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“The chest looks well there,” she commented with surprise, her eye travelling to the one by the window.

“I want to show you something,” he said gruffly, and instead of laying her on the bed as she had half expected, he carried her to the wall cabinet, setting her on her feet there and opening the door.

“That’s my trunk,” he said nodding to a battered-looking, studded wooden chest laying on the bottom shelf.

Aimee gazed at it a moment. It was a tatty old thing. “Did you want me to transfer your things into the painted chest?” she asked after a moment of silence.

He shook his head. “This was my grandfather’s. It’s where I keep things that are precious to me.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “I see.” Though of course, she saw no such thing.

He held his hand out to her, and she saw the key lying on his palm. “Open it.”

Aimee blinked but took it all the same and, kneeling down, set the key in the lock and turned it. It was stiff and took some force. “This is starting to rust from disuse, Konrad.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I barely use it. Very little is precious to me, Aimee.”

For some reason, his words seemed poignant. She peered inside the dark trunk, and for a moment, though, there was nothing in it apart from some old rags.

“You can take it out,” he offered, and Aimee reached inside with a puzzled frown to lift out the bundle of rags. As it emerged from the dark interior of the chest, she recognized it was the blue and yellow gown she had ripped into shreds. She almost dropped it.

“So, this is where it went,” she whispered. “I looked everywhere.”

“I kept it.”

“I think it is beyond repair, Konrad,” she said weakly.

“Is it?”

For some reason, his question made her look up sharply. “’Tis cut to ribbons,” she pointed out.

“I know.”

She clutched the maligned dress a moment to her chest, unsure what to do with it. “This is not what I expected,” she confessed. “I thought … well, maybe some old jewels or something,” she finished lamely.

“Those are all being re-set for you,” he shrugged. “You should have them in a month or so.” Aimee started to turn toward him. “That’s not the only thing in there,” he forestalled her, and she turned back and peered inside. Seeing nothing else, she reached inside to grope in the corners until she found another scrap of cloth. As she picked it up, something small and hard fell to the bottom of the trunk with a clatter.

Aimee lifted out both objects. One was her dreadful needlework depiction of his horse Actaeon, and the other was the tin hedgehog. Aimee stared from one to the other in stupefaction. “Of all the things I have bestowed on you, these seem an odd selection,” she confessed in a wobbly voice. “Though it’s good you like hedgehog, for there are plenty more where that came from,” she joked. “Ninety-nine of them, in fact.”

“I don’t want you to give me any more tokens, Aimee. I want something else now.”

She refused to ask what. She was too scared to. “What am I supposed to do with the rest of them?” she asked instead flippantly. “You realize they are so inexpensive, that a mere penny buys a dozen of the things.” That’s right, Aimee, let him know they were simply cheap, empty nothings. Don’t let him think you have been foolishly pining over him like a lovestruck little idiot. Don’t let him think you were placing them on his pillow in the hope of winning his heart.

It was only then she realized he had made no response. She ventured a quick glance up at his face, but it was as stern and impassive as ever. For the veriest instant, she had been afraid she might have hurt his feelings. Foolish Aimee. As if she had the power to affect Lord Kentigern in any way. “It’s of no matter,” she said lightly. “I can just give them to someone else.”

“Oh no, you won’t.” The answer came quickly, and it was in a low, angry growl. He crossed to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Go and fetch me the rest. Now.” He gestured toward the wedding chest.

Aimee stared at him. “But you just said you do not want any more of them!”

“Every last one you have already bought belongs to me,” he answered in a steely voice. “Go and fetch them here.”

Aimee’s face grew heated. Silently, she cursed the impulse that had prompted her to buy a bulk lot of them last time she had visited the market. They were so much cheaper that way, and Aimee had always loved a bargain. She hesitated, trying to think of an argument.

“Now, Aimee,” his voice thundered.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself to her feet and made for the lacquered chest. Lifting the lid, she retrieved the first pouch of tokens, picking up the four or five that had spilled out and shoving them back into the bag. Her cheeks aflame, she turned and stalked over to the bed with them.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the bag toward him.