Rand immediately strode to the window. “There’s ash drifting in,” he said as he slammed it shut. When he turned, he stood stock still and looked around.
Lily followed his roaming gaze, trying to envision her bedchamber through his eyes while she dabbed her stuffy nose with a white-on-white monogrammed handkerchief.
White carpeting covered much of the dark oak floor. Her bed was hung with white lace panels and piled with plump white pillows. More white lace draped the windows. Her dressing table and washstand boasted white marble tops.
“It’s very virginal,” he finally said.
She blushed, then grimaced, knowing her cheeks now matched her red nose and eyes. She watched him wander to the mirror above her dressing table. It was framed, of course, in white.
He stared at himself, skimming his fingers along the bottom of his hair, which now stopped short of his shoulders. “Do I look bad?”
“No. Only different. You…I suppose you could wear a periwig,” she added, hoping he wouldn’t, although most noblemen did.
He turned from the mirror. “I think not,” he said tersely.
She nodded, absurdly relieved. Even now, Rand’s hair was too pretty to cover up, all those shimmering colors mixed together. Long hair or short, he looked utterly handsome. So handsome her throat tightened just looking at him, and it was sore, so that made it hurt, and anyway, she couldn’t tell him how handsome he was, because that might give him the wrong idea.
He’d worried that she might have been in the barn. He’d saved her animals. She was afraid she might love him, for all of that and for so much more.
What on earth was she supposed to do now?
Nothing, she reminded herself. She’d made a promise. One that was getting increasingly harder to keep.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Could you possibly leave now?”
He didn’t. Instead, he walked over and leaned down and set his lips on hers, claiming her mouth in a gentle kiss.
Hot already, she melted into the heat of the caress. His lips tasted of Rand, but also of the smoke he’d encountered rescuing her strays.
When he drew back, he looked blurry, and she blinked her eyes to clear them. “How?” she asked in a daze.
Completely uninvited, and apparently forgetting his stained breeches, he shoved aside white lace and sat beside her on the bed. “How what, sweetheart?”
She blinked again at the endearment. “How can you kiss me when I’m so ill and ugly?”
“You’re not ugly.” He grazed his knuckles along her heated cheek. One finger trailed from the little indent in her chin to trace the ruffle edging her wrapper. Then it slipped beneath, and beneath her night rail, too, skimming the swell of a breast.
No man had ever touched her there, and it felt marvelously scandalous. Her skin prickled with excitement, and her head swam with more than fever. Despite being hot, she shivered.
“You’ll always be beautiful to me,” he said in a way that convinced her he meant it.
And he wanted her. She remembered that. She’d been thinking about that all week, at times even getting angry—her, Lily, angry!—with Rose for so stubbornly standing in her way.
But Rose would never, ever forgive her…
“I missed you,” she blurted out without thought. “This past week, I’ve missed you.”
Rand’s fingers stilled as he gazed at her, the deliberate seduction forgotten.
Had anyone else ever missed him? Really missed him? He seriously doubted it. He and his closest friends, Ford and Kit, could spend months apart—years, even—without truly missing one another.
For Lily to miss him seemed a great gift. An honor he could only hope to deserve. He wanted her more than he’d thought it possible to want another human being.
“I missed you, too,” he said simply, because he couldn’t think of a way to put it better. He leaned to kiss her again, hoping his lips would tell her what he couldn’t seem to put into words. Feeling the heat in her skin, he made it a chaste kiss, but no less heartfelt.
He pulled away before the need pulsing through him drove him to try something he might regret.
“Oh, Rand,” Lily said on a sigh…and then, “Oh, Rose,” in a pained whisper.
Refusing to register the rejection in her eyes, he gave her another gentle kiss. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow afternoon, Lily. I hope by then you’ll be feeling better.”
The plan was working; he was sure of it. Despite the fact that three sets of eyes watching from the tree outside the window made him more than a bit nervous, he walked away humming.
TWENTY-THREE
THE NEXT DAY, Lily was feeling somewhat better and refused to stay in bed. Having always believed that looking better made one feel better, she chose a pretty periwinkle gown. When her maid dressed her hair, she asked her to wind silver ribbons through the curls to match the trim on her dress.
None of this, of course, had anything to do with the fact that Rand had said he’d be paying a call.
As her maid was finishing up, Rowan wandered in, looking much worse than she felt. His black hair stuck up in places, as though he’d been plowing his fingers through it, and his eyes appeared dark and haunted.
Lily nodded permission for the maid to take her leave, then turned to face her brother. “Rowan, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just…” He came closer and began playing with a perfume bottle on the dressing table where she was seated. “Did you tell Father and Mum about the fire-making things I took from Ford’s laboratory?”
“No, of course I didn’t.” She rubbed a hand over the back of his head, smoothing his hair where he’d mussed it. “That was between us.”
His narrow shoulders relaxed, then tensed again. “How about Rose? Did Rose tell them?”
“Not that I know of. Why are you so worried about this? It was a mistake, and you learned not to take things, didn’t you? Everyone makes mistakes.”
The bottle made a rhythmic noise as he ran it
