Page 136 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 28

Andrew knew he shouldn’t tease her too much—she might change her mind, after all—but watching her blush was simply too precious to resist.

“We can use my cravat,” he offered before she could come to her senses. Andrew pulled it off with a tug and offered her the wrinkled strip of linen. “Will you do the honors or shall I?”

“You do it.”

He cocked his head, his amusement fading when he saw how tightly clenched her jaws were. “Are you sure you—”

“Just because I am nervous does not mean I am not sure,” she shot back.

He nodded and reached up, quickly tying the strip over his eyes. When he was finished, he lowered his hands to his sides. “What next, Stacia?”

***

Stacia chewed her lower lip furiously as she stared at him, unable to believe this was happening. Because this sort of thing did not—had never—even come close to happening to staid, plain, practical Stacia Martin.

“T-take off your coats,” she ordered.

His hands immediately went to the buttons of his clawhammer, his long, elegant fingers moving deftly.

Stacia wanted to tell him to go slower—that things were moving too fast—but he’d already moved on to the buttons on his waistcoat, which was a sober gray and white striped silk. Now that she thought about it, he did not dress like a dandy. All his clothing fit well, but he was not given to peacocking about in wasp-waisted evening coats or the ridiculously tight trousers many of the younger tulips of the ton had taken to wearing these past years. And she had never seen him in evening clothes that were anything but black and white, a stark combination which suited his blond good looks to perfection.

He tried to shrug out of the fitted coat but struggled. “Some help, please?”

“Oh, of course,” she leapt up and stepped close enough to help him remove the sleeves of his coat.

“Thank you,” he said as she peeled the fine wool off his arms.

The garments were still warm from the heat of his body. Yet again, she was exposed to the intoxicating scent of him and greedily filled her lungs.

Lord Shelton stood unmoving before her, the deep V of his badly wrinkled linen shirt exposing the mysterious terrain of his chest to her gaze.

She turned away and carefully laid his clothing over the back of the settee, her hands shaking so badly she dropped his waistcoat twice.

She smoothed a bit of dust from the expensive silk and something about the sight of her hand on the masculine garment brought the unreality of the situation thundering back to her.

Stacia had just helped Lord Shelton remove his coats.

She swallowed convulsively. Am I really doing this?

You can still stop.

She turned and looked at him.

He waited patiently, arms loose at his sides, one hip cocked, booted feet spread in a casual stance.

I will look like a coward if I stop.

The voice in her head had no response for that. What was worse? Looking like a coward or a strumpet?

The answer was easier than she would have expected.

“Sit down and remove your boots.”

***

Andrew wondered if the lengthy pause after she’d helped to remove his coats was a sign that she was losing her courage.