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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.
“Her name is Priscilla Hobbs,” he continued. “Lady Priscilla Hobbs. Her father’s an earl—she’ll make a perfect mother for my children. Oh, and she’s very nice,” he added unconvincingly. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked, confused. “I’m just trying to explain why I cannot…pay court to you.” Humiliated, she lashed out at him. “Pay court to me? Because of a little kiss? What an absurd notion!” Her voice rose an octave in her agitation. “I’d never expect you to marry me—you’ve tried to get rid of me at every turn.” “That’s not true,” he protested. “It is so true,” she contradicted, but
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“When you touch me,” she confessed softly, “I feel things I never thought to feel. I don’t know if you might feel them, too. What I do know is that it doesn’t matter. You belong here, with lords and ladies and the king, and I belong in France, working at a jeweler’s bench.” An inscrutable mask settled on Colin’s features. He hesitated, then slowly stood and brushed the grass off his breeches.
Colin hopped down from the horse and slid her trunk to the snowy ground. He gestured at his home. “It’s not like Cainewood, is it?” “No, not at all,” she said seriously. “It’s much nicer.” “Nicer?” he asked in apparent disbelief. She watched his gaze wander over the ruined portions of the wall and a huge roofless chamber that dominated the edifice. She followed along, seeing ancient weathered stones with stories to tell and a building the perfect size for one happy family. “Yes, it’s much cozier. Cainewood is beautiful, but I cannot imagine why anyone would actually want to live there.” “Try
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What a marvelous creature she was, quick to anger, but even more easily pleased. Now that she’d emerged from the cocoon of her grief, she was like a beautiful butterfly, and his heart ached with the knowledge that he could never capture her. Finished with the fire, he turned to warm his back near the flames, watching Amy flit around his private courtyard…the courtyard Priscilla had failed to even notice on her one visit to her future home. He shook himself. Priscilla embodied everything he required in a wife. He wasn’t a man to let physical attraction rule his life—he never had, and he had no
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“After all, I’m naught but a simple merchant’s daughter.” Having delivered her jab, Amy leaned down to pick up the wine bottle. Colin frowned at her back. How did she know he thought of her that way? Kendra, most likely—the meddler in the family. But it was as well that Amy had reminded him—for with all this talk of romance, he’d been on the edge of forgetting just who and what she was.
She wished he would roll over and kiss her. He’d cautioned that kisses were likely to lead to more, but while half an hour ago she’d been shocked, now, fiercely aware of him next to her, she found herself intrigued. What would it be like? The French novels she’d read made it sound mysterious and wonderful, and if it would make her feel anything like Colin’s kisses did, she was inclined to want to experience it. Who would she be hurting? Who would ever know? She’d never see Colin again, and if losing her virginity was the price she had to pay for stealing a few more of his luscious kisses,
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He flipped over, landing half on top of her, his lips searching for hers and finding their target. A harsh sound came from deep in his throat. His kiss felt punishing and angry, but she responded all the same, and after a minute he lifted his head. She opened her eyes to find his glaring fiercely back. “I warned you, Amy,” he said. With a quick nod of acknowledgment, she pulled him back down to her. Lips parted, she raised herself to meet his kiss.
Feeling his heart thudding against her breasts, she knew he was experiencing similar sensations. She’d asked for this. She’d wanted to know how he really felt about her. She had her answer. Yet she didn’t want him to stop.
For what? A whimper sounded deep in her throat, surprising her, then she involuntarily rose to meet him. He groaned softly. “I don’t mean to hurt you, love,” he forced between gritted teeth. “But this once—” She moaned in response, but she hadn’t really processed his words, only the love. She knew it didn’t mean anything, couldn’t mean anything—it was just the type of thing men said to women in the throes of passion—but it made her blood sing anyway, just to hear it. Still thinking of that, she stiffened in shock when he thrust home. Her breath caught in her chest.
She felt Colin pulsing within her, the warm flood of his release. He collapsed against her, his chest hot and slick against hers, his back straining as he gulped for air. Her hands were everywhere, trying to feel him all at once as her breath came in long, shuddering sighs. “I didn’t know,” she gasped in wonder. “I didn’t know.” He struggled up on his elbows. “How could you know?”
