That wouldn’t be rational.
His betrothal was an ideal, sensible arrangement. And not only was he bound by a formal promise, but he’d spent part of Priscilla’s dowry on the restorations. He saw no way out of it, and he’d be a fool to consider it at all.
Amy was right: the two of them were unsuited, and the matter was no more simple or complicated than that.
He poked his head out the door to let Amy know he was going to settle the horse and would be right back. By the time she shook off the snow and came in from the courtyard, red cheeked and shivering, he’d not only returned, but emptied Kendra’s basket and laid out their dinner—cold chicken, bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine.
Everything was neatly divided and set on cloth napkins, his on his desk, hers on the low table in front of the couch. He closed the doors behind Amy and took his place behind the desk.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Yes, famished, although it must be early still.” Amy picked up her food and carried it to the carpet before the hearth. She looked over at Colin, up through her thick eyelashes, where drops of melted snow sparkled in the firelight. “It’s much warmer here. Will you join me in a picnic?”
Colin knew that if he joined her, it would be for more than a simple picnic. He felt much safer behind the desk. “I’m accustomed to dining here, and Benchley there,” he said with a wave toward the table.
“I’m not Benchley,” she pointed out.
He gave her a considered look. “I’ve noticed.”
A blush crept into her cheeks, and his whole being was aware of how pretty she looked framed by the light of his fire, magical in the flickering hues. He tensed.
“Do you suppose he’ll return soon?” she asked.
“Who?”
Her eyes narrowed, regarding him uncertainly. “Benchley.”
“Oh, him. I certainly hope so,” he said, glancing out the window.
The accursed storm was building. Benchley had better return soon. Colin shuddered to think what might happen if he and Amy were left alone here for a whole night. When he’d kissed her yesterday, he’d felt as if he’d lost control, of his mind, of his body, of everything. He’d betrayed his intended bride—again—and was wracked with guilt—again.
What was happening to him? He wasn’t that sort of man…at least, he hadn’t thought he was.
He could only pray that he’d learned his lesson this time. And stay on his guard.
He wouldn’t be kissing her again.
He looked back to her with a sigh. “I’m miserable at preparing anything to eat. I assume you can cook?”
“I’ve never tried. We always had a housekeeper who cooked. You do have food?”
“Of course,” he answered crossly. “I live here, you know.”
“Of course.”
Amy grinned, suddenly realizing how happy she was. Colin’s plan to deliver her to Dover was foiled for now. Despite his hope that Benchley would return soon, that wasn’t likely to happen, given the weather. She’d survived the ride on horseback, and now she was alone with Colin in his enchanting castle, possibly overnight…
She felt like she’d just received a stay of execution.
Maybe he’d even kiss her again.
TWENTY-NINE
COLIN UNWOUND himself from his cross-legged position on the floor, where he’d faced Amy across the low table and whiled away the past hours playing piquet. “So, what’s the verdict?”
Amy scribbled for a few more seconds before looking up. “I won…but by less than a hundred points.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” He smiled at the concerned look on her face. “You won all three parties.”
“You won five hands.”
There were six hands in each partie, which meant he’d won five hands out of eighteen.
Well, at least he hadn’t been completely humiliated. He’d proven himself a sharp card player in the past. He was out of practice; he didn’t have the time to spend hours—not to mention money—playing cards like many courtiers.
He was not distracted by her close proximity, her quick intelligence, her joyous laugh, the soft curves that weren’t hidden by that modest old lavender gown.
No. He was tired. He was unlucky. He was hungry.
Oh yes, he was hungry. Where on earth was Benchley?
Tired of waiting, Colin reached for his cloak.
“I’ve been playing quite often,” Amy said, continuing her efforts to soothe his ego.
“I thought you just learned?”
“Well, I learned recently, but I’ve been playing quite often.”
He shrugged into the cloak. “I see.” Actually, he saw plenty. For one thing, he saw Amy wasn’t the sort of girl who would let him win just to make him feel good. He liked that.
“Bundle up, now,” he said, holding out the blanket. When she stood, he wrapped it around her shoulders, vexed at himself when he noticed the appealing rose scent that seemed to waft from her whenever she moved.
Turning away, he took an oil lamp off the mantel and lit it.
“We’re going outside?” she asked as she trailed after him down the corridor.
“In a manner of speaking.”
He stopped to unlock the door to the great hall, and she followed him inside. Lighting the way, he led her along the wall, moving beneath the overhang created by the partial new roof. He took her elbow to guide her around a rusted cannonball.
“I was hoping to have this roof finished before the cold set in,” he yelled over the wind. It was picking up, making a deuce of a racket. “Now, if it proves to be a snowy winter, I may as well stay at Cainewood much of the time. I won’t see much progress in this kind of weather.” A glance through the open roof had him shaking his head at the threatening clouds.
They were forced to brave the snow to reach another door in the center of the end wall. Once they were inside, he shut it quickly, glad for the sudden quiet.
“Storerooms,” he explained, leading Amy down the
