Gillian didn’t think she could love him more than she did at that moment. She had no words, so she kissed him, touching his mouth with her lips and fingers. He kissed her back, but with restraint. He broke the kiss off, holding her head between his palms.
“I have one more reservation.”
His expression was so serious that Gillian’s heart stopped. “What is it?”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Before we wed, you put something into my wine.”
There was no way for Gillian to master her reaction or lie her way out of this. The blood drained from her face, and her mouth worked soundlessly. His hands tightened on her head, as if he meant to crush her skull between them.
“There can be nothing between us if there’s not trust, and I can’t trust you if you’re trying to poison me.”
“No!” Gillian burst out. “Not poison—I would never!”
One brow twitched slightly. “That’s good. As I amnot dead, and you don’t seem terribly disappointed about that, I surmised that it was not a lethal poison, but several other unpleasant possibilities present themselves.”
“I would never cause you harm, Nicholas, I vow it. What I put in your drink . . . it was harmless. Surely you see that, you’re healthy and hale as ever.”
He released her head and pushed himself higher on his elbows, though he still lay between her sprawled thighs. Sleek black hair spilled over his dark shoulders. “Then what was it?”
Gillian bit her lip, gazing up at him helplessly. She did not want to tell him. Would rather drink poison herself than tell him. She felt trapped beneath him, and she squirmed, pushing her hands against his shoulders. He caught her wrists and pressed them into the pillow on either side of her head.
“I’m not moving until you tell me.”
All affection had fled from his countenance. He stared down at her, dark and piratical, and determined to have his way.
Gillian worried her bottom lip and closed her eyes. She couldn’t say it.
“The longer you try me, the worse it will be for you when I discover the truth.”
“Fine!” Gillian burst out, eyes screwed tightly shut. “This . . . this . . . fondness you have for me . . . it’s not real.”
He flexed his hips against her, nudging his hardness against her so that she gasped and instinctively arched into him.
“It’s not? Feels real,” he murmured.
Her body was on fire—a full body blush of complete mortification. “It’s not real . . . none of it. It’s a love philter. I gave it to you so you would fall in love with me.”
Her face was scalding. She wanted to sink into the bed and let it swallow her. He was so still and quiet that she cracked an eye and peered up at him.
He looked as though he wanted to laugh but valiantly fought the urge. “A love philter?”
Gillian nodded and jerked at her wrists. He held them fast.
She turned her head away, staring blankly across the room. “I pray you, let me go.”
His breath blew warm across her breasts. “I cannot, my lady, I’m under your spell.”
She bucked violently. Now he would humiliate her with it! She caught him in the ribs and he grunted, falling full length on her. His face was buried in her neck, and his shoulders shook with laughter.
Since struggling was useless, Gillian lay limply beneath him, her embarrassment transforming to indignant anger. “Why is this amusing? It has clearly worked!”
“Oh, clearly.” This made him laugh harder. Gillian waited him out, temper simmering. It was not remotely amusing to her.
After a time he gained some semblance of control and pushed himself off her. When she tried to escape, he hooked a long, muscled leg over hers and an arm around her waist, dragging her back. He rubbed his facein a pillow to wipe away the tears of mirth. Gillian wanted to cram the pillow down his throat. She lay stiffly on her back, staring at the carved wooden canopy above her.
He hiccupped and laughed again, apparently finding this noise amusing.
“Well, I suppose you thinking I’m an idiot is better than you beating me.”
