The intimate moment was shattered. Amy released him. “You’re right.”
Her flat tone took him by surprise. He felt a pang of hurt, or guilt, or he wasn’t sure what. He struggled to keep his confusion hidden as he stood. “Let me get you settled,” he said stiffly, and pulled her up beside him. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the bedchamber next door.
Not wanting a repeat of last night’s embarrassment, Amy kicked off her shoes but otherwise got into the bed fully dressed. She watched Colin stir up the fire and add a couple logs, thinking over the last couple of days she’d spent with him—eating, laughing, whiling away the hours. Kissing…
It had felt like someone else’s life. A whole other Amy.
Amethyst. She pronounced the name in her head, drawn-out and elegant. Amethyst, Lady Greystone.
No, she decided, she was still Amy. “Lady Greystone” would never work with her hands and create jewelry, never own and run a shop. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let herself contemplate the possibility of staying with Colin. Lucky circumstances had resulted in these stolen hours, and it was almost time to return to the real world.
But must she be wrenched from his side so soon? She knew full well she had to leave, but she wasn’t quite ready to face her new life. She needed to steal a few more hours…a few more kisses. She cast around wildly for an idea, any idea—
“Good night,” he said, turning to leave.
“Colin?”
He turned back toward her. “Yes?”
“I—I know we have to leave tomorrow, but…”
“But what?”
“Do you think you could take me to London?” she asked on a sudden burst of inspiration. “I have no clothes at all, not anything, you know, and—well, it would take me naught but a couple of days to purchase everything I need, and then—”
“I’d be happy to take you to London for a few days.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound relieved? “We’ll find you a chaperone there, and—”
“—I’d prefer not to arrive in France with nothing—”
“Amy.” Colin walked closer and planted a warm kiss on her forehead. “I said I’d be happy to take you.”
“Oh.” It had worked. She could hardly believe it. A few more days with Colin. It seemed like a dream come true.
“We’ll stay at the family town house,” he said.
Amy’s heart galloped with excitement. “Thank you,” she breathed.
She was still smiling when he left the room.
THIRTY-SEVEN
RETRIEVING HER book from the study, Amy dragged her trunk to the front door and sat on it to watch through the narrow window. She unfolded the note and read it again. Amy, it said in Colin’s bold printing,
I have gone with Benchley to retrieve the carriage. Please ready yourself to leave. We will breakfast on the way to London.
Greystone
That was it. No “Dear Amy.” No “Love, Colin.” Amy told herself nothing was wrong—Colin simply wasn’t demonstrative on paper—but she knew she was fooling herself. The Colin she thought she’d come to know here at Greystone had vanished.
She looked up from the note to see the carriage pass under the portcullis and onto the little circular drive in the courtyard. When Colin opened the door, she was standing by her trunk, book in hand, the note safely tucked away.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said as cheerfully as she could manage.
Colin winced at the formal address. “Good morning,” he muttered back, avoiding her gaze.
He lifted the trunk—more carefully than he had before he’d known what it contained—and carried it to the carriage. Amy trailed slowly. Colin waved her inside and returned to lock the door, then climbed in opposite her, and they were off.
“Breakfast?” he asked, pulling Kendra’s basket from under his seat and setting it on the floor between them. He reached in, selected an apple, and polished it on his shirt before taking a bite.
Amy dug out another apple. Any minute now, she expected him to smile and tease her or start pointing out the features of his estate, but as time crept by she realized it was less and less likely.
They drove a mile or so in awkward silence, the only sounds those of the wheels on the rutted, slushy road, the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, and the juicy crunch of apples being chewed and swallowed. Colin fetched a napkin from the basket and deposited his apple core in it, then held it out for Amy to do the same. Their eyes met, Amy’s questioning, Colin’s hooded and indecisive.
The core-filled napkin dropped from his hand to the basket. “Our time together changed nothing,” he blurted out. “I’m still betrothed to Priscilla.”
Amy stared at him sitting stone-faced across from her. Unbidden tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
He looked away first. “Don’t cry, Amy,” he said to the floor. “I don’t think I could stand it.”
She blinked back the tears. “I know you’re betrothed. I haven’t been thinking anything had changed. Have I said something to make you think I have?”
“Well, no…” He hesitated, then moved over to her side and took her hand. “No, you said nothing. But as much as I wish to spend time with you in London, there are those who would take note of it and make both our lives miserable.”
“I know no one important in London.”
“What about your former clientele?”
Amy bit her lip. He had a point. They may not have been her friends, but the fact remained she was acquainted with many of London’s elite.
“I don’t care,” she declared. “I’ll be in Paris the rest of my life, in all probability. What London thinks of me couldn’t possibly matter.”
“You don’t know what course your life will take, Amy.” He dropped her hand. “I’ll set you up at the town house, but I won’t be spending nights there myself. A carriage and driver will be at your disposal. I’ll let you know where you can reach me so you can send word when you’ve
