Amethyst (Jewel Trilogy, Book 1)

by Lauren Royal

  "Having coerced that admission from you," he declared now, "I proclaim my practical joke an unqualified success."

  "Wait a minute, Lord Greystone. You were forced to eat two of those putrid snails, the same as I was. Surely a superior practical joke would not require its perpetrator to suffer the same consequences."

  "You would dare to criticize the quality of my joke?" Though Colin's eyes went wide with pretended outrage, in truth he couldn't have been more pleased with Amy than he was at the moment.

  He was pleased with her good-humored response to his joke. Pleased with her rediscovered ease in his presence. Pleased with her quick wit, pleased with her high color and those incredible sparkling amethyst eyes…all in all, he was very pleased.

  Dangerously pleased.

  "Mrs. Goldsmith, what qualifications do you have to recommend you as a joke judge?"

  "My qualifications are beside the point entirely. The fact is, I saw the joke you played on Kendra a few days ago, and she told me about Benchley's fake murder and other tricks you've played over the years." She raised her chin. "The fact is, this joke was just not up to your usual standards."

  Raising a brow, he brought his nose to within an inch of hers. "Is that so?"

  Amy inhaled his distinctive scent, and her heart beat a little faster at his nearness. "Absolutely. Without a doubt—" She broke off as his mouth came down on hers, cutting off any further aspersions on his joke, not to mention her air supply.

  Their good-natured argument was forgotten as his lips covered hers with demanding finality. Her senses reeled with now-familiar feelings of pleasure, and she instinctively moved closer to the source, parting her lips in invitation. Slick and warm in her mouth, his tongue sent new spirals of delight throughout her awakened body.

  Urgently, Colin eased her back onto the couch. He knew he was acting irrationally; he'd been irrational since the day he'd walked into her shop. But she would be gone tomorrow, and he could be rational for the rest of his life.

  Besides, the two of them couldn't be as good together as he remembered. It wasn't possible.

  It is possible, his inner voice told him. It's possible and true, and she's beautiful and sweet and intelligent and…You're a fool, Colin Chase, the voice said, a fool if you let her get away.

  But a louder voice was there, too, the voice that Colin considered his honor and his logic. It drowned out the other one, telling him he was committed to a lady who fit his every requirement. Unbreakably committed.

  He should be committed to Bedlam, he thought briefly as his fingers worked feverishly to detach the embroidered stomacher from Amy's bodice. Then he bent his head to capture her lips once more, and the voices were quieted for good.

  Caught up in her feelings, Amy barely noticed her stomacher drop to the floor, and the next thing she knew, her bodice had been magically unlaced and her breasts sprang free between the parted front, veiled by her loose chemise.

  Colin's fingers teased through the thin fabric, and her nipples swelled and tightened in reaction to his expert touch. A delicious shudder rippled through her as she ran her hands up and down his back. Feeling lightheaded, she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his breeches and slipped her hands inside to feel the warm skin beneath.

  He sat up and tugged off one of his boots. Bereft of his mouth and body, Amy marshaled her senses and realized what he was doing. "Colin—not here!"

  He reached for his other boot. "Yes, here," he said in a husky tone. "Whyever not?" His stockings followed his boots, thrown to the floor in an untidy heap.

  "It's not…there's no bed!" Hot color stained Amy's cheeks. One was supposed to make love in the bedchamber, wasn't one? Her parents, had they done so at all—and she admitted to herself that she was living proof of the deed—had certainly never made love in the study. Of course, they hadn't had a study, but that was beside the point.

  While Amy worried about their circumstances, Colin pulled her feet into his lap and slipped off her shoes, adding them to the pile of assorted clothing on the floor. With a devilish grin, he plucked off her garters and sensuously rolled down one stocking, his fingers brushing feathery paths along the length of her leg. Lifting her foot, he removed the stocking and pressed a spine-tingling kiss to her sole.

  Her toes curled as the sensation shot all the way up her leg and further, straight to the part of her he'd awakened the night before.

  She shivered, and Colin chuckled.

  "We need no bed, love," he murmured in a low, passion-roughened voice, while removing her second stocking in a manner similar to the first. "This couch will do fine. Or the floor—or the desk, for that matter."

  At her sharp indrawn breath of shock, he chuckled again. "The grass is nice," he continued, slowly sliding up her body to lie atop her, "but it's a bit cold out there right now. The bath is wonderful. I haven't tried the stairs…yet."

  He bent his head to kiss her throat, his warm mouth caressing the hollows there. She shivered again. His lips trailed up to her ear, and she could feel his heated breath as he whispered, "No…I think the stairs would be uncomfortable…"

  Burning all over, from both his touch and the sensual images his words evoked, she turned her head and caught his lips with hers.

