Page 49 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“You seem to be very comfortable with skates,” she observed.

“I grew up in Yorkshire,” he said, pulling on his gloves. “We had frozen ponds every year.”

“I am not very good,” she warned him. “You might want to find somebody more your—”

“Nonsense.” He stood and held out a hand. When Stacia hesitated, he smiled down at her. “Come, come, Miss Martin. It is Christmastime.”

Whatever that had to do with anything.

But Stacia heaved a sigh and grabbed his hand, wobbling badly as they trudged across the frozen ground.

There were at least thirty skaters already on the ice, mostly gliding together in twosomes and threesomes.

“Hold on to my arm until you feel comfortable,” he said when her ankles buckled, and her feet felt like they might slide out from under her.

She clung to him as he slowly pushed away from the shore.

“Not too fast,” she warned.

He slowed his speed until all the other skaters were flying by.

“Don’t lift your feet,” he told her after a moment. “Just shift your weight from leg to leg. Here, watch.” He lifted her hand from his arm and twined their fingers before skating ahead a foot or so to demonstrate, his movements smooth, his skates never leaving the ice.

Stacia tried it for a moment, lurching from side to side.

“Try to bring your feet a bit closer together—yes, that’s good. There, see? Much better.”

Stacia laughed. “I’m doing it!” She risked a glance up from her feet to find him skating backward. “Oh! You are so good at this!” she cried enviously.

He merely smiled, skating slowly and casting periodic glances behind him. “Chatham and I used to skate every winter.” His blue eyes were distant, and a fond smile curved his lips. “This is the first time I have been on the ice in years.” His gaze suddenly sharpened and his smile faded. He gracefully swung around until they were skating side by side.

“Where have we met before?” he asked after a moment.

“London and then Bath. Not one place, my lord, but at least a few dozen times.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long moment, the habitually amused glitter in his blue eyes nowhere to be seen.

His regret was worse than his ignorance had been. Why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut? When would she learn?

“When did we meet in London?”

“Four years ago.”

He nodded. “And I know when we must have met in Bath because I’ve only been once in the past twenty years.” He gave her a wry look. “I didn’t go voluntarily. I was in such hot water with dunners that I felt like a hunted fox. I went to Bath to…” he paused and skated for a moment, as if searching for the right words.

“Hide?” she suggested.

Rather than be peeved, he laughed. “I was going to say lick my wounds but the word hide serves just as well. Regardless of my intentions, I’d scarcely been at my Great Aunt Lydia’s house for five minutes when there was an announcement in the newspaper. Naturally, she asked me to escort her to the Pump Room and I could hardly say no. And when the invitations started flooding in—” he broke off and shrugged at the memory. After a moment he said, “My great aunt has no children and never married. Suffice it to say that I could scarcely deny her the small pleasure of escorting her about Bath, despite the fact that it had not been part of my plans.”

Stacia recalled his visit with crystal clarity. He had looked rather haggard, although a haggard Lord Shelton had merely looked even more romantic, mysterious, and gorgeous.

“So, I saw you then, did I?” he asked.

“I was a companion to a friend of your aunt’s, a woman named Lady—”

“Lady Hamilton!” he said, giving her a look of triumph. “Now I remember where I have seen you. You used to take her nasty little dog for walks.”

Stacia told herself not to feel pleased that he’d successfully dredged his memory.