Martin.

He snorted at the impulse. Could he really be so vain that when he came across a woman who did not fall all over him, he was miffed?

The door behind him opened and Mrs. Johnson stepped out.

“Did I forget something?” he asked.

“No. I just came out for a breath of fresh air.” She paused, and then gave him a look so scorching that Andrew was amazed that his hair didn’t combust. “And to enjoy the view.”

He laughed, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips, briefly regretting that he was not in the frame of mind to engage in some light-hearted bed sport. “I wish you a happy Christmas, Mrs. Johnson.”

She smiled wistfully. “You as well, my lord.”

Ah. So, she knew who he was, then.

With a last glance at the tea shop Andrew turned and headed back to Wych House, leaving the two young lovers to their tryst.