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The admission seemed . . . so unlike him.

“Thank you for your honesty,” she said.

“But?”

“But there is naught else to say. Because I am not a virgin does not mean I wish to be a man’s paramour.”

“I did not ask it of you.”

“Not yet.”

That seemed to take him aback. Truly, Amalia did not know where this strength of hers originated. Perhaps she knew, having seen Evelina fall in love, that proceeding down the path she’d taken the other evening with Roland would end in pain. For there was no future between her and an earl’s son.

“Darien is waiting,” Amalia said finally when Roland did not respond.

Neither of them spoke during their remaining time in the garden. Amalia found the herb she needed, and walking back, remained quiet. Thinking of his words. And hers. She stole glances at him periodically, wondering something she had no right to wonder. Just before they stepped into the hall, she blurted out the question.

“You’ve been with many women, I suppose.”

Roland took a deep breath. Exhaling, he looked her in the eyes. “I have been with many women.”

Why had she asked such a stupid question? Of course he had.

Amalia continued on, into the hall where Darien was waiting.

“Amalia?”

She stopped. Turned.

“I would not lie to you, even if the truth is not one I wish to share. But know when I tell you, this is also true. I have never been with anyone whose hazel eyes hold secrets I wished to unlock. Whose kiss I crave,” he whispered for only her to hear. “Like yours.”

Whether his words were true or an attempt to seduce her further, Amalia could not be certain. Neither did it matter. “I should not have asked that of you,” she said, hastily leaving him before uttering even more nonsense.

Reaching Darien, she got to work, trying to ignore the very large swordsman now standing beside them. Trying to ignore the erratic beating of her heart when she thought of what he’d said. That she was different, somehow, than the others.

Tell me I am wrong.

She asked. He did not answer. For what answer could he give? Roland was not looking for a wife, and she was not looking to be any man’s whore. After this eve, she simply could not see him. Could not be around him. She’d take her meals with the other servants, or in her private chambers. Amalia would protect her heart, for she had little of value in this world that was all her own, but her heart, at least, was her own.

For now.