Page 100 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

His forehead wrinkled. “How does one play with a dictionary? Does one kick it? Throw it?”

“You don’t know how to—” Stacia noticed the slight twitch of his lips. “You are teasing me.”

“Yes, I am. I’m not utterly uncouth. I’ve heard of the game although I’ve never actually played it.” He frowned. “When people played it at school there were always more than two.”

“It is easy enough to play with two. One person writes down the real definition and then makes up two false ones to confuse the person guessing. If the person guessing selects the correct one, they get a point. If not, then the person who wrote the definitions gets the point.”

He heaved the sigh of a man who’d been pushed almost beyond endurance. “Very well. Who goes first?”

“You may guess first—so I will write the definitions.”

Stacia chose a page in the dictionary at random and then closed her eyes and pointed at the page. She opened her eyes, lifted her finger, and said, “The word is indumentum.”

***

Forty-five minutes later…

“You won. Again!” Lord Shelton seethed.

Not only had Stacia won, but the score had been 10 to 2. Lord Shelton’s invented definitions had been some of the worst she had ever heard. Also some of the most hilarious.

For the word plaud his two invented definitions had been: a burr in a horse’s tail and a horse that is very slow. When he’d had the word maugre he’d made up: the holes in stirrup leather and a breed of pony used in the mountains of Portugal. It had gone on and on. Every single definition he’d invented had had something to do with horses.

“May I have those?” Stacia asked, gesturing to the pile of papers that held his scribbled definitions.

He scooped them up and was about to hand them over but then frowned suspiciously and pulled his hand back. “Why do you want them?”

“I thought I might save them.”

“For what?”

“I just w-w-wanted to—to—” Once she started laughing, she could not stop. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she tipped onto her side on the settee.

Shelton’s face appeared above hers, his big body caging her. “I think you are mocking me, Miss Martin.”

Stacia rolled her head from side to side. “No—n-no,” she gasped in between snorts and chuckles.

“You found my definitions lacking, did you?”

She was laughing too hard to speak, so she shook her head again.

“You are a fibber.” His eyes narrowed and then his gaze moved to her mouth. His nostrils flared slightly and then he looked up again, his pupils suddenly huge and black.

Stacia’s laughter turned to ragged breathing, her heart thudding loudly, each beat distinct and powerful.

“You look like an entirely different person when you smile and laugh, Miss Martin.”

“Everybody does,” she said in a breathless voice.

“True. But everybody doesn’t look as bewitching as you do.”

A whimper slipped from her parted lips.

“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to, now would be the time to say no.”

Stacia did not move, breathe, or make a sound—nothing that could be construed as no. Instead, she prayed more fervently than she had ever prayed in her life. Kiss me. Please, please, please…

Lord Shelton’s handsome face flexed into an expression of pleased astonishment. And then his mouth lowered over hers.