by Lauren Royal
Ford put a hand on her shoulder. "She thinks you're funny, Colin."
Amy blushed, but Colin just grinned. "I appreciate a woman who appreciates my jokes."
Amy's face heated even more. "I'll—I'll be right back," she hiccuped between bursts of giggles.
She had to gain control of herself.
Leaving the room, she wove her way through the corridor, laughing, and down the stairs, leaning against the wall at intervals. They must think I'm drunk, she thought—but she knew better. She was merely giddy from close proximity to Colin, intensified by a feeling of well-being, surrounded by laughing people who loved one another.
Maybe her family hadn't shouted, but they hadn't laughed together much either.
The laughter made her feel slightly sick, and she hugged her stomach and aching ribs. At the foot of the staircase, she gazed through tear-blurred eyes at the tall wooden front doors. The quadrangle beyond enticed her, the crisp night air exactly what she needed. She stumbled through the entrance hall and out the doors, laughing all the way, almost tripped down the steps outside, and fell into a heap on the damp grass.
As her giggles diminished, she took delicious breaths of cold air deep into her lungs. At last she sat up, wiping the tears from her cheeks between hiccups. Placing her hands behind her on the grass, she leaned back and gazed up at the sky, enjoying the feel of the frigid air on her hot face.
Colin came into the quadrangle and crouched down beside her.
"The family elected me to check on you," he said wryly. "Better now?"
"Uh-huh." She watched a dark cloud creep slowly across the moon. "I'm sorry. I guess I made a fool of myself." She hiccuped, more loudly than she would have liked. "Excuse me."
"No excuses necessary," Colin declared chivalrously. "And you made no fool of yourself, either. To the contrary, we're all pleased to see you've recovered your spirits."
Silent, Amy continued watching the clouds gather, dark shapes against the starlit sky. She hiccuped again.
"I'll take you to Dover tomorrow," Colin said quietly beside her. "I'm sorry Jason and Ford haven't found the time to do it."
Suddenly, the air seemed cold instead of refreshing. She shivered and sat up straight, folding her legs beneath her. "It wasn't a problem. I've been fine here."
His family's faint laughter drifted through a window. She felt a stab of pain at the thought of leaving them all; she was even growing used to their inevitable arguments. But it was only by chance that she'd been afforded the luxury of being a part of them for a while, and her time was up.
She shivered again.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"A little bit."
He moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her tight against him. "You'll catch your death out here. We should go back inside."
His heat penetrated the side of her body, warming her all over. She wouldn't have moved an inch for the world. "In a minute," she stalled.
He squeezed her shoulder. "How is your hand?"
"Fine." She spoke softly, fearing he might pull away. "It healed weeks ago."
Colin took her hand to examine it in the moonlight. "Mmm," he murmured, rubbing his warm palm over the back. "So it did."
More laughter sounded from above. Quite suddenly, his fingers came around and laced through hers, and then, to her complete surprise, he brought their joined hands to his lips and held them there.
Amy bit her lip and closed her eyes. When she felt Colin move around to kneel in front of her, she opened them to find his only inches away.
"How are you, Amy?" he asked in hushed tones, searching her face for the answer.
"I'm better," she whispered, overwhelmed by his intensity. "Much, much better."
"That's good," he replied, then swiftly, before either of them could think about it, he pulled her hard against him and brought his mouth to hers.
She was shocked at her surge of response. Her arms wound over his shoulders and around his neck; her fingers meshed themselves in his thick, silky hair. Inexperienced though she was, her lips opened, inviting him in.
As he eased her backward onto the damp, fragrant grass, his mouth trailed down, and she felt the heady, moist sensation of his lips against her arched neck. He stretched out, half on top of her. She'd slept next to him at the inn, but this was different, and her body felt on fire in a hundred places where it made contact with his.
Her senses spun dizzily, and all she could think was that she hoped this would never stop. He raised his head to choke out her name in a strangled voice before his lips recaptured hers, more urgent this time. He tasted of Rhenish, but, underneath, he tasted of Colin. A unique, delicious flavor she knew she'd search for the rest of her life.
His mouth felt hot and demanding, his kisses damp on her chin and her throat and finally between her breasts framed in the low neckline of her borrowed gown. She smelled his hair, his scent, not smoky this time, but warm and clean and masculine. His tongue traced a shivery line from her cleavage back up her neck, and she called out his name in a breathy cry.
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.
Amy looked up, startled. She hadn't known—nobody had thought to inform her.
"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 the anger was seeping out of her already.
Things were as they were.
She wasn't suited to him, and there was nothing she could do about it.
"Amy," he began, rising on his knees to face her.
When she instinctively scooted backward, a flash of disappointment crossed his face. She looked down, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt.
"I'm sorry," he finally muttered.
They were silent for a long minute. Then Amy looked up and locked her gaze on his.
