Page 106 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“But?”

“There’s no music.”

He reached down and took her hand, gently lifting her to her feet. “I will provide the music.” He led her across to the center of the room, his large hand warm, the skin slightly rough.

Stacia felt like a doll as he positioned her, taking her hand and setting it on his shoulder before taking her by the waist. She swallowed as she stared at the top button of his coat, feeling even smaller than she normally did.

“Look at me, Miss Martin.”

She craned her neck until it felt like it would snap. But looking at him so closely was worth the pain.

He stared down at her, his gaze intense and utterly focused on her—just plain Stacia Martin—and then he began to hum. After a few bars, he led her into the familiar steps of the dance.

Except…it was an entirely different animal. Even Monseigneur Renault had not been so smooth, so graceful, so exquisite.

As Stacia glided around the floor with him she experienced an almost crippling feeling of loss.

Because never, ever again would she be able to waltz—or even dance—without thinking about this moment. About him.

“Why do you look so grim?” he asked, and then suddenly spun her in a circle, her feet leaving the ground for a moment before he set her down as gently as a priceless vase.

His impulsive yet graceful action surprised a high-pitched laugh from her. “That was like flying,” she said, feeling foolish once the words left her mouth.

He grinned down at her, still humming as he twirled her again and again, until she was dizzy, both from the spinning and the sheer joy of dancing.

“Stop,” she said, breathless. The room continued turning even after he’d obeyed her. “I can’t keep up,” she explained.

“Put your feet on mine. Go on.”

“But I’ll crush your toes.”

“Pfft! A feather like you? You won’t. Trust me.”

“Your boots—I’ll ruin—”

“Hush and do as I say.”

Still hesitant, she set first one foot and then the other, on the toes of his boots.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and then resumed his humming and dancing, his steps just as smooth as they’d been before, even with her weight.

“I feel like a doll,” she said, yet again laughing.

Stacia’s breasts brushed against his chest when he turned, his body by necessity far closer than before. She hissed in a breath, her face heating when she met his unsmiling gaze.

“You are very good at this,” she accused, breathy and giddy.

He nodded slowly, unsmilingly, his eyes turning a navy blue.

Stacia realized a moment later that he was no longer humming. She wanted to look away but was captivated.

“Well?” he asked after they’d made another turn in silence.

“Well?” she said, her voice a rusty echo.

“Do you still dislike the waltz?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Stacia did not know they’d quit moving until his hand lifted from her waist and he cupped her cheek.

She raised up on her toes, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips parted.

But instead of an intoxicating kiss like earlier, his lips pressed chastely against hers and disappeared.

Stacia opened her eyes to find him regarding her with a look she could not decipher. “You should get some rest, Miss Martin. The hour is late.”

It took her a moment to remember that she was still standing on his toes, and she clambered off him. Her eyes slid toward the bed.

“You take the bed. There are plenty of blankets and the settee will be fine for me.”

She opened her mouth to point out that he was much taller and would never fit on the sofa.

“Take the bed,” he repeated firmly, turning on his heel and ending the conversation.