Page 84 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Stacia warmed at his words. It almost sounded as if he wanted her to stay.

He stared at her. “Well?”

“Well?” she repeated blankly.

“Where is it? The clue,” he gently reminded her.

“Oh. In the dictionary.”

His gaze went vague for a few seconds before sharpening. He grinned. “What a clever clogs you are!”

“Thank you,” Stacia said.

He laughed at her lofty tone. “Chatham keeps his volume—which is massive—on a stand. I daresay Needham does the same,” Shelton said, turning in a circle to survey the cavernous room. “Ah, that looks like it might be it.” They hurried toward where the maid had been standing.

Stacia opened it to the word today, where a folded piece of paper was tucked. “There is only one clue,” she said, looking up at Shelton. “Where are the rest for the other groups?”

He shrugged and took the paper from her. “That is not our problem.”

Stacia snorted. “You are horrible!”

“I know,” he said, sounding unconcerned. “The only safe place for some religious treasures.”

Stacia puzzled over the clue, the only sound in the room the ticking of an enormous longcase clock. “Treasures are kept in a safe. Surely Lord Needham is not going to leave his safe open?”

Shelton barked a laugh. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“But where else do you keep treasures?” She frowned. “Jewelry caskets?”

But Lord Shelton was staring fixedly at the scrap of paper and didn’t seem to hear her.

“My lord?” she urged after a moment.

“I know this one.” He gave her a fierce, triumphant grin. “Come, let’s go before the others arrive.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

“But what about the clue? Shouldn’t we leave it?”

“No.”

“That is wrong, my lord.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, and then opened the door a crack, peeked out. “The coast is clear! Make haste, Miss Martin! Make haste!”

Stacia laughed as he all but dragged her down the corridor.

***

Andrew could not recall when he’d last enjoyed a game so much.

“Where are we going?” Miss Martin asked in a breathless voice as they hurried toward the oldest part of the house.

“To the Wych House priest hole.” He led her up a narrow flight of stairs and down a gloomy, unadorned servant hallway.

“Oooh! I didn’t know there was a priest hole here. Ah, religious treasure! How clever. They are supposed to be impossible to find.”

“They are, indeed, and this one is no different. Come, let’s hurry before anyone else gets here.” The door on the landing led to a broad, elegant corridor that was empty except for the maid from earlier, Dora, who was absently flicking a marble bust with a feather duster.

How odd that the woman was here when she’d just left the library.