"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.
"We'd better get some sleep," he said in a voice devoid of any emotion. "I mean to get an early start."
His long legs carried him up the steps and through the door without hesitation. Amy took a deep breath and raised herself up, wondering if her own legs would carry her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Colin cursed fluently, aiming a boot at the side of the carriage for emphasis.
"My lord, we'll have to stop here," Benchley concluded.
"Oh, is that right?" Colin's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I imagined we could drag along to Dover on three wheels."
Benchley usually stood as tall as possible to compensate for his deficient height, but now his shoulders hunched over and he positively drooped.
"My apologies," Colin hastened to say. Though he'd be hiring more servants in the near future—a
s soon as there was lodging available for them at Greystone—at this point Benchley was his valet, butler, coachman, cook, and serving-maid all rolled into one. He didn't deserve Colin's misplaced wrath. "Damn me, but I'm vexed, is all."
"I quite understand, my lord. I'll just take one of the horses and return with a wheel and a wright to install it. You two sit tight and eat the dinner Lady Kendra sent. I'll be back in no time."
"The hell you will." Colin gestured angrily at the sky. "This storm is due to kick up any minute."
As though on cue, a few snowflakes drifted down from the clouds.
Benchley brushed a flake off his beak of a nose. "I fear you're right, my lord. I'm not certain I'll be able to find a wheelwright willing to come out in this weather."
The clouds that had begun gathering last night looked unequivocally threatening now. The family had tried to talk Colin into postponing this journey, but he'd been adamant. He meant to deliver Amy to a France-bound ship, and he meant to do it today.
Damn the broken wheel.
The thought of spending extra time with Amy, in a freezing carriage going nowhere, was daunting. The only thing colder than the weather was her attitude. They'd spent the first short part of their journey in total silence, in diagonal corners on opposite seats, each with their nose buried in a book.
Spending the afternoon cooped up with her in here was unthinkable.
"Pay the wheelwright whatever it takes." He dug in his pouch, slapped some coins into Benchley's hand. "The one saving grace is we happen to be close to Greystone. I'll take Mrs. Goldsmith there on the other horse. When the wheel is fixed, ride on over and we'll be on our way."
Colin helped Benchley unhitch one of the matched bays and sent him off with a smack on the horse's rump. Then he climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Amy, shutting the door against the frigid air.
Amy looked up from the book she'd been struggling to read in the failing light. "Yes?" she asked in a frosty tone.
"The wheel is broken," he began.
"I surmised as much." Amy shut her book. "I heard every word you uttered, foul and otherwise."
"Benchley has ridden off for help," Colin explained anyway. "We'll ride the other bay to Greystone and wait for him there."
"How far is Greystone?"
"A mile and a half, or thereabouts."
"I'll walk."
"No, you won't," Colin declared.
"I'm not riding any horse."
He knew she was unhappy with him, but did she have to contradict him at every turn?
"I won't allow you to walk. It's snowing, and you have no cloak. You'd freeze to death before you made it halfway."
"It's snowing?" Shooting him a skeptical glance, she rubbed a circle of condensation off the window with her fist. She peered outside, wrapped the blanket tighter about herself, and leaned back into the corner. "It's snowing."
Colin looked out the viewhole she'd created.
"Damn, it's getting worse than I expected." Her mocking expression made him bristle. "It's not my fault we're surprised with a November snow. For God's sake, we haven't seen snow this far south in three years. How the hell was I supposed to predict such an occurrence?"
"It was cold regardless. You could have waited for decent weather before insisting—"
"I have my reasons for needing to get on with this."
"Why? So you can get rid of me once and for all?"
"No," he said too quickly. She'd hit too close to home. "I'm sorry this happened."
Her response was a stony stare.
"I've already said I'm sorry for the way I've treated you."
She remained tight lipped.
His hands fisted on his knees as he fought to control his tone. "We need to get to Greystone, and at the rate you're moving this will be a full-blown blizzard before we even get out of the carriage."
Her icy mask fell, and she shrank further into the corner. "I cannot ride a horse."
"What?" His hands relaxed, and he rubbed them on his thighs. "Whyever not?"
"I've never ridden a horse," she confessed in a choked voice. "I cannot do it; I just cannot."
"People ride horses all the time."
"Other people."
"You've never been on a horse. What makes you think you won't like it?"
"I didn't say I've never been on a horse. I said I've never ridden a horse. Papa put me on one once, in Hyde Park, when I was eight. I was up so high, and this thing under me moved, and I screamed until he pulled me off. I swore I'd never get on a horse again."
Colin couldn't believe what he was hearing. They needed to be on their way, and now. "You're not eight anymore, Amy."
"I cannot. I just cannot. The animal is ten times my weight, it has a brain all its own— why, it could buck me off, or run under a tree and make me hit my head on a branch, or—"
"Now you're babbling." He reached for her hand to pull her out.
