Then her fingers touched the bare skin of his neck, and her nails grazed his sensitive scalp—and something inside him snapped.
Before he knew what was happening, he’d dragged her into his arms. When her body melted against his and the scent of flowers engulfed him, a rush of love hit him square in the gut, and it felt right. All he could think about was finding her mouth. All he wanted was to feel her lips on his, to feel really good for just a few minutes, just until he had to—
—break her heart.
And his own.
What in the name of heaven, earth, and the rest of the universe was he doing?
“I’m betrothed,” he choked out, pushing her away just before their lips met. “We cannot do this.”
“You’re what?”
“Betrothed. To Creath.” Seeing shock flood her face and tears well in her eyes, he hastened to explain. “I swore to keep it a secret, but I cannot keep it secret anymore—not from you. Because no matter how much I wish I could wed you instead, I must marry Creath tomorrow to save her from Sir Leonard.”
His Chrysanthemum went white. He preferred pink chrysanthemums, he thought absurdly.
“Oh,” she said, looking shattered. “Oh.” He saw her try to relax her features into a more neutral expression—and fail. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Guilt churned in his stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you earlier, but my parents and Creath and I—we all pledged to keep silent, for fear of the news reaching Sir Leonard. How could you have known?”
“It feels like I should have known. Everyone tells me I’m observant—and I am. I suppose I was so in love with you that I didn’t want to see.” Touching her new pearls, she blinked back tears. “I should have realized when you seemed reluctant to kiss me in the cellar, because I knew you wanted to. Because we so clearly belong together, don’t you think? I mean, don’t you know?”
He did know—he had never felt anything nearly as overpowering before, and somehow he knew that after Chrystabel left, he’d never feel this way again. But he wasn’t about to admit that now. It would only make this even harder.
Instead he said as calmly as he could, “Creath is my best friend, my oldest friend. I cannot abandon her. I cannot. I gave her my word. I’m sorry.”
And then she shocked the stuffing out of him by saying, “You don’t need to be sorry, because I can fix this.”
The color had returned to her face. Her voice had grown stronger, more confident. Apparently she was over her upset already. Shattered Chrystabel had transformed back into impulsive, impertinent, irresistible Chrystabel—the Chrystabel he’d fallen in love with—in the space of a few sentences.
The leap of hope he felt was ridiculous. “How? How do you propose to fix this unfixable thing?”
“Matthew can wed Creath tomorrow in your place. He can save her from Sir Leonard, and then you’ll be free to marry me.”
“What?” He couldn’t have come up with a more harebrained solution if he’d tried. “What on earth makes you think your brother would agree to that?”
“He’ll be happy to agree to that. He as much as admitted to me that he’s in love with her, and I’m sure she cares for him, too.”
Last night he’d decided she might not be irrational, and he wasn’t revising that opinion. Because irrational didn’t even begin to describe her plan. “Don’t give me hope where there is none, please. The two of them cannot be in love. She would have told me—she tells me everything. And besides, she just met him.”
“I just met you, you just met me, and—well, look how we both feel. At least, I think you feel like I do.” Evidently his eyes gave her the answer she was looking for, because she rushed on without him saying anything. “If we could fall in love in less than three days, why can’t they?”
“One day,” he admitted miserably. “I cannot credit it, but I fell in love with you in one day.”
He knew that now.
He’d been denying it, but there was no sense in trying to fool himself any longer.
“I fell in love with you in no days, Joseph. The minute I saw you. There’s no reason Creath and Matthew can’t be in love, too. Maybe she doesn’t tell you everything. Maybe she doesn’t tell you things like this.” Chrystabel drew a deep breath and crossed her hands over her Christmas-green bodice, as though she were trying to hold her heart inside. “I think you’re wrong. I think we need to go back to the great room, so you can talk to Creath and find out how she really feels.”
“Very well,” he said. He didn’t hold out much hope, but her plan was his only hope, so he’d ask. “I’ll go talk to her right now.”
Chrystabel pulled him out of the conservatory so quickly, he had a hard time keeping up with her.
Back in the great room, their families were playing Hunt the Slipper. Despite his emotional upheaval, Joseph felt a tiny twinge of amusement at seeing his father on the floor playing such an undignified game. Pacing back and forth, he waited until Creath had passed the slipper before tapping her on the shoulder and beckoning her from the room.
He drew her up the grand staircase and around six times to the top floor of the castle, where they couldn’t be overheard.
“Are you in love with Lord Grosmont?” he asked with no preamble.
“I beg your pardon?” Her eyes widened in astonishment. “What on earth gave you that impression?”
“Chrystabel.” He blew out a breath. “She thinks you and her brother are in love, and she said you’d rather marry him than me.”
“Joseph! How could you believe such a thing?” Her cheeks were growing pink—with embarrassment or indignation? Just now, it was an important distinction. “I don’t know Matthew at all—I just met him—and I’ve known you forever. Of course I wouldn’t rather marry