“Can we do it again?” she asked enthusiastically. He laughed then, a great booming laugh that nearly bounced her off his chest. She dropped her head to his shoulder, her face burning. Did he think her wanton? After all, she’d all but seduced him and followed it up by asking for more. “No, love, I think not. Even were I able, I imagine you’re too sore to attempt any such thing for a day or two.” She relaxed a little. Though she didn’t quite understand everything he meant, he didn’t sound disapproving. Besides, he’d called her love again. And, even sure as she was that he meant nothing by it,
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What had he been thinking? He hadn’t, obviously. He hadn’t been thinking at all. The endearment had escaped his lips thoughtlessly. He’d never been “in love,” and though no one else made him feel like this slip of a girl, that didn’t mean he loved her. He hardly knew her, despite their weeks of acquaintance. Besides, love wasn’t part of his plan. Love was dangerous. It made one too vulnerable, too open to the pain of loss and betrayal.
But deep inside he knew it was naught but a fluke. A unique combination of fear, curiosity, and attraction had driven Amy into his arms this one precious time. She wasn’t the sort of woman who would accept life as a man’s mistress, beloved or not.
His jaw went slack at the sight that greeted him. The room was strewn with glittering jewels. She knelt on the floor beside her trunk—that damned heavy trunk that she’d insisted go with her everywhere. And no wonder. The bloody thing was heaped with gold and gems and God knew what else.
“God’s blood, I suggested you leave that trunk on carriages overnight. Why didn’t you tell me what was in there?” “I…was taught never to trust anyone.” She hung her head as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve treated you badly when you’ve always been honest with me.”
Looking over the pile on the bed, mentally adding it to the amount littering the floor and left in the trunk, he came to the conclusion the trunk had been nearly full. Why, it was a cache any pirate wouldn’t hesitate to kill for! He shook his head, berating himself for not realizing the contents of the trunk, and at the same time amazed at her skill in hiding it. The more he learned about her, the more he admired her. She had a streak of self-preservation that ran deep.
She smiled at the memory. “Shall I leave it with you for Kendra, do you think? And we should choose something for Jason and Ford, too.” Her face lit up at the idea. “Everyone was so kind to me—why didn’t I think of this before?”
After much searching and good-natured bickering, they settled on an aigrette for Ford. Of all the brothers, he liked to dandy-up a bit, and the fancy pin would make a smart statement on his hat. Jason was another story. Amy insisted on giving him a large pocket watch with an enamelled face and an open-work lid set with one enormous oval sapphire and eight smaller ones. “It’s too much,” Colin protested. “Besides, he has a pocket watch.” “I’ve seen it. It’s small and has no lid. The Marquess of Cainewood should pull out an impressive watch to check the time. Papa had someone just like Jason in
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“That doesn’t signify. He was perfectly wonderful to me, and this is the least I can do. Besides, Robert made that one. I want him to have one my father made.” “Robert?” “Robert Stanley. Our apprentice.”
“You mean that red-haired fellow?” She shot him an appraising glance. “You remember him?” Distrustful pale blue eyes. He remembered, all right. That settled it. Not only was Amy intractable, but Colin didn’t want anyone in his family to own anything made by that apprentice. He felt uneasy just thinking about the man.
“Whatever happened to him? Do you know?” “Who?” “The apprentice. Robert.” He disliked even saying his name. Her hands stilled for a moment. “I have no idea. He went off to fight the fire, and I never saw him again.” She toyed with a flannel square. “I was supposed to marry him.” “Were you, now?” No wonder Robert had acted so hostile. An imagined scenario popped into Colin’s mind, of Amy kissing the freckled, carrot-topped man. It made him sick in his gut, and the question came out of his mouth before he could catch himself. “Do you love him?” “No.” Amy tensed visibly as she folded the flannel
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“My betrothal papers burned in the fire. It was the only good thing that came of it.” Colin released his breath, which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Just because he couldn’t have Amy didn’t mean he wanted some dolt like Robert to get her. Yet she had to marry…a woman had to marry. “Isn’t he still expecting you to wed him?” “That doesn’t signify.” She slipped a topaz ring on her finger and pulled it off again. “I would never have wed him of my own free will.”
