“I HAVE A headache.” Priscilla lifted her elegant chin and calmly shut her door in Colin’s face.
Now what?
Distracted by his prank, he’d neglected to approach anyone at the ball to arrange lodging. At a loss, he wandered back to his carriage. He wasn’t about to drop in on a friend unannounced. And no one would be in at this hour, regardless; it was much too early for any self-respecting man-about-town to make his way home.
As Benchley opened the carriage door, Colin sighed. “Take me to Whitehall Palace, please.”
At Whitehall, the court stayed up until the wee hours gambling and playing billiards. Colin wasn’t in the mood to enjoy himself, but he forced himself to play anyway. Fortunately, he didn’t lose, but he wasn’t as pleased as he’d normally have been to pocket the few coins he’d won.
And again he’d failed to ask any acquaintances for a bed, so when the sun was about to rise and the games were coming to an end, he made his way back to his carriage and gave Benchley instructions to return to the town house.
No one even knew Amy was there, he rationalized, shoving aside the concerns he’d voiced the day before.
Amy…now there was someone who appreciated his attempts at humor. A vision popped into his head, of Amy laughing the loudest when the joke was on her. Her color high, her rosy lips—
Curse it! He shook his head to clear the image.
He’d suspected from the start that Amy’s request to come to London had been naught but a ploy to stay near him longer. And he hadn’t been ready to part with her, either. But he never should have agreed—he’d known it was a mistake the moment “I’d be happy to take you to London” came out of his mouth.
Now they’d be alone together in the town house. Alone, but surrounded by all of Charles’s gossipy, meddlesome court. London was full of people like Priscilla, bored aristocrats who would gleefully shred an innocent young girl’s reputation before breakfast.
This had been a spectacularly bad idea.
Well, done was done. And luckily, Amy would be sound asleep at this hour. He’d sneak in, get a few hours of rest, and be out again before she awakened.
Where he’d go, in the early hours before noon, when everyone he knew was sleeping off overindulgences of the prior evening, he wasn’t sure. But surely he could find some way to amuse himself. Perhaps he’d call on Priscilla—she’d certainly turned in early enough to receive a morning visitor.
He entered the house quietly and ducked into the study to pour himself a brandy before stealing upstairs. No need to rouse the servants—even a hushed conversation might wake Amy, and he was perfectly capable of putting himself to bed.
Sneaking past her door, he nearly choked on a mouthful of brandy when he heard the unmistakable sound of weeping.
She was awake.
He paused, his fingers drumming on one thigh while he listened. Then he reached for the door latch—and jerked back, almost as though it had burned his fingers.
He knew all too well what could happen if he went in to comfort her. Would it not be kinder to leave her in peace and privacy? There was no sense prolonging the hurt, or giving her false hope. Hardening his heart, he slipped past her chamber and entered his.
But alas, he could still hear Amy through the adjoining wall. Easing the door shut failed to block the sound. He cursed himself for allowing Ida to put her in the room adjacent to his, but he’d thought he wouldn’t be staying here, so it hadn’t occurred to him to interfere.
Sleep would be impossible now, he knew. Every sob was a fresh wrench of guilt, like a knife jabbing deeper into his chest. He unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it on the bed, started a fire as quietly as possible, then sat in the nearby chair and slowly sipped his brandy.
This was his fault. He was older and more experienced than Amy—if only by a few years—and so the duty had been his to put an end to things before they got out of hand. But he hadn’t done that. Instead he’d given in to emotion, abandoned honor and compassion, and tread all over this poor girl’s still-mending heart. And then he’d brought her here and abandoned her, too.
She was strong, and she would heal, and she’d probably forget him before long. She’d be better off without him. But thinking back on these last few days with Amy and the indescribable way she’d made him feel, he knew—sure as he knew the sun would rise in the east—that if he somehow could do it all over again, he would give in every time. He was a weak, despicable man, and that was the worst thing of all.
Though the brandy flowed a hot path down Colin’s throat, it failed to melt the knot in his chest. Draining the glass, he set it on the small table by his chair and stared into the fire, twisting his ring.
Wondering how long she’d been crying, he tried to envision her: hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, face puffy and swollen, creased from where she’d pressed it into the sheets to muffle those gut-wrenching sobs.
It was not a pretty mental picture.
Perhaps he could go to her—looking a fright, she might not be so difficult to resist. And she wasn’t likely to be in a romantic mood herself. He stood up, shrugged out of his surcoat and removed his waistcoat, the better to offer a friendly, comforting shoulder to cry on—then stopped short.
Who was he fooling?
He silently finished undressing, slipped into a robe, and padded softly out of his bedchamber, intending to head for the library. He needed a distraction.
But as he passed by her door, he heard a long moan. Soft and resonant, the sound ripped his wounded heart in two. He was into her chamber before he could form a coherent thought.
She was a long lump under the heavy quilt, her head buried beneath the covers.
