But he didn’t look at all pleased to see her in his chamber. His very small chamber. Despite her vow not to think about the intimacy of the situation—or any kind of intimacy, for that matter—a shudder of awareness ran through her.

Ignoring the forbidding frown being sent in her direction, she scanned the room. It didn’t take long, as it was all of about ten feet by five feet. Other than the bed—which she wasn’t going to look at until she had to—there was a small table, a chair, a trunk, and an iron brazier. She was relieved to see a jug on the table. It would have been awkward to send for something. The bag of powder suddenly felt very heavy in the hem of her cloak. She’d made a hole in the seam, which would enable her to remove it quickly and unseen.

This is wrong. You are playing with fire.

But what other choice did she have? How else could she get the missive away from him for long enough to make sure the seal would never be deciphered?

“You’ve changed your mind about letting me court you?” he asked suspiciously.

He was too smart. That was part of the problem. “Not exactly,” she admitted. “But you were right.”

Now he didn’t just sound suspicious, he looked suspicious. “About what?”

Remembering her role, she attempted to appear cool and matter-of-fact, although her heart was beating like the wings of a not-very-brave sparrow as she nonchalantly walked over to the jug. Taking a deep breath, and making sure she positioned herself to block his view, she slid the powder from her sleeve and sprinkled a little in the cup before pouring a drink. She pretended to take a sip, before turning back to him with a face as if he’d tricked her. It was whisky, and not the wine she’d assumed.

“What we have is special,” she said boldly—challengingly. “And I see no reason to waste it.”

Courage . . .

Perhaps she should have drunk the vile brew after all. It was much harder than she thought it would be to push her cloak back from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor at her feet.

Chapter 13

13

ALEX FROZE. EVERYTHING went still. Except for his heart. That was beating erratically and wildly.

This must be a dream. Please, let it be a dream.

For if it were a dream, he could reach out and touch her. If it were a dream, he could rip that diaphanous slip of fabric posing as a night rail off the body that he could see tantalizing hints of in the backlit candlelight, push her back on the bed, and give her exactly what she was asking for.

But it wasn’t a dream, damn it. It was only too real.