He lifted a torsade of pearls. “Still, you must wed, Amy. With these jewels you could buy a title—” “You mean marry a nobleman?” The topaz ring fell from her hand to the bed, and her eyes burned into his. “No. I’d never be able to reestablish Goldsmith & Sons.” “No, of course you wouldn’t.” Absently, he fingered the heavy twisted ropes of pearls. “But you’ll be in France, not London.” “I’ll open a shop there. Not right away, but eventually.” “But—” “No buts, Colin.” She smiled at her use of his words, then turned serious. “Yes, I’m female. But I’m also a jeweler, and I promised my father I
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“The gold?” “In the bottom.” She waved at the trunk. “My family has been accumulating coins forever. It was”—she hesitated—“a secret. There. Now you know.” Her sudden disarming smile enchanted him. “It’s why my father never worried when business fell off during the Commonwealth. There are a few gold bars as well—for fabrication, you understand. We never melted coins.”
He was shocked speechless. Why, Amy was rich! Richer even than Priscilla, or at the very least richer than Priscilla would be until the death of her very healthy father.
But what he felt for her had nothing to do with wealth or position, and everything to do with the way just looking at her made the blood course through his veins. His need for her was illogical, emotional… Dangerous. It didn’t bear thinking about.
He frowned in puzzlement. “Your family…you had so much. Yet you lived above your shop…” She came closer, holding out the paper. He tipped the diamonds into it, a dazzling waterfall of costly gems. “We weren’t—I’m not—aristocratic. No one expected us to live lavishly. If people had known what we had, it would have been stolen.” She folded the packet and returned it to the box, closing the flap.
She walked to the trunk and set the box inside. “But it is yours, Amy. It’s all yours.”
The storm was dwindling, and this would probably be their last night together. “You’re right,” she said softly. “It is all mine. But in the last two years I’ve learned that what counts are the people you have around you. Money isn’t important.” “It is if you don’t have it,” he returned bitterly, thinking about the years he’d spent struggling to get the estate into shape and restore his home, delaying his marriage and family plans. “I’d trade it all—every bit of it,” she whispered, “to have my parents again.”
Her gaze drifted to the jewelry that sparkled on the bed. The galant, the aigrette, the pocket watch…the cameo. The thought of him owning it made her feel warm all over. Would he treasure it like she hoped he would? Years from now, would he look at it and remember the passion they’d shared? She hoped so. If he felt even a shred of the emotion she did, she suspected he’d remember it all his life, for she was certain she would.
“Sweet love,” Colin murmured. He couldn’t make himself cease kissing her, stop and collect himself. For such would bring thoughts—thoughts that would confirm their impossible perfection together, thoughts that would tell him he’d be making the worst mistake of his life if he let her go. He couldn’t afford such thoughts. They were the thoughts of an emotional man, and he was a rational man. Still, he couldn’t stay on top of her forever.
It was a shame they wouldn’t be together long enough for her to become truly comfortable with him, for him to take pleasure in watching her come to terms with her sensuality. The thought of her freely giving herself to another man, without embarrassment or artifice, made his insides clench—but he knew, given her passionate nature, it was inevitable. He would have to content himself with the memory of awakening her passion in the first place.
Their eyes met, Amy’s questioning, Colin’s hooded and indecisive. The core-filled napkin dropped from his hand to the basket. “What happened changes nothing,” he blurted out. “I’m still betrothed to Priscilla.” Amy stared at him sitting stone-faced across from her. Unbidden tears threatened to spill from her eyes. He hunched over, his elbows resting on his spread knees, his head in his hands. “Don’t cry, Amy,” he said to the floor. “I don’t think I can stand it.” She blinked back the tears. “I know you’re betrothed. I haven’t been thinking anything had changed, my lord. Have I said something
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“But as much as I wish to spend every minute with you in London, there are those who would take note of it and make both our lives miserable.” “I know no one important in London.” “What about your former clientele?”
“It would be worth it,” she said, turning in his arms, her eyes sending the message she was too shy to put into words. “I’ll be in Paris the rest of my life, in all probability. What London thinks of me couldn’t possibly matter.”
