This was his fault. He was older and more experienced than Amy—if only by a few years—and so the duty had been his to put an end to things before they got out of hand. But he hadn’t done that. Instead he’d given in to emotion, abandoned honor and compassion, and tread all over this poor girl’s still-mending heart. And then he’d brought her here and abandoned her, too.
She was strong, and she would heal, and she’d probably forget him before long. She’d be better off without him. But thinking back on these last few days with Amy and the indescribable way she’d made him feel, he knew—sure as he knew the sun would rise in the east—that if he somehow could do it all over again, he would give in every time. He was a weak, despicable man, and that was the worst thing of all.
Though the brandy flowed a hot path down Colin’s throat, it failed to melt the knot in his chest. Draining the glass, he set it on the small table by his chair and stared into the fire, twisting his ring.
Wondering how long she’d been crying, he tried to envision her: hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, face puffy and swollen, creased from where she’d pressed it into the sheets to muffle those gut-wrenching sobs.
It was not a pretty mental picture.
Perhaps he could go to her—looking a fright, she might not be so difficult to resist. And she wasn’t likely to be in a romantic mood herself. He stood up, shrugged out of his surcoat and removed his waistcoat, the better to offer a friendly, comforting shoulder to cry on—then stopped short.
Who was he fooling?
He silently finished undressing, slipped into a robe, and padded softly out of his bedchamber, intending to head for the library. He needed a distraction.
But as he passed by her door, he heard a long moan. Soft and resonant, the sound ripped his wounded heart in two. He was into her chamber before he could form a coherent thought.
She was a long lump under the heavy quilt, her head buried beneath the covers.
He knelt by the bed. “Amy?”
“Colin?” She peeked out, then sat up. In the firelight, she looked beautiful—and not at all like he’d expected. Her face was pink and tear streaked, yes, but not even close to the puffy mess he’d imagined.
“What—what are you doing here?” She looked over the edge of the bed, taking in Colin’s state of undress.
He stood up, belting his robe tighter.
Her gaze slid down to his bare feet, then slowly back up to his face. She sniffled, dashing the tears from her cheeks with an impatient motion. “How long have you been back?”
“Long enough.”
“You’ve been…?”
“In the next room.”
“Marry come up. You heard me, then.”
She threw herself back to the mattress, pulling the covers over her rapidly reddening face. “Go away, please.”
Her body rolled toward him as his weight dropped onto the edge of the bed.
“Go away!”
He didn’t.
Amy lay rigid, apparently willing him to leave—or herself to magically vanish—until he folded the blanket away from her face. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked out, her eyes filling again.
“You’re sorry?” he asked, incredulous.
He couldn’t credit it. She was sorry.
“I’ve been…wallowing in my misery, I guess you could call it. I…haven’t been alone before tonight. Since the fire, I mean. Not all alone, where I was sure no one could hear me. Since my father died.” She sniffed and let out a long breath. “I woke up and thought I was alone…”
Colin heaved a sigh of relief—though he felt a twinge of embarrassment. Here he’d been, certain he was all-important in her life, wracked with guilt for hurting her, and she hadn’t been thinking of him at all. How vain could he be?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He gently wiped fresh tears away. “A good cry was probably just what you needed. I apologize for interrupting.”
“I was just feeling sorry for myself,” Amy said to her lap.
He believed her. But there was something in her voice…
And she wouldn’t look at him.
He lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Is that all?”
She nodded. “Though I did wish you were here with me,” she admitted softly.
Her eyes were wide and trusting, darkened in that compelling way that drew him in. Without thinking, he leaned over to kiss her, his mouth moving gently on hers in a silent apology.
It felt so…natural.
When he pulled away, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why did you come back?”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed, knowing it was true the moment the words left him. “I never made any other plans. I couldn’t bear to think of you in my house and me somewhere else entirely.” He pushed a hand through his hair. What was he saying? ”Amy, I—”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. I know you’re promised, Colin, and I’ve a destiny of my own. But I’m not quite ready to meet that destiny, so for now I’m here. I know you have things you must do, but if you could save me an hour for cards or chess, or for showing me your house, or for…”
Or for kissing, he knew she was thinking. But she was mirroring his thoughts. It was impossible for him to stay away from her when she was so close by. Absolutely impossible.
He’d never been able to resist her pull. Never.
“All right,” he agreed. “The shops are closed tomorrow, but I’ll take you to order a few gowns on Monday, we’ll have them delivered Tuesday, and the next morning we’ll leave. Three more days you’ll stay here—and so will I. No one need know you’re here.”
“Won’t Lady Priscilla—”
“Shh,” he admonished, borrowing her gesture and placing his finger on her lips. “I’ll take care of
