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

course.”
    Alice glanced toward the hallway to the tower and shifted her gaze back to Gillian. “I’m sorry dear, but I don’t think these old bones can see the clock strike twelve. It seems as though Deacon plans on working through the night.”
    Gillian rose with Alice. “I understand. Let me show you to your room.”
    Alice waved her down. “Not to worry. I know my way to the guest room.” She wrapped Gillian in a hug. “May God bless you and your union in the New Year, Gillian. I like you.”
    Gillian returned the hug. “I like you, too. I so look forward to visiting with you more.”
    Once Alice had gone upstairs, Gillian sank to the sofa. It had been a lovely evening despite Rhys having to shovel in his supper so he could get to his duties. The house sat silent except for the ringing fog bell and the clock on the mantle taking turns cutting into the night. She pushed off the sofa unable to pretend she didn’t want to seek Rhys out.

CHAPTER TEN
    ‡
    R hys came up the spiral steps and found a vision in red standing by the window in the space outside the service room. He took off his hat and shook it free of snow. She smiled, and before he could think, her arms were around him. “I came to welcome in the New Year with you.”
    He returned her embrace, holding her close. “I’m grateful, but what about Alice?”
    “She retired a bit ago.”
    Taking a step out of his arms, she took one of his hands and rubbed it between both of hers then took the other and gave it the same care. “You should wear your gloves.”
    “Forgot ’em.”
    He almost came apart when she brought one hand to her pretty mouth, blew her warm breath over it, and trailed kisses over his knuckles. Again, she did the same with the other hand. “Well, don’t forget again.”
    He’d make a point of forgetting—often. “No, Mrs. Chermont, I won’t.”
    She kept his hand in hers and led him to where a teapot covered in a crocheted cozy sat. “We can’t forget our hot chocolate tonight.”
    He smiled. “Wouldn’t want to do that.” He started something that first night, and somehow, it had become a nightly tradition.
    She handed him a mug of chocolate. “Where are your parents, Rhys?”
    He looked around. “Where did that come from?”
    Her shoulders rose and fell. “It’s something we haven’t discussed.”
    “They live in Quebec.”
    “So you’re Canadian?”
    “No, my sweet Gillian. I am American; my parents are Canadian.”
    She lifted a brow in question, and he took a long swig of the hot liquid. “My parents came to Maine before I was born, but when I was five, we returned to Quebec.”
    “And they’re of French heritage?”
    “My father. My mother is of Scottish descent.”
    “And they were good to you?”
    She sounded as if he said no, she’d head to Canada that night and bring down a horrible wrath upon his parents. He set down his mug and framed her beautiful face with his hands. “Yes, mon plus cher , they were very good to me. They will love you, because I—” He stopped short before he confessed something he wasn’t ready to confess. “Because you are so sweet, they couldn’t help but adore you.”
    Sadness entered her eyes. “Even when they know?”
    He brushed his lips against hers then decided to savor her mouth for bit even if the clock hadn’t struck twelve. She opened for him without hesitation and offered him everything she had just as she always did every time they kissed…every time they came together. He deepened the kiss and angled her head so he could deepen it further. Her fingernails dug into his biceps, and she made the most erotic noises deep in her throat.
    The tower, once chilled, became warm and humid, and he moved his hands over her, learning her curves again even though he knew every one intimately. Gillian leaned closer, giving his hands more. Buzzing filled his ears as his mind went numb, intoxicated by her soft flesh and sweet taste. A bell ringing brought him slowly from