Page 57 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 10

“What sort of monster doesn’t finish a floating island?”

Stacia looked up from her needlework at the sound of Lord Shelton’s voice. Out of habit, she glanced around the drawing room before remembering that her employer was still in the grip of her migraine.

“What sort of gentleman teases a woman about her eating habits?” Stacia retorted, secretly pleased that he had noticed her at all. And then disgusted with herself for the thought.

Lord Shelton ignored her question and sat down on the settee next to her. Her heart thudded faster as he swept her seated body with a lingering look that made the room several degrees hotter. “You cannot be slimming as you are already far too slender.”

“Is that your way of telling me I am scrawny, my lord?”

He laughed, the rich, low sound bringing to mind honey and hot summer days. “You are like a hedgehog, Miss Martin.”

“So, scrawny and prickly. I can see why you are famed for your charm.”

Again he laughed, appearing delighted.

Stacia snipped the end of her thread and rooted through her basket to find the cornflower blue she needed for the next flower, more grateful than ever to have her needlework to cling to. “Thank you for the oranges, my lord.” She risked a look up at him.

“Oranges?” he repeated, wearing an expression of wide-eyed innocence that nobody except a very young child would find convincing.

“They are my favorite treat,” she said, ignoring his evasion.

“What sort of person likes fruit more than floating islands?”

“A monstrous one—I thought we had already established that?”

He smiled and held her gaze for a long moment during which Stacia found it impossible to breathe or look away. She knew she should offer to return his handkerchief, but the words would not come.

He gestured to her tambor, angling his head to better see it. “That is very pretty.” He leaned closer and squinted, bringing the faint, mingled scent of soap, cologne, and port with him. “Is that a ‘J’?”

“Yes,” she said, threading her needle. Or at least attempting to. Could a man’s scent actually intoxicate a woman?

“It looks like one of those, er—whosy whatsits.”

Stacia laughed. “You really were not jesting about your scholastic aptitude, were you?”

Rather than be offended, he grinned. “Inaptitude would be more appropriate. What are those fancy letters called?”

“Illuminated.”

“Ah, that’s right. Monkish things, weren’t they?”

“Many were.” Stacia finally got the thread in the eye and began on the flower. She had smelled men’s cologne in the past—often—but nothing had ever smelled like Lord Shelton. Not just clean and crisp, but…like desire. That was it. He smelled like desire in human form.

I am such a besotted idiot.

Stacia wished he would go away. At the same time, she reveled in his attention. Urges she could not identify bubbled up inside her—the desire to grab him and do…what?

Was this how gamblers felt when they saw a pack of cards?

He leaned closer, the heat from his body blazing along her side. “Where did you sneak off to this afternoon, Miss Martin?”

“I didn’t sneak, my lord.”

“One minute you were there; the next you were gone.”

“I had some matters to attend to.”