“About half a carat each. Not well-matched. They’d end up in different pieces.”
He closed his fist around the glittering stones. “They’re beautiful. I can hardly credit…Amy, there’s so much here.” He frowned in puzzlement. “Your family…you had so much. Yet you lived above your shop…”
She came closer, holding out the paper. He tipped the diamonds into it, a dazzling waterfall of costly gems.
“We weren’t—I’m not—aristocratic. No one expected us to live lavishly. If people had known what we had, it would have been stolen.” She folded the packet and returned it to the box, closing the lid.
“But—”
“We lived very nicely.” She smiled at his confusion. “I had the best clothes, and we always had a maid and housekeeper. We ate well, and we never had to prepare meals or clean up after ourselves. Mama collected things—pretty, useless things—figurines and vases that made her smile. We had books, we went to the theater—the gold was security, so we never had to worry. It was collected over so many generations that I feel as though it’s not mine, really…almost like I hold it in safekeeping for someone else.” She walked to the trunk and set the box inside.
“But it is yours, Amy. It’s all yours.”
Silently she knelt by the trunk to close and lock it, then joined him again at the window. They both gazed at the snow drifting down. The storm was dwindling, and this would probably be the last night they’d ever be together.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “It is all mine. But in the last two years I’ve learned that what counts are the people you have around you. Money isn’t important.”
“It is if you don’t have it,” he returned bitterly, thinking about his struggles to get the estate into shape and restore his home, delaying his marriage plans.
“I’d trade it all—every bit of it,” she whispered, “to have my parents again.”
He felt a twisting sensation in his chest. She was right, of course. Turning to her, he took her face between his palms and tilted it to meet her eyes. “I know,” he whispered back. “I know you would.”
The chamber was quiet. The snow fell inaudibly outside the window; the crackling fire and their breathing were the only sounds. Her eyes deepened in color as he gazed into them, and he bent his head to meet her lips.
Amy felt her torn spirits mending in his embrace. His mouth was slow and gentle. His hands crept from her cheeks down the sides of her neck, to her shoulders and around to her back, where she felt their warm imprints pressing her securely against him.
A long, dreamy, melting time later they broke the kiss, and Amy laid her head on his chest. Beneath her ear, his heart beat strong and steady. He stroked her hair with unhurried movements and twisted it in his fingers.
Her gaze drifted to the jewelry that sparkled on the bed. The galant, the aigrette, the pocket watch…the cameo. The thought of him owning it made her skin tingle.
Would he treasure it? Years from now, would he look at it and remember the connection they’d shared? She hoped so. If he felt even a shred of the emotion she did, she suspected he’d remember it all his life, for she was certain she would.
“You said you wouldn’t kiss me again,” she reminded him, feeling a bit woozy.
“I know,” he said, his voice laced with something—resignation? “But it’s just a kiss, is it not?”
It was just a kiss. And though kisses were all she’d ever get from Colin Chase, she would take them, and gladly. How wrong could that be, after all? Once she got to France, who knew if she’d ever be kissed again?
“I owe you a dinner,” she reminded him, pulling away with a grin. “Are you willing to try my very first stew?”
“With a side dish of pickled snails?” he asked, grinning back mischievously.
She groaned and headed out of the bedchamber.
THIRTY-FOUR
WITH A HUM of satisfaction, Amy moved her bishop diagonally across the chessboard toward Colin’s king.
“Check,” she announced.
Colin was hard put to keep a smile off his face. After two complete games, it was clear Amy was the thoughtful tactician, while his style was fast and aggressive. But he’d put his mind to this match, planning his moves far in advance. He knew exactly what would happen from here on out.
He moved his king one space; then, the game well in hand, he turned his thoughts to something even more diverting: plotting the perfect practical joke.
Amy’s gray marble knight made a decisive click against the black and white board. “Check.”
As Colin’s hand shot out to rescue his king, he decided he would offer to prepare supper. Alone in the pantry, he ought to be able to dream up a clever prank.
Ahh…yes.
She grinned, oozing confidence, and slid her bishop into place. “Check.”
He managed to respond with no more than a speculative glance and a raise of one brow. Though he was relieved to find them much more evenly matched in chess than they’d been in piquet, there was no reason to rub his impending victory in her lovely face.
He tapped his king into place, threatening her knight.
Amy frowned at the board, then slowly withdrew the knight, relieving the pressure on his king.
Colin rubbed his hands together in glee. Now he controlled the events of the board, and he quickly moved one of his jade-green rooks across to threaten Amy’s gray one.
She had no choice—either move her rook or lose it. Colin saw her freeze—she could see the inevitable. No matter which way she went, she’d be dead in two moves—checkmated by his bishop.
She looked up, a surprised, wry smile on her face, then her hand moved to her king and gently laid it down.
Colin reached across the