  His kiss was unhurried, his mouth exploring hers as though he were trying to memorize every nook and cranny. She felt drugged, and time slowed until nothing else mattered but his taste, his scent, his touch.

  With shaking fingers, she unlaced the top of his shirt and slipped her hands inside to grasp his shoulders. Her palms swept the corded muscles, then traveled over his chest. She felt and heard his breathing become uneven, matching hers.

  Muttering a soft curse, Colin leapt up and drew the shirt over his head and off in one smooth motion. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet and pushed her gown off her shoulders and down past her hips, until the worn lavender fabric pooled at her feet.

  He stepped back to look at her.

  "The light," she protested weakly, gesturing with a sweep of one arm at the oil lamps she'd been reading by a short time ago.

  Making love half-cloaked by flickering firelight was one thing, but surely he didn't intend to unclothe her in the bright lamplight?

  "You're beautiful in it," he responded huskily. His hungry, seductive gaze roamed her body. "Like a painting by Sir Peter Lely."

  Amy's gaze shot down to her diaphanous chemise, and a blush heated her face. Lely was famed for his paintings of court ladies. Nude court ladies.

  Resigned to the fact that he had no intention of dousing the revealing lamps, Amy shyly perused him in return. Though the room wasn't overly warm, his broad shoulders were glazed with a thin sheen of perspiration. The light sprinkling of crisp black hair on his chest tapered in toward his waist, disappearing into the waistband of his breeches, where his long fingers worked to loosen the laces. He impatiently tugged the tight breeches down and off.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of him, large and ready. Surely that wasn't the same part of him that had slid inside her last night, was it? But though her cheeks flushed at the mere thought, her body moved toward him of its own volition, leaning against his solid chest as one hand closed around his velvet warmth.

  Colin gasped. He reached for the hem of her chemise, pulled it up and over her head and tossed it away, even as he guided her back to the couch and came down on top of her.

  The woven fabric was rough under her bare skin, but Amy's senses careened, and she could have been atop the finest linen sheets for all she was aware of it. Her awareness was for Colin only: his warm weight; his hot, wet mouth; his already familiar spicy scent.

  His lips played over her face and neck, while his fingers roamed her body, grazing her arms, her legs, her breasts, her belly. Wherever he touched, tendrils of desire raced from his fingertips to her core, until she thought she would faint from anticipation unless he touched her there.

  Finally, finally, his strong fingers urged her thighs apart, and when she felt his intima
te caress, warm against her slickness, she thought she would explode with relief. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

  "Oh, Colin," she breathed in a tremulous whisper.

  "Oh, Christ," he grated out. In one lithe motion, he came over her and buried himself in her taut sheath.

  A moan of ecstasy escaped her lips.

  He froze. "Oh, love," he whispered in an agony of concern mixed with desire, "is it too soon? Are you too sore?"

  "No," she whispered on a sigh. "God in heaven, no."

  For one second her face flamed at the intimacy of his question, for the next second she was astonished that her soreness had indeed disappeared, was forgotten completely, and then she felt him move inside her and all thoughts fled. She arched against him, abandoning herself to the whirl of sensation.

  At first Colin shifted slowly, until she squirmed beneath him in a frenzy of passion. Then he moved faster, matching every arching motion of her straining body, until waves of burning sweetness overcame her. Her arms tightened around him, her breath came in long, shuddering moans, and when she heard his cry of release she was flooded with an amazing sense of completeness.

  Lying beneath his welcome weight, Amy filled her lungs with great gulps of air, more satisfying than the most splendid meal. Colin showered her face and neck with small, wet kisses, and she marveled at her feelings of attachment, so new and so perfect.

  "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.

  When he finally eased himself off her, molding himself against her on the narrow couch, Amy made a small sound of loss. She turned to him, wrapped an arm around his middle, pressed her satin breasts against his chest, entwined her legs with his.

  He groaned in contentment. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.

  She shook her head and wiggled against him, attempting to get closer still—and making him nearly fall off the edge.

  He caught himself just in time. "We don't really fit here, you know," he teased, raising his eyebrows a fraction.

  The moment was shattered. Amy came up on an elbow. "I told you so," she retorted good-naturedly, "before…before…"

  "And so you did," Colin interjected, saving her from saying what they'd done out loud. Standing, he took her hand and pulled her up beside him. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the bedchamber next door. Still holding her by the hand, he headed out to the corridor.

