DeliveredIntoHisHands by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page B

stone.
    “Milady?” he asked and she mentally shook
herself, snapping her eyes back to his.
    “Aye, milord,” she whispered. “It would be
my honor to be your bride.”
    He reached up with his free hand to cup her
cheek, smiling in such a way she felt her heart flutter.
    “You have made me a very happy man,
milady,” he told her. He stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and
she trembled. “I vow to love and protect you all the days of our lives. You
will never want for anything and if it is your desire to live here, then we
shall. Is that what you want?”
    She could only nod—unable to speak past the
lump in her throat—for as soon as he said, “I vow to love and protect you all
the days of our lives,” she was lost for the hero in the romance novel she’d
been reading had pledged the same to his lady-love mere moments before he
claimed her virginity.
    He pushed up from the floor to sit beside
her once again—this time as close as he could get. He put his arm around her
and drew her to him, cupping her head to press it against his shoulder.
    “When shall the Joining be?” he asked, his
voice deep and so sensual she wanted to crawl into his lap.
    “I will need to confer with my mother,” she
said. “She will want it to be quite an occasion.”
    “As befitting the firstborn daughter of a
baron,” he acknowledged.
    “Have you a time period in mind, milord?”
    “Garrick,” he said. “Or better yet, Rick.”
    “Rick,” she repeated. “I like that. Is that
what your friends and family call you?”
    “The only family I have left is my father
and he never says my name. He usually refers to me as boy .”
    “That seems rather impersonal.”
    “It’s as close to an endearment as he dare
come and since his middle name is Garrick, to call me by that name would be an
admission that I am his illegitimate brat.”
    “Doesn’t everyone know you are?”
    “Aye, but no one speaks of it, milady.”
    “Antonia,” she corrected. “Or better yet,
Tonia.”
    She could feel him smiling. “Touché,” he
said. His arms tightened around her. “As for time period? The sooner the
better. Any midnight between tomorrow and three days hence would be to my
liking.”
    “Three days?” she gasped, moving back from
him, her eyes wide. “Milord, that isn’t enough time to plan a gala the size of
which my mother will demand!”
    He reached out to tweak her nose. “Then
best you get to it, wench,” he said with a tight-lipped grin.
    “Oh!” she exclaimed and removed herself
from his embrace. She got to her feet and glared down at him with her hands on
her hips. “Oh!”
    “Too high-handed?” he asked, cocking a
brow.
    “Wench?” she queried. “Wench?”
    His forehead crinkled. “Too….what?”
    “Bad Vampire,” she said, eyes narrowed.
“Bad, bad Vampire.”
    That said, she turned and flounced from the
room without a backward glance.
    He stared after her with what he knew must
be a silly grin. She hadn’t been offended by him calling her a wench. If
anything she’d been amused by it. He’d seen the tight compression of her lips that
was meant to convey outrage but the twinkle in her pretty green eyes had belied
that emotion. She’d enjoyed him giving her the title. He made a note to do it
again.
    And often.
    * * * * *
    Antonia paced the flagstones around and
around the bubbling fountain—oblivious of the cold and the occasional showering
of leaves that tumbled from the stately oaks across the way. The wind was
brisk, blowing her unbound hair around her head but she paid no heed. Her fists
were clenched and her mouth tight. She was making little grunting sounds that
he found endearing. Though he was a good fifty feet from her he could easily
hear those sounds along with the rapid beat of her heart. He hadn’t wanted to
intrude on whatever was causing her upheaval but her heartbeat was faster than
he thought prudent. He stepped out of the shadows and directly into her path in
the space of