“Aye, my lord. Rose relieved my headache well.” She clasped her hands behind her and tilted her head. “Do you still believe me mad?”
“I never said you were mad.”
“You implied that my sickness was of the mind, rather than the body.”
He lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug of dismissal. “I merely made the suggestion.”
“Is there any merit to the suggestion, think you?”
His brows raised thoughtfully. “That remains to be seen.”
“And when it is seen, what then? Will you find meunsuitable?”
His gaze raised slightly to look over her head at the window, where Stephen still sat. When he looked back at her, his face was severe. “Or perhaps your own resolve falters?”
Was he jealous? The thought pleased her. She glanced back at the window, at the shaved moon. She must burn his hair tomorrow night. And since he hadjust arrived to visit with her father, this was the perfect opportunity to take her leave and slip into his chambers.
“I assure you, my lord, nothing has changed.” She smiled. “In fact, I must be sure I have a dress suitable for the wedding.”
She bid good night to everyone and left, hurrying down the corridors, looking over her shoulder repeatedly for fear of being followed. She paused in front of his door, looking up and down the hall before entering. Once inside, her heart thumped erratically in her throat, in terror of being caught.Hurry, hurry, hurry.She ran to the bedchamber and fumbled with the latch, her hands trembling violently. She searched frantically through his cabinet, but his comb was immaculate and free of hairs. She found several of the thongs he used to tie his hair back, but they were also hair-free.
She muttered darkly to herself about fastidious men as she snuck back to her own chambers. What to do now? It seemed she had little choice but to rip it from his scalp. Her stomach flopped at the very idea. How could she possibly contrive such a situation? A sharp rap startled her out of her ruminations. She flung the door open, surprised and somewhat unsettled to find the object of her scheming on the other side.
“My lord?”
“You left your dog.”
Broc sat obediently at Nicholas’s feet. When she called the dog, he trotted into the room and situated himself in the center of her bed.
“My thanks,” she said.
They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. Gillian’s gaze darted repeatedly from his eyes to his hair, her fingers itching to yank some out. How to go about it?
“May I come in?” He didn’t wait for her to invite him. He strode past her, pushing the door closed after him. Gillian’s heart raced as she remembered the evening before. More kisses? She hoped so.
He crossed to the hearth and poked at the fire with the iron. She had the impression he stalled, reluctant to speak.
“Are you troubled, my lord?”
After a few more unnecessary pokes at the coals, he set the iron aside and turned to her. “I’m beginning to have some reservations.”
Gillian didn’t immediately understand. Reservations? And then it came to her like a slap. Reservations about marrying her. After all she’d gone through, now he had reservations? She would not give up so easily. She stormed across the room.
“Reservations? Why? Do you honestly think I’m mad? Do I look like a madwoman?”
He smiled slightly, brows raised. “Well . . .”
“Because of the curse?”
He looked heavenward before giving her a look of long-suffering patience. “Ah, no, though all this talk of curses has become tiresome.”
“What then?”
He inhaled deeply, eyes fixed on her, and exhaled slowly through his nose. Gillian raised her brows in expectation. He seemed to be preparing himself to saysomething unpleasant, though she’d not have thought a man such as himself would be reluctant to say anything. Her gut churned in anticipation, hands fisted at her sides.
“I have thought long about this . . . well, not really long, a few minutes, but I’ve thoughthardon it.” He steepled his fingers and paced past her. “I know I may be . . . well . . . Imaybe wrong.”
When he turned toward her again, he only stared at her, lips parted. But no words passed his lips. He seemed at a complete loss.
