Except that she’d like to kiss Lord Greystone again.
“My lord—” she began.
“Colin,” he interrupted. “I imagine once you’ve kissed a fellow, you’re allowed to call him by his Christian name.”
Amy blushed furiously. Still, she tried the name in her head. Colin. She’d never called a nobleman by his given name, and it should feel wrong. But now she thought Colin, and it made her feel warm all over.
“And if you were about to tell me it doesn’t matter,” he continued, “you’re wrong. It matters a lot.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He shook his head. “It’s late, and we’re both very tired. We have a long ride to Cainewood in the morning. Let’s get some sleep.”
He took her good hand and pulled her toward the inn. She followed reluctantly. There was no arguing with him, it seemed.
Her hand tingled where his bare skin touched hers. She’d held hands with Robert and never felt anything at all. Even with her limited experience, she knew this couldn’t be normal.
Was it not the same for him?
ELEVEN
IT WAS.
And Colin was quite certain this wasn’t one jot normal. But it was absurd. He was betrothed, and Amy was a commoner, a girl who, as of this morning, had nothing whatsoever to her name.
He was tired; that must be it. He was very, very tired.
If his body felt like it were vibrating, that was only because he was tired.
After a good night’s sleep, he’d feel differently. He’d be more himself, back in control. They’d go on to Cainewood, wait a couple of days until the roads were clear, then he’d take her to Dover and buy her passage across the Channel. They’d never see each other again.
His pride would remain intact, not to mention his future and her reputation.
They arrived back at the inn and trudged wearily upstairs, to find four little bodies bundled in each of the two beds, crosswise, and Davis curled in the only chair, snoring softly.
Colin’s mouth fell open.
“You expected what?” Amy whispered. “That they’d all lie down on the floor and leave the beds to us? I’d say they settled themselves quite fairly.”
“I thought they’d leave part of each bed to us,” he complained loudly. “Greedy little monsters, aren’t they?”
“Shhh! You’ll wake them.”
“I wish they would waken, so I could rearrange them. But you’re not well acquainted with children, are you? Nothing short of a cannon blast would wake them.”
Despite the sleeping evidence, Amy still couldn’t bring herself to talk out loud. “I have no brothers or sisters. How should I know how children sleep?”
“I’ll go downstairs and fetch some more blankets,” he said, turning on his heel.
He stopped short of slamming the door behind him. Amy slumped against the wall, wondering what had made his mood change so suddenly.
She slid down to the floor and waited, her knees to her chest. Alone, the grief started creeping back. She wouldn’t think about it. She’d think about the kiss…
Her lips seemed to burn at the memory.
At last he returned, two threadbare blankets in hand. “It was like negotiating a treaty,” he declared, “and they cost me a pretty penny. I’d be willing to wager they’re her own personal blankets.” He sniffed at them suspiciously. “They smell as bad as she does.”
Amy wrinkled her nose, remembering the stout, flushed innkeeper’s wife and her greasy hair.
Colin began to hand her the smaller blanket, then glanced at Davis uncovered in his chair.
“A pox on him,” he muttered to himself.
There was nothing for it; he was going to have to share a blanket with Amy. Why? What had he done to deserve all this struggle?
He covered Davis and gently tucked him in.
“Sorry.” He spread the other blanket on the floor and sat on it to pull off his boots. “This is what I was afraid of.”
“Afraid of?”
“We’ll have to share this blanket,” he explained crossly.
“Is that what you were so vexed about?” Amy’s features lost some of their tightness. “Strangers sleep together all the time when inns are full. Of course, they generally have a bed,” she reflected.
“They’re generally the same gender,” he said pointedly.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Well, come then, take off your shoes.” He shrugged off his surcoat and rolled it up to make a pillow. “If they’re anything like normal, the children will be up at first light.”
He lay down. Amy slowly removed her shoes, then joined him at the edge of the blanket and arranged herself on her side, carefully separated from him. He threw the other half of the blanket over them both.
Her tears were silent, but Colin could feel the blanket tug slightly when her shoulders began shaking. “A pox on everything,” he murmured under his breath. He turned toward her and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him.
“Hush,” he whispered, although she wasn’t making a sound. “Hush. It’s all right. I’m here.”
TWELVE
AMY TRAILED listlessly behind Colin as he hustled the children to the wagon. Leaning against the side, she watched them clamber into the back, wondering where she’d find the energy to climb up herself. She felt like she hadn’t slept a wink last night; barring some catnaps Monday evening and her uneasy slumber in the jostling wagon yesterday, she’d been awake for nearly three days.
“Keep an eye on them, will you?” Colin asked.
She nodded, watching his easy stride as he headed into the inn. Thank heavens he was here…
Closing her eyes, she shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. She had to think straight, figure out a plan. While it was easier to let him take care of her, she couldn’t rely on Colin. He was a tempting comfort, but a false one. She meant nothing to him.
Her thoughts drifted to last night. How could she have asked him about himself and his past as though everything were normal, as though
