smile. âSelene. The girl with the dove.â
Her eyes flew to meet his, and, seeing the cautious hope that flared there, he cursed himself. The golden rules of engagementwere keep it emotionless, impersonal and keep it as a one-off. He had broken the first one in the tower, and the consequences of that had been difficult enough to deal with. He certainly wasnât going to break either of the others.
He looked away.
âYes,â she whispered. âI wonder what happened to it?â
Tristan paused. The next morning when heâd gone up to the dovecote at the top of the tower there had been no sign of the injured dove, which probably meant it had been taken by some predator in the night. But he wasnât entirely heartless. Not entirely.
âIt recovered and flew away, I think,â he said before taking a step backwards and half turning towards the stairs. âAnyway, itâs nice to see you again,â he said with blank courtesy, taking a step backwards and half turning towards the stairs, âbut now, if youâll excuse me, I shouldâ¦â
For the brief moments that Tristanâs gaze had held hers and a thousand wordless images had risen up between them, Lily was aware of the blood rushing to her face, her chest tightening and the breath catching in her throat.
It wasnât a good combination with morning sickness. As Tristan turned away she struggled to take air into her starved lungs as a swirling tide of nausea threatened to drag her under. Groping for the stone balustrade, she felt her legs buckle, and before she could grasp at anything for support the world had gone black and she was falling.
He caught her. Of course he caught her. It would have been too much to hope for that she could just faint quietly, in private, without her humiliation being witnessed by the man who had made it perfectly plain he wanted nothing to do with her. Held tightly against the strong wall of his chest, tugged by powerful currents of sickness and dizziness, she wanted to protest, but knew that the slightest movement on her part could tip her over the edge. And the thought of throwing up all over Tristan Romeroâs impeccable dinner jacket was enough to make her submit quietly.
He carried her easily, as if she really had the kind of petite build that she and Scarlet used to wish for. Cool air caressed her face, filling her lungs and sending oxygen tingling back into her bloodstream, so that she dared to risk opening her eyes again.
They were outside, walking alongside the wall of the castle. Her face was inches from the hard line of Tristanâs jaw, so she could clearly see the tautness in its set, the cleft in his chin, his full, finely shaped mouth. She took a deep breath in, and just the scent of his skin was enough to make her feel faint with longing again. Her body went rigid as she fought to escape his iron hold, desperate to put some distance between her treacherous, needy body and his hard, strong one.
âIâm fine nowâ¦Iâm so sorryâ¦Please, put me down.â
âWait.â
The word was a low snarl, and instantly Lily let the fight go out of her as humiliation and despair ebbed back. She had imagined this meeting a thousand times, planned how she would be perfectly reasonable, perfectly controlled and in command of her emotions as she told him the facts and reassured him that she expected nothing from him. No demands, no histrionics, no apologies.
And definitely no fainting.
They rounded a corner and found them selves at the side of the castle that faced the gardens, which lay in a sweeping arc before them. There was a scrolled iron bench set in the shelter of the castle wall; Tristan put Lily down on it, and stood back, looming over her.
She couldnât look at him, not trusting herself to keep the truth from showing on her face. Below, the lake was a disc of black, with the tower in its centre looking dark and forbidding. She couldnât look
Her eyes flew to meet his, and, seeing the cautious hope that flared there, he cursed himself. The golden rules of engagementwere keep it emotionless, impersonal and keep it as a one-off. He had broken the first one in the tower, and the consequences of that had been difficult enough to deal with. He certainly wasnât going to break either of the others.
He looked away.
âYes,â she whispered. âI wonder what happened to it?â
Tristan paused. The next morning when heâd gone up to the dovecote at the top of the tower there had been no sign of the injured dove, which probably meant it had been taken by some predator in the night. But he wasnât entirely heartless. Not entirely.
âIt recovered and flew away, I think,â he said before taking a step backwards and half turning towards the stairs. âAnyway, itâs nice to see you again,â he said with blank courtesy, taking a step backwards and half turning towards the stairs, âbut now, if youâll excuse me, I shouldâ¦â
For the brief moments that Tristanâs gaze had held hers and a thousand wordless images had risen up between them, Lily was aware of the blood rushing to her face, her chest tightening and the breath catching in her throat.
It wasnât a good combination with morning sickness. As Tristan turned away she struggled to take air into her starved lungs as a swirling tide of nausea threatened to drag her under. Groping for the stone balustrade, she felt her legs buckle, and before she could grasp at anything for support the world had gone black and she was falling.
He caught her. Of course he caught her. It would have been too much to hope for that she could just faint quietly, in private, without her humiliation being witnessed by the man who had made it perfectly plain he wanted nothing to do with her. Held tightly against the strong wall of his chest, tugged by powerful currents of sickness and dizziness, she wanted to protest, but knew that the slightest movement on her part could tip her over the edge. And the thought of throwing up all over Tristan Romeroâs impeccable dinner jacket was enough to make her submit quietly.
He carried her easily, as if she really had the kind of petite build that she and Scarlet used to wish for. Cool air caressed her face, filling her lungs and sending oxygen tingling back into her bloodstream, so that she dared to risk opening her eyes again.
They were outside, walking alongside the wall of the castle. Her face was inches from the hard line of Tristanâs jaw, so she could clearly see the tautness in its set, the cleft in his chin, his full, finely shaped mouth. She took a deep breath in, and just the scent of his skin was enough to make her feel faint with longing again. Her body went rigid as she fought to escape his iron hold, desperate to put some distance between her treacherous, needy body and his hard, strong one.
âIâm fine nowâ¦Iâm so sorryâ¦Please, put me down.â
âWait.â
The word was a low snarl, and instantly Lily let the fight go out of her as humiliation and despair ebbed back. She had imagined this meeting a thousand times, planned how she would be perfectly reasonable, perfectly controlled and in command of her emotions as she told him the facts and reassured him that she expected nothing from him. No demands, no histrionics, no apologies.
And definitely no fainting.
They rounded a corner and found them selves at the side of the castle that faced the gardens, which lay in a sweeping arc before them. There was a scrolled iron bench set in the shelter of the castle wall; Tristan put Lily down on it, and stood back, looming over her.
She couldnât look at him, not trusting herself to keep the truth from showing on her face. Below, the lake was a disc of black, with the tower in its centre looking dark and forbidding. She couldnât look
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