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“I cannot. ’Tis silly.”
He waited.
“Amalia?”
“Nay.”
He was a knave to suggest it, but Roland shoved the thought aside. “I will wager that, when you tell me, I will not think you silly. I’ll not laugh. Nor even smile.”
“What, precisely, will you wager?” Amalia asked, her hands folded into her lap. Unlike Roland’s legs out in front of him, Amalia’s were tucked under her, presumably crossed beneath her gown.
“A kiss.”
Her lips parted, Amalia’s eyes wide as she looked at his mouth.
“’Twould not be at all proper.”
“Naught about this eve is proper, Amalia. ’Twould be a very brief kiss,” he added. “If you wish it so.”
She laughed. “The length of the kiss does not make it more or less proper.”
He agreed, but remained silent.
“And if you do laugh? If I win?”
“Ask anything of me as your boon.”
That she considered his request meant Amalia also considered his wager. The thought that he might, very soon, be able to do what he’d wanted to all day and press his lips against hers . . . Roland’s heart began to beat even faster than it had when he had first considered the wager.
“I want to know what you fear.”
He almost said no. A man like him did not share such things. And Roland did not have to think hard on the question, for the answer was an easy one. But also one he did not wish to reveal, not to Amalia. Nor to anyone.
“My fear?” he repeated, biding time.
“Aye. I want your honesty too when you share the thing you fear most.”
“I am always honest,” he said automatically. “But will not find it necessary to share my fear with you as I’ve already vowed not to find your wish silly.”
“I accept.”
Roland waited.
“I wish to open an herb shop.”
It was easier than expected, winning his wager. “’Tis not silly at all. Why would you think as much?”
She seemed taken aback by his words. “I am not properly trained in herbs and healing. I am a farmer’s daughter with little coin of my own. There is nothing to recommend such a dream.”
“There is everything to recommend it,” he said easily, “and no reason such a thing should not happen.”
“You only say as much to win the wager.”
Roland moved closer toward her. So close, in fact, that if he leaned into her, and Amalia met him halfway, he could easily collect the spoils of his won wager.
“I do not,” he insisted. “As I’ve told you, I do not lie. ’Tis against my code of honor.”
“One you take more seriously than most.”
“Perhaps, but even so.” Perversely, he wanted more than just a kiss now. Roland wanted her to want the kiss. “Amalia?” he asked, surprised at himself for what he was about to ask her.
“Aye?”
If she said nay, he would not collect his winnings.
“Do you wish for me to kiss you?” He leaned toward her, shifting his body so that he was now just next to her. “I would very much like to collect my prize, but will do so only if you wish for it too.”
She did not need to answer.
“You won,” she said. “The prize is yours.”
“Do you wish,” he repeated, “for me to kiss you?”
Amalia nodded. “I do.”
Roland moved his hand so that it sat just behind her back and leaned forward. “Good,” he said. “I wish to kiss you too.”
