DeliveredIntoHisHands (5 page)

“Not until he formally asks her,” her
mother stated. “The warrior has her father’s permission but he needs her
acceptance.”

Alyx shifted his attention to Antonia. “And
will you give it?”

“He is my Chosen,” she said as the maid set
a tureen of soup before her. “Naturally I shall.”

“If he asks,” Alyx pressed.

“He will ask,” Lady Maripose said.

“Have you met him, milady?” Alyx asked the
older woman.

“Not as yet but I am to have an interview
with him tomorrow evening when he rises,” she answered.

Alyx turned to Antonia. “Does it bother you
that he is…well…what he is and cannot be with you in the light of day?”

Antonia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Such had not crossed my mind, milord.”

“A pity,” he said as he pushed his spoon
through the soup. “I know how you love to ride in the early morn when the dew
is on the wildflowers.”

“Which she can still do,” her mother said.

“Until he Changes her,” Alyx reminded.

An awkward silence met his words. He looked
from one troubled face to another, his smile sardonic.

“There will be many things to which I shall
need to adjust, milord,” Antonia said.

“That is least among them, I am sure,” he
said.

Once more the silence dragged out as the
diners consumed their soup. To Antonia, the consommé she so loved had no taste
at all. Likewise the shrimp cocktail that followed as well as the salad—the
romaine tasting of rotting leaves. By the time the entrée of roast duck with
blackberry sauce was placed before her, her appetite had fled. Not even the
mashed sweet potatoes with baked apple slices and the wild rice sautéed with
onion and celery were palatable.

“Are you feeling poorly, dear?” her mother
asked, surveying her daughter’s plate with concern.

“Perhaps a little,” Antonia said. “May I be
excused?”

Her parents exchanged looks then her mother
nodded.

Alyx scooted his chair back and hurried
around the table—to Antonia’s chagrin—to pull out her chair.

Lady Maripose blotted her lips on her
napkin before making a suggestion. “Perhaps a spot of sherry will calm your
stomach. I shall have a glass brought up to you.”

“Not having a Vampire foisted off on you
might work better,” Alyx said quietly in her ear as he pulled out her chair.

She pretended she hadn’t heard him and
shook her head at his offer to escort her to her room. “Stay and enjoy the rest
of your meal, milord,” she said in a tone of voice she hoped he would heed.

“As you wish, milady,” Alyx said, his
posture unyielding.

Walking as sedately as she could from the
dining hall—though what she really wanted to do was run—Antonia felt tears
gathering in her eyes. Taking up her skirt, she climbed the stairs with her
heart heavier than it had ever been.

From across the balcony that ran around
three sides of the main hall, Garrick watched his wife-to-be fighting back
tears. He could smell the saltiness of those tears and it hurt his heart. He
longed to go to her, to take her into his arms and kiss the tears away but she
wasn’t ready for that yet. She was young, inexperienced in life, and for all
her twenty-three years incredibly naïve. Like a feisty, untried colt, she
needed a gentle but firm hand to guide her. A soft voice to calm her.

When she disappeared into her room, he
leaned his forearms on the ornate railing and clasped his hands loosely. If he
but concentrated, he could see through the oaken panel of her door to watch her
undress yet would not do so. Though he stared intently at her door, he kept his
vision outside her room. There would be time to know every inch of her and he
planned to make sure that happened sooner rather than later.

* * * * *

“I understand you are the only male child
of King Larrion,” Lady Maripose said.

“I am his bastard son, aye, milady,” he
replied.

Lady Maripose waved a negligent hand.
“Paternity is of no import to our people, Lord…”

“General,” Garrick corrected.

She inclined her head regally. “As you
wish, General. As I was saying, paternity is of no import to us. A royal
son—legal or otherwise—is still royal.”

“Not on Modartha,” he reminded her.

“You have nine sisters,” she stated.

He nodded. “I do.”

“And how do you fare with them?”

“They are younger than me, Your Grace. I
spoil them rotten,” he answered with a smile.

“As well you should,” she said. “Tea?” she
inquired. At his polite nod, she took up the teapot. “Dare I hope you will
extend that indulgence to my daughter? Lemon? Sugar? Cream perhaps?”

“No thank you,” he replied. “I prefer it
strong.”

“As does my husband,” she said with
approval, sitting back on the settee as he took a sip from the dainty cup.

“To answer your question, I intend to see
your daughter has everything her heart desires. I will pamper her as is her due
as the Life-mate and Lady-wife of a Warwyck Vampire.”

Your mother,” she said. “She was a
Vampire.”

“She was.”

“And quite a beauty I hear.”

He lowered his head. “She was considered to
be the most beautiful woman in Modartha.”

“It must have been very hard for you to
lose her at such a tender young age,” she said.

