Page 147 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“You must have told him.”

“Er, not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he was there, too.”

Stacia stared in openmouthed shock—a state this man reduced her to far too frequently.

For the first time ever, Lord Shelton looked embarrassed. “I probably should not have shared that. I beg your par—”

“Is that something people do often?”

“Er—”

Stacia shoved his chest, not that he budged so much as an inch. “Oh, just answer my question! Nobody ever tells women this sort of thing and I am four-and-twenty.”

“Four-and-twenty?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

Stacia wanted to ask him what that look was for, but she wanted an answer to her previous question more. “If you can experience such a thing at fourteen, certainly I am old enough to simply hear about it?”

“Well,” he said drawing the word out while regarding her with a wary look. “Young men are—how should I put this?” He seemed to be asking the question of himself. “They do not last long.”

Stacia frowned, trying to put his meaning together and save herself from appearing more of an ignorant dunce than she was.

“They ejaculate quickly.” He paused. “Er, do you know what ejac—”

“Of course, I know what that means!” Although only because of the context.

“A young man goes off far too quickly to ensure his partner’s pleasure. Two young men, however, might manage to get the job, er, done.”

Comprehension, along with—at least—the fiftieth blush of the last few days, came to her.

It would be extremely difficult to look the Duke of Chatham in the eye the next time she saw him.

Stacia frowned as a thought came to her. “Do two women ever lie with one man?”

His eyes widened slightly. “Er—”

“Never mind,” she hastily said, not wanting to allow that picture purchase in her mind.

“It does seem rather unjust that young ladies get no education on such matters,” he said after a moment, absently reaching out and smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear. His gaze sharpened on her and his hand slid around her waist and settled on her lower back. “I will answer any questions you have about sexual matters—just ask.”

“I have none,” she lied.

He smiled. “That offer will remain open. Now, come here,” he said, gently but inexorably pulling her closer. “Rest your head on my arm,” he said when it was clear she didn’t know quite what to do with herself. “And slide your upper leg between my thighs. Go on,” he urged when she gawked—yet another expression she’d worn more often than she liked.

She did as he bade her and he lowered his leg over hers, fitting them together yet again, but more like forks than spoons. Stacia shifted slightly and finally put her upper arm around his body.

“Mmmm. Good. Comfortable?” he asked.

“Your arm hardly makes a soft pillow.”

He chuckled and shifted until her head rested on his shoulder. “Better?”