They hadn’t shared many kisses, but the rush of heat he felt seemed familiar anyway. It smacked him in the gut and spread out, and it felt right.
And it seemed she had learned a lot from their first kisses. Her lips parted, inviting him in, and they both sank into the caress. His remaining resolve disintegrated, no match for the force that was their overwhelming need for each other.
When he found his hands moving to detach her stomacher, he caught himself and pulled back with an almost painful effort.
What in the name of heaven, hell, and the rest of the universe was he doing?
“I’m betrothed,” he choked out. “I cannot do this.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m 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 devastated. “Oh.” He saw her swallow hard, as though she had a giant lump blocking her throat. “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?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like I should have known somehow. Everyone tells me I’m observant—and I am. I should have figured it out.” She blinked back the tears. “I should have realized when you wouldn’t kiss me again 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 that rush of heat with anyone besides Chrystabel, and somehow he knew he’d never find anyone else who could make him feel that heat 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 holy hell 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. Devastated 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 will be happy to agree to that. He as much as admitted to me that he’s fallen for her, and I’m sure she cares for him, too.”
Last night he’d decided she might not be irrational, but 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 zero 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 you’re wrong.” She 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 turmoil, 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.
“What?” 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? I don’t know Matthew at all—I just met him—and I’ve known you forever. Of course I wouldn’t rather marry him!”
He took note of her use of the man’s given name. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Unless…” Her gaze turned speculative. “You wouldn’t rather I marry Matthew, would you?”
“Of course not.” It struck him