Snatching it back, she burrowed even further into the corner and tucked the blanket tighter. "I'm sorry. If I cannot walk, then I'll just wait here. I have a blanket, a book, and food. I'm prepared to stay until Benchley returns."
"This storm could last until morning," Colin argued, though he hoped to hell it wouldn't. "You're coming with me, and you're coming on the horse. I'll hold on to you. You'll be fine." He flung open the door, grabbed her hand from beneath the blanket, and pulled her up and out of the carriage in one smooth motion.
Glaring, she shivered in her blanket while Colin unhitched the horse. He watched her surreptitiously, his earlier annoyance rapidly turning to amusement. Imagine, a grown woman being scared of a docile animal. Surely once she was riding, she would see it wasn't frightening.
When the horse was free, he motioned her over. "I suggest you ride astride—you'll feel a lot more secure that way than sidesaddle."
"Sidesaddle?" She shot him an accusatory glare. "There's no saddle."
"Up you go," he said cheerfully, his laced fingers providing a foothold to boost her.
"You go first."
"Amy," he said with an exasperated sigh, "if I get on first, I won't be able to help you up."
She huffed, then clenched her jaw and stepped onto his hands, swinging her leg over awkwardly.
And almost fell off the other side.
Her screech pierced Colin's ears even as he leapt to right her. Seated at last, her eyes wide with fear, she wrinkled her nose. "He smells terrible."
Her skirts were hitched up in disarray, and the look on her face was so comical that Colin had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"He feels warm," she reported. "And scratchy. And very alive." The horse took a small step backward, and she shrieked.
"It's all right," Colin soothed. "He's not going anywhere."
He turned back to the carriage, muttering to himself.
"Wh-where are you going?" she yelled after him. "Come back! You cannot leave me alone on a live beast!"
He leaned into the carriage to fetch Kendra's basket of food. "I was just getting our dinner."
After swinging up easily behind her, he held the basket in one hand and Amy firmly against himself with the other. His arm reached almost all the way around her waist.
"Better?"
She nodded. He waited until she relaxed back against him, then urged the horse at a slow walk toward Greystone.
They moved—an entire twenty feet.
"Stop!"
Colin didn't. "You're doing fine, Amy."
"No! I mean, we have to go back!" She twisted, trying to face him. "We left my trunk!"
He reined in, swearing under his breath. "Oh, no. We're not lugging that damned trunk to Greystone. It'll be here when we get back."
"No—it must come with me," she insisted, sounding panicked. She looked up and back at him, bumping her head on his chin in the process. "I'll get it myself if I have to." To emphasize her threat, she leaned to the side as though she were determined to slide off.
Colin clutched at her. "What
the hell's in that blasted trunk that makes it so important?"
She gritted her teeth. "Everything I own."
The same answer she'd given before. He was certain she was hiding something from him, but then tears filled her eyes and he found himself climbing off the horse. He set the basket on the ground and headed back to the carriage.
"Thank you so much," she called to his back.
It was the first civil thing she'd uttered to him all morning. He hadn't a clue how he'd manage to carry Amy, the trunk, and their dinner on one horse, but he supposed it would be worth the effort, if she would act pleasant as a result.
Another shriek rang out as he stepped into the carriage. "It's moving! The beast is about to run away!"
"Pull back on the reins," he shouted.
"The what? Oh, God in heaven, he's leaning down! He's going to roll over on top of me and crush me, I just know it!"
Alarmed, Colin backed out of the carriage. The horse had moved, all right—all of three feet. His head lowered, he was munching contentedly on a clump of grass by the roadside.
"God in heaven is right." Colin hefted the trunk and made his way toward her. "Save me, please."
"What did you say?"
"I said I hope you're pleased I'm saving your trunk."
When he heaved the small but heavy trunk onto the horse's back, the poor animal turned its head to look at him dolefully. Colin sighed. He found it hard to believe the lengths he would go to in order to placate Amethyst Goldsmith.
"All right." He looked to her. "Now move back so I can ride in front of you."
"In front of me? How will you hold on to me?"
"I cannot hold on to you and balance the trunk, Amy."
She tightened her knees around the horse's middle, as though she expected him to haul her off. "I'll balance the trunk."
He looked at the heavy trunk and back to her, drumming his free fingers against his thigh. "I think not. Of course, we can leave the trunk here…"
"No," she capitulated. "I'll move."
She inched back until Colin nodded. Keeping a hand on the trunk, he leaned to scoop up Kendra's basket. "Here, you'll have to carry this."
She gazed at him dubiously, but took it and wisely kept quiet.
Still balancing the trunk with one hand, he managed to mount the horse without kicking her in the face, a feat he felt deserved her undying admiration.