Ware nodded.
“Have I changed so much since then?”
With his mask dangling from one hand and her hand captured in the other, he turned abruptly and led her down the nearby flight of stairs to the garden. A gravel pathway bordered low yew hedges, which in turn bordered a lush center lawn and impressive fountain.
“The passing of time changes all of us,” he said. “But I think it was the passing of your dear Colin that changed you the most.”
The sound of Colin’s name affected Amelia deeply, provoking feelings of overwhelming sadness and regret. He had been her dearest friend, who later became the love of her heart. He was the nephew of her coachman and a Gypsy, but in her sheltered world they were equals. They had been playmates as children, then found their interest in each other changing. Deepening. Becoming less innocent.
Colin had matured into a young man whose exotic beauty and quiet strength of character had stirred her in ways she had not been prepared for. Thoughts of him had ruled her days, and dreams of stolen kisses had tormented her nights. He had been wiser than she, understanding that it was impossible for a peer’s daughter and a stableboy to ever be together. He had pushed her away, pretended to feel nothing for her, and broken her adolescent heart.
But in the end he had died for her.
Her silent exhale was shaky. Sometimes, just before she drifted into sleep, she permitted herself to think of him. She opened her heart and let the memories out—stolen kisses in the woods, passionate longing and budding desire. She had never felt that depth of emotion again and knew she never would. Some childish infatuations faded away. Her love for Colin had been built with firmer stuff, and it stayed with her. No longer a raging fire, but a softer warmth. Adoration enhanced by gratefulness for his sacrifice. Trapped between her father’s men and agents of the Crown, she could have been killed had Colin not spirited her away. A reckless, love-fueled rescue that had delivered her to safety at the cost of his precious life.
“You are thinking of him again,” Ware murmured.
“Am I so transparent?”
“As clear as glass.” He squeezed her hand, and she smiled fondly.
“Perhaps you think my reticence stems from my lingering affection for Colin, but it is my affection for you that restrains me.”
“Oh?”
Amelia could see that she had surprised him. They turned back toward the manse, following the subtle urging of the path. Brilliant light and the glorious strains of stringed instruments spilled out in abundance from the many open doorways, enticing strolling guests to linger close to the festivities. Others wended their way through the rear garden as they did, but all resisted straying too far.
“Yes, my lord. I worry that perhaps I will steal you from your great love.”
Ware laughed softly. “How fanciful you are.” He grinned and looked so handsome, she gazed a moment longer to admire him. “I admit to curious musings when you wear that faraway look, but that is the extent of my interest in affairs of the heart.”
“You have no notion of what you are missing.”
“Forgive me for being callous, but if what I am missing is the melancholy that clings to you, I want none of it. It is attractive on you and lends you an air of mystery that I find irresistible. Sadly, I fear I would not fare so well. I suspect I would appear wretched, and we cannot have that.”
“The Earl of Ware wretched?”
He gave a mock shudder. “Quite impossible, of course.”
“Quite.”
“So you see, you are perfect for me, Amelia. I enjoy your company. I enjoy your honesty and our ability to converse freely about nearly everything. There is no uncertainty or fear of reprisal for a careless act. You cannot hurt me, and I cannot hurt you, because we do not attribute actions to emotions that are not there. If I am thoughtless, it is not because I seek to injure you, and you know this. Our association is one I will appreciate and value until I take my last breath.”
Ware paused when they reached the bottom step that would lead them back up to the terrace. Their brief spell of privacy was nearly at an end. Her desire to spend unhindered time with him was an added impetus to marriage. It was only the sexual congress that would end their evenings that she resisted.
The memory of feverishly exchanged kisses with Colin haunted her, and she could not bring herself to risk disappointment with Ware. She dreaded the possibility of awkwardness intruding on their closeness. The earl was comely and charming and perfect. How would he look when he was flushed and disheveled? What sounds would he make? How would he move? What would he expect of her?
It was apprehension that goaded these ponderings, not anticipation.
“And what of the sex?” she asked.
His head swiveled toward her, and he froze with his foot poised above the step. The depth of his blue eyes sparkled with merriment. Ware backed down from the stair and faced her directly. “What of it?”
“Do you not worry that it will be . . . ?” She struggled to find the correct word.
“No.” There was a wealth of assurance in the negation.
“No?”