Anita Mills (21 page)

“I shall relish it.”

“I don’t expect to go to jail, but—”

“If you do, I shall wait for you.”

He kissed her thoroughly then, and there was no question she returned the gesture wholeheartedly. They stood locked in each other’s arms until the general and her cousin managed to cross the yard to them.

“Damme if I know what to make of this,” the old man muttered. “Here, now, gel, enough of this—are you going to live here or not?”

“I shall visit often,” she promised.

Dominick lifted her into his arms and started back toward the house. “I suspect Mother will wish to plan the wedding,” he told her fondly. “And then I should like to take you to Italy, my love—to Milan.”

She turned her head into the soft wool of his coat and snuggled against him. “One of these days, Dominick Deveraux, I am going to show to advantage. My hair will grow, and I will have a gown that is neither dirty nor torn, and—”

“I like the way you look, sweetheart.”

“I shall never be a beauty, you know.”

“Who wants one? Eliana Antonini’s daughter is quite good enough for me.” Looking over at the old man who labored to keep up with them, he grinned. “Wish me happy, sir.”

“Damme if I don’t, sir! Aye, you are a rogue and rascal, but I always did like you. Come on, Quen—got to order up some more punch to celebrate! Ain’t every day a man gets a granddaughter and a husband for her all at once, you know. Damme if I won’t travel to the Haven for the wedding—be good to see Charlotte, come to think of it.”