He dropped his hands to his lap, and his voice took on a flat, emotionless tone. “I’ll set you up at the town house, but I won’t be spending nights there myself. A carriage and driver will be at your disposal. I’ll let you know where you can reach me so you can send word when you’ve purchased all the items you need.” “Where will you stay?” “That depends upon who’s in town. But I’ll make sure everyone knows we’re not sharing the town house.” Distancing himself from her already, he moved back to the opposite bench.
She didn’t believe for a second that he was protecting her reputation.
She’d never asked to stay with him, or even hinted at it—she knew plain Amy Goldsmith didn’t belong with the Earl of Greystone. She had her own life and obligations to fulfill. All she wanted was a few more days with him, a few more days of happiness, a few more days when she could pretend she wasn’t alone in the world. Even now, aloof as he was, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to lose herself in his arms.
The carriage stopped in front of the Chases’ town house, a four-story brick building on the west side of the square. Amy climbed out and gazed up at the distinguished facade. Giant Ionic columns held up a boldly projecting cornice and balcony. Triangular decorations crowned tall, rectangular windows.
She lay down, and when she awakened from her fitful sleep, Colin was gone. On her way down to supper, Ida said something about him dining with Priscilla before making an appearance at some ball or other, but Amy listened with half an ear. Although she’d had most of the day to get used to the idea, she still couldn’t believe that Colin had left her alone.
Growing more impatient by the minute, Colin wondered what on earth had possessed him to squire her to Lady Carsington’s ball. He hated these affairs. And why hadn’t he ever noticed before what a gossip Priscilla was? Her mouth was as mincing as the minuet.
He flashed her an innocent smile. “Od’s fish, my dear, but you are looking well this evening.” It was true. Her shoulder-length silver-blond hair gleamed in the candlelight from the blazing chandeliers. Her figure was tall and willowy rather than curvy, but she carried herself regally, and her ivory satin gown accentuated her pale beauty. The complete opposite of Amy’s coloring. He shook himself. Whatever had made that pop into his head?
He skimmed two fingers up her perfect chin and along her jaw. When she flinched and pulled back, he frowned and mentally added to his list: She was as cold and hard as a porcelain doll as well. He would have to work on that.
He set down both their cups and leaned back against it, then wrapped his arms around Priscilla’s waist and pulled her close. Ignoring the startled look in her eyes, he brought his lips down to hers—just a little bit down, he realized, momentarily surprised at the reminder of her height. But her mouth was warm in the cold night, and he was pleased that this statuesque heiress was his, so a few moments passed before he realized she wasn’t kissing him back, and in fact was pushing away from him, her palms flat against his chest. “Colin—not here.” “Why? No one’s here to see.”
Though taken aback by her reaction, he offered her a smile as he pulled her close again. She wasn’t the most passionate of women, but she’d never resisted his advances before. She’d even been willing to share his bed. No one at court—barring an aberration like Frances Stewart—was celibate, after all.
Priscilla went limp in his arms now, not resisting but not participating either, and Colin decided her first lesson in sensuality was over. He swung her about and walked her back to the ball, his arm lightly around her shoulders. When Priscilla’s own arm stole around his waist as they crossed the threshold, he was pleased.
Colin’s relationship with the king was her father’s primary reason for agreeing to the match. Lord Hobbs had been a fence-sitter during the war, and consequently, though he hadn’t lost his lands, he held no favor with Charles, either.
“I play pranks on everyone,” he reminded her. “You don’t play them on me, Colin Chase. They’re stupid and childish, and I won’t stand for it.” “Don’t you think it’s funny?” The last of Colin’s laughter died. “Don’t you find it amusing that I know you well enough to devise a trap you would fall into perfectly?” “No. I don’t find it in the least amusing.” Priscilla turned on Barbara.
As he settled back, his thoughts turned to the amethyst-eyed witch who’d wormed her way into his bed and his heart. Now, there was someone who appreciated his efforts at humor. A vision popped into his head, of Amy laughing the loudest when the prank was played on her. Her color high, her rosy lips parted… He shook his head to clear the image. He’d known from the start that Amy’s request for a few days in London had been little more than a ploy to stay with him longer. But, hell, he hadn’t been ready to part with her, either.
