was handsome.
His eyes were shut. That was a good thing. She waited for her heart to slow from relief, but instead it ratcheted up, as if bewildered at being in the presence of so much beauty. No doubt Michelangelo would have pulled her from the bed if he’d seen both of them, and he’d make Colin his new David. No man could possibly exude more perfection, and her heartbeat quickened.
She wasn’t supposed to be in this room. This was the domain of other, prettier, worldly women.
Colin’s eyes opened, and he stared at her drowsily.
“You’re awake,” Portia whispered.
“Yes.” Colin’s voice sounded husky, and something jolted near her heart, as if her heart had had a mad idea to disentangle itself from her ribs and muscles, blood and skin, to join him.
“You’re not supposed to be awake,” she said.
Colin frowned, and Portia’s skin heated. Heavens, why must the man be handsome even when he contorted his face into such an expression?
“I mean—not that you were supposed to be dead or anything,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”
He scrunched his face into another dubious expression. It didn’t matter how unsymmetrical he made his face, as if he were doing his best to imitate the gargoyles that lined certain cathedrals, the man remained handsome.
“You didn’t want me to be dead?” Colin’s eyes sparkled.
“I prefer you alive.”
“Ah.” Colin nodded knowledgeably, then tossed his blond locks. They glinted under the sunlight spreading from the window, only somewhat hampered by the drapes. “Then it must have been because of my handsome visage. All the women note it.”
She rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t the reason.”
“Then it must have been because of my wonderful conversation.”
“Indeed?”
“You seem dubious. I’ll have to work on my jokes and my pontifications about Renaissance artwork.”
“Renaissance paintings?”
He shrugged. “It’s my specialty. Every good house is bound to have a Titian somewhere, and women find me rattling off facts about foreign artwork appealing.”
Portia raised an eyebrow.
“Something about broadening their minds.” He leaned nearer her. “I also find it conducive to future seductions to spend time before a half-nude goddess or nymph.”
She snorted. “How rakish of you.”
He grinned nonchalantly, and a dimple formed on his cheek. She resisted the urge to touch it.
“I withdraw my statement,” Portia said. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely inconvenient if you were dead.”
Colin sputtered. “Oh?”
“It would give Niles the opportunity to tie a mathematical cravat on you. Think of the joy that would give him. And the lengthy procedure would not inconvenience you.”
He eyed her suspiciously, then rolled onto his side. “Is that so?”
“Oh, yes,” she lied. “You would be a most magnificent corpse. Dressed in a mathematical cravat for eternity.”
Colin grinned and took her wrist in his hands. “Take that back.”
“I-I didn’t mean it,” she giggled. “I don’t want you to be dead. Just—er—not—”
“—living?” Colin suggested with a growl.
“That would do,” she said, between giggles.
“That’s not good enough,” Colin said. “Apologize!”
“N-no,” she exclaimed. “You know I didn’t mean anything.”
Colin pulled her toward him, and she was suddenly conscious of hard muscles, not truly obscured by his shirt. His shirt couldn’t obscure the firmness of his chest, or the strength with which he held her in his arms, as if she didn’t need to worry about anything in the world.
“I believe the word you were seeking was sleeping,” Colin said.
“Er—yes.”
“Then say it.”
“I was hoping you were still sleeping,” she said.
“Not dead.”
“Not dead,” she said, but an odd wistfulness came over her, and her voice trembled.
Then she noticed something else. Something that seemed to be growing from his side of the bed.
“What is that?” she asked.
Colin’s face reddened. “That’s—er—not important.”
She frowned, and Colin inched away from her. He dropped his arms from her, and she shivered at the newfound coldness.
Clearly, she’d said something wrong. She glanced at him. The man’s smile had vanished.
“I don’t understand,” Portia said.
“Dash it, it’s morning.”
She blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He stared at her. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
The man was silent. He was being most odd.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Heavens. She didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re obviously a very attractive woman.”
She frowned, as if she might debate that point. Of all the things for her to have arguments about, that was certainly not a viable topic.
“I mean your bosom,” he said, conscious his voice was hoarser than he would have liked.
She glanced at her chest quickly. “Is my night rail too revealing?”
“Not in the least.”
She scrunched her face together in a skeptical manner.
“It should be far more revealing,” he said. “That night rail doesn’t reveal any