He pulled away and sat up, muttering a soft oath. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, running a hand raggedly through his tangled hair. Of course he was sorry. He didn’t like her; he wanted to get rid of her. What she couldn’t understand was how he could kiss her like that, feeling as he did. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she sat up and put her head in her hands. But she didn’t cry. She felt too dead inside to cry. “I’m betrothed, you know,” he said suddenly.
