Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn

duty, and it seemed Deacon would be taking her place this night as his assistant.
    Gillian gathered coats and hung them by the fire. Would Rhys be displeased if she kissed him to welcome him home, or was he a man who preferred not to show affection in front of others? Hanging up the last wool coat, she stepped toward him and raised her face. White teeth shown through his red beard as he smiled, and he brushed a quick kiss over her mouth.
    She rested a hand on his chest. “I’m glad you’re home.”
    “Me, too, ma petite . For the first time in many years, I’m very happy to be home.”
    Not wishing to be discourteous to her guests, she stepped around Rhys carrying the thrill his words had caused. “Mr. Ambrose, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
    “Mrs. Chermont.” The man accepted her hand. “Pleasure is all mine. This is my wife, Alice.”
    Gillian turned her attention to the older woman, and she could understand the pride in Mr. Ambrose’s voice. Alice wore a fashionable dress, almost as fashionable as the dress Gillian had tucked away in a trunk minutes before. It was deep royal blue velvet and offset Alice’s stunning silver hair and gray eyes. She glanced at Deacon Ambrose. He was tall and lean with a full head of white hair. His face was weathered like Rhys’, speaking to a life spent outside. His trousers were clean as was his plaid shirt, but the woman before her looked like someone whose escort should be in tails and top hat.
    She cleared her throat and smiled. “I’m so pleased to meet you Mrs. Ambrose.”
    The woman smiled, and if possible, became more beautiful. “I cannot tell you how pleased I was to hear of your marriage to Rhys. You must call me Alice and ignore the airs I try to put on; it’s a habit Deacon has been attempting to break for almost fifty years.”
    Gillian relaxed at the openness and kindness of Alice Ambrose. “Not at all, your gown is beautiful. You should wear it whenever you can.” She waved toward the dining room. “No use standing in the cold doorway, come in, please, and have a seat.”
    Alice handed her a basket. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought along a mincemeat pie.”
    Gillian wanted to cry with relief. “Mind? I’m so thankful. I’m afraid I tried baking a cake, but got distracted with caring for the light, and it burned.”
    “Well, then that’s settled. May I help you in the kitchen?”
    “Oh, no, everything is ready. It’s just a matter of dishing it up.”
    Carrying the pie as though it were jewels, Gillian made her way through the dining room and into her small kitchen. She carefully slid the pastry from the basket and turned. She almost dropped the pie when Rhys stood right behind her.
    On a sharp breath, she placed the pie on the counter before she destroyed this dessert, too. “Rhys?”
    “I’ll help dish up dinner.”
    She cocked her head. “Thank you. I’m sorry about your cake and the terrible waste of supplies.”
    He brushed the back of his hand over the curve of her cheek as was becoming his habit. There was surely magic in his touch. Gillian relaxed so completely it felt as though her bones had melted.
    “We can afford a few supplies sacrificed. It smells as if the ham and the rest of supper survived.”
    “Yes, and now we have pie.”
    He reached above her to retrieve the serving dishes. In doing so, he pressed his body against hers trapping her between his hard muscles and the counter. “Are you here to help me, Rhys, or stir us both up when we have guests and shouldn’t be thinking of what I’m thinking.”
    A look of pure innocence settled over his face, and he stepped back. “I have no idea what you’re saying, wife; I’m merely getting dishes down.”
    “Hmmm…I’m wondering what manner of man I’ve married.”
    “A man with a powerful desire for his wife.”
    She shoved hot pads at him. “Carve the ham, you scoundrel, before you get us both in trouble.”
    His deep chuckle rolled over her like a wave, but it