Grinning, she held out the apple core and slid down under the covers.
He put the core on the table next to the bed. “Better?”
“Much.” She wiggled under the quilt, getting comfortable.
“Good.” Offering her a distracted nod, he turned to the door.
“No, don’t leave yet.” She patted the bed beside her. “You said you’d stay as long as I liked.”
With seeming reluctance, he turned back and slowly sat down. Amy reached over and took his hand. He tensed; she saw the muscles go rigid beneath his bronzed skin.
The nightmare had left her completely. The apple rested comfortably in her stomach, the room was warm, the bed was soft, and her hand tingled in Colin’s. She gazed at his profile in the wavering firelight, willing him to kiss her. Just one more time. Just once more before he put her on a ship and she sailed out of his life forever.
Could she persuade him somehow? He hated her, didn't he? Or at least he didn't like her—she was naught but a bother to him, an inconvenience he needed to rid himself of. But he seemed to like kissing her, for some inexplicable reason…
She squeezed his hand, and he turned to meet her gaze.
Her heart beat faster. His eyes searched her face, and his free hand rose to wipe a bit of apple juice off her chin. His hand lingered; his knuckles grazed her cheek.
He was going to kiss her, she knew it.
THIRTY-ONE
“CRIMINY,” Colin murmured. Amy’s skin was petal soft, her eyes dark liquid pools of longing. He leaned closer. He couldn’t move away, not with her looking at him like that. And he knew instinctively that she’d keep looking at him like that until she got what she wanted.
The minx.
He’d kiss her just once—an innocent goodnight kiss—and then he’d leave.
When she closed her eyes, he brushed her lips with his, a mere whisper of sensation. A little sound escaped her throat, and her arms came up and around his neck, dragging him back down. She twined her fingers in his hair, her lips sweet and insistent.
“Amy,” he groaned, trying feebly to pull away. But in the end he gave in. He’d never really had a chance. He was weak.
And she was heaven. Soft and and eager and smelling of roses. He seemed to forget where he was, who he was…he forgot about everything but her.
It was a long while before he found it in himself to break contact. Her eyes fluttered open, deep purple in the low light. She drew a long, shuddering breath.
Using every ounce of his willpower, he pulled back. “I cannot do this.”
She raised herself to place a warm, damp kiss in the hollow of his neck. Her eyes questioning, she fell back to the pillows.
She truly was a minx!
“Amy,” he said, standing up, “this isn’t right.”
“Why not?” she asked breathily. “I like kissing you.”
“I like it too, but we shouldn’t be kissing. I’m sorry.”
She struggled up on her elbows. “Would you please stop saying you’re sorry every time you kiss me!”
“I’m sorry.” He smiled innocently, and she burst into helpless giggles.
But seconds later, his smile reversed to a frown, and he turned away, looking into the fire. He ran his hands through his hair. “Amy?”
She sobered instantly. “What?”
“You understand what I’m telling you, yes? I cannot marry you, so I shouldn’t be kissing you. It’s not that I don’t want to, love.”
He stopped himself from clapping a hand over his mouth. But he couldn’t stop himself from whirling around to see her expression.
Her eyes were wide and round, her mouth agape.
Love, he’d called her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, obviously. He hadn’t been thinking at all. The word had escaped his lips thoughtlessly.
He’d never been “in love,” and he didn’t love Amy. He was infatuated, to be sure, but that didn’t mean he loved her. He hardly knew her, despite their weeks of acquaintance.
Besides, love wasn’t part of his plan. Love was dangerous. It made one too vulnerable, too open to the pain of loss and betrayal. Look how much strife this mere infatuation was causing him! Love must be many times worse!
Until he could rid himself of her, he had to be more careful, put more distance between them.
“Don’t leave,” she reminded him, then sighed and closed her eyes.
In the dancing firelight, her face looked stunning and flawless. Despite everything, he wanted to lie beside her and wrap her in his arms. His pulse quickened at the thought of staying with her.
But he couldn’t stay with her that way. Instead he backed up and settled himself on the chest at the foot of the bed.
He sat there until she slept, until her breathing came even and untroubled. And then he sat there watching her for a while longer before leaving.
Something in him hoped it would still be snowing hard in the morning.
THIRTY-TWO
IN THE MORNING, Colin brought Amy breakfast in bed, then refused her offer of help again before disappearing into his study.
She sighed. Nothing had changed there.
After eating, she quickly bathed from the washstand and donned her old gown, then decided to see if she could find clean sheets to change the bedding before she left the room. She hadn’t noticed anyplace linens might be kept in the unrestored portions of the house, so she looked around the bedroom. The chamber held no cupboard, only the chest at the foot of the bed. She lifted its heavy wooden lid, and Colin’s scent wafted out.
She breathed deeply, a smile teasing at her lips. Inside, his clothes were neatly folded. The suits were darker colors than were currently in fashion—hunter green, deep blue, rich brown—the fabrics fine, the decorations simple and tasteful.
One was black velvet with glinting gold braid…was it the same one he’d worn for the coronation procession, or had he grown taller since then? His