  She blushed prettily at finding herself casually walking beside a man, the both of them stark naked. He didn't leave her much time to dwell on the strangeness of it, however, as he seemed unable to resist stopping every few steps to draw her into his arms for a long, lingering kiss. When they reached the chamber, she broke away and ran for the bed, diving under the quilts.

  "Brrr!" she said with an expressive shiver, pretending she'd run for cover because of the cold—and not fooling Colin for a second.

  He stirred up the fire and added a couple of logs. 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.

  From the safety of the bed, Amy watched him boldly, enjoying the view more than she would ever have thought possible. She felt like a whole new person, an entirely different Amy.

  Amethyst. She pronounced it in her head, drawn-out and elegant. Amethyst Chase. Lady Greystone.

  No, she decided, she was still Amy. "Lady Greystone" would never design and create jewelry, never own and run a shop. She wouldn't—couldn't—let herself contemplate the possibility of anything permanent with Colin. Lucky circumstances had resulted in these short hours of bliss, and it was almost time to return to the real world.

  But must she be wrenched from his side so soon? She knew full well it couldn't last, but they had scarcely discovered each other. She cast around wildly for an idea, any idea, and just as he crawled into bed beside her, she came up with one. "Colin?"

  He turned toward her expectantly. "Yes?"

  The idea suddenly seemed stupid. It was impossible to believe he would agree to it.

  Still…it was worth a try. "I—I know we have to leave tomorrow, but…"

  "But what?"

  "Do you think you could take me to London?" she asked in a rush, before she lost her nerve. "I have no clothes at all, not anything, you know, and—well, it would take me naught but a couple of days to purchase everything I need, and then—"

  "I'd be happy to take you to London first for a few days. We'll find you a chaperone there, and—"

  "—I'd prefer not to arrive in France with nothing—"

  "Amy." Colin leaned forward and planted a warm kiss on her forehead. "I said I'd be happy to take you."

  "Oh." It had worked. She could hardly believe it. A few more days with Colin—it was a dream come true.

  "We'll stay at the family town house," he said.

  Amy's heart galloped with excitement. "Thank you," she breathed.

  "My pleasure, love." He lifted her chin to lock his lips on hers, and she melted into his arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Retrieving her book from the study, Amy dragged her trunk to the front door and sat on it to watch through the narrow window. She unfolded the note and read it again. Amy, it said in Colin's bold printing,

  I have gone with Benchley to retrieve the carriage. Please ready yourself to leave. We will breakfast on the way to London.

  Greystone

  That was it. No "Dear Amy." No "Love, Colin." Amy told herself nothing was wrong—Colin simply wasn't demonstrative on paper—but she knew she was fooling herself. The Colin who had made love to her three times during the long night had vanished.

  She looked up from the note to see the carriage pass under the portcullis and onto the little circular drive in the courtyard. When Colin opened the door, she was standing by her trunk, book in hand, the note tucked safely away.

  "Good morning, my lord," she said as cheerfully as she could manage.

  Colin winced at the formal address. "Good morning," he muttered back, avoiding her gaze.

  He lifted the trunk—more carefully than he had before he'd known what it contained—and carried it to the carriage. Amy trailed slowly. Colin waved her inside and returned to lock the door, then climbed in opposite her, and they were off.

  "Breakfast?" he asked, pulling Kendra's basket from under his seat and setting it on the floor between them. He reached in, selected an apple, and polished it on his shirt before taking a bite.

  Amy dug out another apple. Any minute now, she expected him to smile and tease her or start pointing out the features of his estate, but as time crept by she realized it was less and less likely.

  They drove a mile or so in akward silence, the only sounds those of the wheels on the rutted, slushy road, the steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves, and the juicy crunch of apples being chewed and swallowed. Colin fetched a napkin from the basket and deposited his apple core in it, then held it out for Amy to do the same. 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 could 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 to make you think I have?"

  "Well, no…" He hesitated, then moved over to her side and placed an arm around her shoulders. "No, you said nothing." He stared out the window. "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?"

  Amy bit her lip. He had a point. They may not have been her friends, but the fact remained she was acquainted with many of London's elite.

  Could he possibly be suggesting they share the town house but not the same bed? Having already surrendered her innocence to Colin, she couldn't imagine living in celibacy with him, even for only a few days. Why should she, anyway? In his circle all the women were promiscuous. People would assume the two of them were sleeping together whether they were or not.

  "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."

  Colin scooted as far away as the bench would allow, his hands resting on her shoulders as he looked into her eyes. "You don't know what course your life will take, Amy." 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.

  The implication was obvious. He wouldn't risk anyone finding out they'd been intimate, as a relationship with the likes of her could only be an embarrassment to him. She didn't believe for a second he was protecting her reputation.