He knelt by the bed. “Amy?”
“Colin?” She peeked out, then sat up. In the firelight, she looked beautiful—and not at all like he’d expected. Her face was pink and tear streaked, yes, but not even close to the puffy mess he’d imagined.
“What—what are you doing here?” She looked over the edge of the bed, taking in Colin’s state of undress.
He stood up, belting his robe tighter.
Her gaze slid down to his bare feet, then slowly back up to his face. She sniffled, dashing the tears from her cheeks with an impatient motion. “How long have you been back?”
“Long enough.”
“You’ve been…?”
“In the next room.”
“Marry come up. You heard me, then.”
She threw herself back to the mattress, pulling the covers over her rapidly reddening face. “Go away, please.”
Her body rolled toward him as his weight dropped onto the edge of the bed.
“Go away!”
He didn’t.
Amy lay rigid, apparently willing him to leave—or herself to magically vanish—until he folded the blanket away from her face. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked out, her eyes filling again.
“You’re sorry?” he asked, incredulous.
He couldn’t credit it. She was sorry.
“I’ve been…wallowing in my misery, I guess you could call it. I…haven’t been alone before tonight. Since the fire, I mean. Not all alone, where I was sure no one could hear me. Since my father died.” She sniffed and let out a long breath. “I woke up and thought I was alone…”
Colin heaved a sigh of relief—though he felt a twinge of embarrassment. Here he’d been, certain he was all-important in her life, wracked with guilt for hurting her, and she hadn’t been thinking of him at all. How vain could he be?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He gently wiped fresh tears away. “A good cry was probably just what you needed. I apologize for interrupting.”
“I was just feeling sorry for myself,” Amy said to her lap.
He believed her. But there was something in her voice…
And she wouldn’t look at him.
He lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Is that all?”
She nodded. “Though I did wish you were here with me,” she admitted softly.
Her eyes were wide and trusting, darkened in that compelling way that drew him in. Without thinking, he leaned over to kiss her, his mouth moving gently on hers in a silent apology.
It felt so…natural.
When he pulled away, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why did you come back?”
“I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed, knowing it was true the moment the words left him. “I never made any other plans. I couldn’t bear to think of you in my house and me somewhere else entirely.” He pushed a hand through his hair. What was he saying? ”Amy, I—”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. I know you’re promised, Colin, and I’ve a destiny of my own. But I’m not quite ready to meet that destiny, so for now I’m here. I know you have things you must do, but if you could save me an hour for cards or chess, or for showing me your house, or for…”
Or for kissing, he knew she was thinking. But she was mirroring his thoughts. It was impossible for him to stay away from her when she was so close by. Absolutely impossible.
He’d never been able to resist her pull. Never.
“All right,” he agreed. “The shops are closed tomorrow, but I’ll take you to order a few gowns on Monday, we’ll have them delivered Tuesday, and the next morning we’ll leave. Three more days you’ll stay here—and so will I. No one need know you’re here.”
“Won’t Lady Priscilla—”
“Shh,” he admonished, borrowing her gesture and placing his finger on her lips. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
Three days.
In truth, he had no idea how he could keep her presence secret from Priscilla or anyone else, but he would find a way.
“THREE DAYS,” Amy agreed solemnly. Three days. Three days more than she had any right to hope for or deserve.
As though to seal their secret pact, Colin lifted her hand and kissed the back, then, his gaze locked on hers, he turned her hand over and kissed the palm, his lips warm and tender. Amy closed her eyes as shimmering tendrils of feeling swept up her arm.
Colin moved closer, pulling her up to sit and gathering her into his arms. For a fleeting moment she worried that she wore nothing but her chemise—again—but then all thoughts fled when his mouth met hers.
Amy felt like she floated on a puffy, comforting cloud. She tasted warmed, rich brandy. By degrees the kiss grew deeper, possessive, imprinting the memory of him so deep inside her that she knew she’d always carry a part of him with her, though they be parted by a sea and the impossible gulf of lives that had never been meant to cross.
Colin kissed her for a long time, then pressed her cheek to his shoulder. He sat motionless, enjoying her light rose fragrance and listening to her ragged breathing, matched by his own. In the stillness, he could feel her heart thudding, for him. And he was seized momentarily by a profound sense of sadness, for what was, and what couldn’t be.
At last she lifted her head, raised a hand to shove the long, inky black strands from her face, and gazed at him wordlessly. Her eyes were deep purple, brimming over with a complicated blend of affection and pain.
Incredible, incredible pain.
He pulled her closer, unwilling to look into those sorrowful eyes just now. “Hush, love,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t think on it. We have three more days. It’s a lifetime.”
It’s not, she thought. But it had to be. It was all she would ever have.
Colin brushed his lips over hers once more. “Don’t think,” he repeated, and then he proceeded to make sure she couldn’t, with his lips and the incredible power he had at his disposal—the power of two souls that were made to be one.