You Are Mine (Mine #1)(43)

Chancellor Zade relaxes against the sofa. “I was hoping you'd think so. She won't pose the same problems as Phyllis.”

That isn't certain. “A warlock could still make her do or say what he wanted.”

“She's an Envadi. Things are different for her than they are for you.”

“But if a warlock casts a spell upon her, she wouldn't have a choice.”

He takes my hand. It's big and strong. It's harder to think with him touching me, even through a glove. I don't know if I want him to let me go or take hold of my other hand, as well. “Don't worry about it. Like I said, she's different. She can take care of herself.”

No woman can do that. The Chancellor wraps his other hand around ours. “You can trust her. With anything.”

“Except things I want to keep from you.” After the words leave my mouth, I flinch. I want to go back in time and clamp my lips shut. Stop those words from escaping. But it's too late.

He raises an eyebrow. “You have secrets you want to keep from me?”

I swallow.

He gives my hand a squeeze. “I have secrets, too. We all do. I give you my word she's trustworthy and that I have not and will not force her to reveal anything to me you haven't given her permission to do so.”

I hold his gaze. My throat tightens.

“I know you won't be comfortable with it, but you can trust her,” Chancellor Zade says. He looks at the clock. “Phyllis will be coming by soon.” He squirms. “There's one favor I, uh, wanted to ask of you.”

I cock my head toward him, curious about his change in behavior and wondering what he could possibly ask of me.

“It seems that most engaged men are more, uh, amorous with their future wives. I haven't wanted to—I don't want—” He glances away before looking me straight in the eye. “Phyllis reports to your Father. I wondered if we might show her something favorable to report.”

“What type of something?”

“I'd like to be kissing you when she comes in.”

This is wrong. He's sort of doing what I first suspected, but not even close to how I suspected it. “Why are you asking? Warlocks always take what they want.”

A light pink fills his cheeks. Is he—? He's blushing. It's strange for him to have the bit of color. I didn't know men could do that.

“Envadi aren't as aggressive with their kisses.”

I realize my hand is still in his. It's warm. Too warm. I withdraw. “I see.” I fold my arms then unfold them and place them in my lap. “Why did you want to leave this impression again?”

He pulls at the cuff of his sleeve. “It seems word has gotten around that instead of harming your virtue like everyone thought, I've been too cold and distant. They're saying you should be taken away from me and given to another.”

“And this is a problem?”

“They only way they can legally do it, is if I'm dead.”

“Oh.” Why does he not force his kisses upon me then? I still don't understand. But I'm sure I don't want to go back to Father's house. “I suppose it would be fine.”

Instead of relaxing like I expect, he looks more nervous, scratching the back of his neck. He scoots closer to me and puts an arm on the sofa behind me. I become rigid.

“Before I came here, I was engaged to a girl back home.”

The shock of the statement shoves the tension from me. “When did she die?”

He gives an unhappy chuckle. “She's perfectly alive and healthy.”

“But you can't possibly be my intended then.”

“Laws are different there. Engagements aren't as binding. We don't have a ceremony until the wedding and no contract is ever sealed. Just an agreement made, which I broke at our engagement ceremony.”

Another should have belonged to him, not me. I should be back at Father's house or owned by another. An odd pang trembles through me.

He clears his throat. “I'm telling you so you know why I don't act like the typical groom.”

I nod, though I really don't know why it matters. At least to me. It's easy to see why he cares how others may view it, but why does it matter if I know?

“May I kiss you now?”

No. Kisses leave me feeling sick. “I suppose it would be for the best.”

He leans closer. I want to pull away. Thomas's kisses were callous. Painful even. The thought of more of that makes me feel queasy. But giving my permission somehow makes it harder to pull away.

His hand reaches up and brushes my face. Flecks of gold are mixed with the green of his eyes. Suddenly, he scoops me into his arms and plops me on his lap. I yelp.

“Sorry, I guess I should have warned you first.”

After straightening my skirt with quivering fingers, I hold myself stiff. His nose nuzzles against the side of my neck. Warm lips brush my jaw and sweep along my cheek until they reach the corner of my mouth. My breath comes in shallow gasps. He smells lightly of citrus.

I don't move. His fingers tangle in my hair. His lips hover over mine. A nervous flutter grows in my chest. The creak of the door opening spurs him into action.

His lips touch mine. Flowing and sunny. They grow firmer. It feels so much better than I thought it could. His fingers run through my hair, the tendrils falling out of their confinement. Heat grows between us. He pulls me closer to him. Not only do I manage to refrain from fighting him, but I want to draw even closer.