“It is hard to lose someone you love at any
age, Your Grace,” he replied.

“Aye,” she said, thinking of her twin sons
who had died at birth. “It is.”

“If you have questions of me, Your Grace,
ask. Vampires cannot lie so whatever I answer will be the truth,” he told her.

“Will you ever hurt her?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Unintentionally?”

“I pray not.”

“You pray?” she asked, an eyebrow cocked.

“I do, but not to your goddess,” he said.
“To my own. Bastet.”

“Ah, yes, the Panthera goddess. I have
heard of Her though I know nothing of Her or Her pantheon.” She tilted her head
to one side. “But is not Sibylline the goddess of Modartha?”

“Not all of us worship Her,” Garrick said.
“Especially not the Panthera.”

“You should,” she told him.

“May I ask why?”

“She gave you Antonia.”

He smiled. “I believe Bastet was
responsible for that. She mates Her Panthera to their Life-mates.”

An indulgent smile formed on the older
woman’s face. “Let us agree to disagree on that point,” Lady Maripose said. “I
learned long ago arguing religion and politics and social issues is not
conducive to maintaining peace in a household.” She brushed at her skirt. “Which
leads me to my next question.”

“All right.”

“My daughter is afraid of the Changing.”

“There is no reason for her to be,” he said
quietly. “I will not hurt her. She won’t even be aware of what is happening.”

“That is good to know but what of after?”

He frowned. “After?”

“She has never been off our world, milord.
Neither has she touched or been touched by a male other than her father and
uncle—and then only when she was very young. She has no experience with what is
beyond Castle Blackthorn. To take her away from all that is familiar will no
doubt cause great stress. To be that far from all she loves…”

“I hope she will grow to love me,” he said.

“I am sure she will, but the shock of being
torn from her family…” She shrugged. “Surely you can see it would be a great
strain on her.”

“Women do it all the time, milady,” he
reminded her. “They are expected to cleave to their husbands so they may be one
flesh. Is it not written in The Book that this is so?”

“That is correct.”

He gave her a long, steady look. “You don’t
want me to take her from Volakis.”

“When—if—you legally Join with our
daughter, you will become our son. Since we have no male heir, Castle
Blackthorn will become Antonia’s upon our deaths. The dower keep—my ancestral
home of LeVey Manse—will become the property of our youngest daughter, Ashlyn.”

“If I legally Join with her?” he echoed.
“There is no doubt of that, Your Grace.”

“Yet you have not asked her,” Lady Maripose
reproached.

“Perhaps I have been lax in doing that but
such will be remedied this very night,” he said. “I will leave no doubt in her
mind or yours.”

“That is a relief but it does not address
the issue of where Antonia will live.”

“You know war between Modartha and Volakis
will come,” he said. “When it does, I will be commanding the forces here. Do
you not want your daughter kept safe? Away from the fighting?”

“My daughter will want to be with her
husband,” Lady Maripose said. “She was raised to cleave to her husband as you
stated.”

“And to submit to his wishes?” he prodded.
“His authority?”

“That too, but I must tell you, milord.
Antonia is a headstrong girl with a mind of her own. If you think to browbeat…”

“That is not my intention.”

“Bully or intimidate her, you will lose
her. She will never respect a man who raises his hand—verbally or physically—to
her.”

“You want her to stay here,” he said. “At
Castle Blackthorn.”

“I want you to stay here with her,” she
answered. “As our son.”

“You think she needs protection from me,”
he said, narrowing his eyes. “So you think if she is here I would be less
likely to hurt her.”

“Would you hurt her?” she asked, searching
his eyes.

“Never,” he answered. “It is my intention
to cherish her, to love her, to do everything within my power to make her
happy.”

“Then let her stay in her home,” Lady
Maripose said. “Let her stay here.”

For a long time he said nothing. He simply
looked at the older woman then finally turned his head and gazed at the fire
crackling in the hearth. He watched the flames for a few moments more then
released a long breath. He returned his regard to her.

“If that is what she wants, then that is
how it will be,” he said.

“You will stay here?” she pressed. “With
us?”

“Aye,” he said. “If it is what Antonia
wants, I will remain here at Castle Blackthorn.”

“Then she is in the solar if you wish to
speak with her.”

“Milady?”

Antonia shivered slightly at the sound of
his voice. It wasn’t that he had frightened her. She had been expecting him to
join her. Neither was it the sight of him standing in the doorway that frazzled
her nerves. It was that soft, accented voice that sent ripples
of—what?—skittering along her spine. Putting a bookmark into the old-fashioned
novel she had been reading, she closed the musty cover and laid the book on the
table beside the settee.

“You are feeling better, milord?” she
asked, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’m as back to normal as I’ll ever be,” he
said with a grin.

“Are there abnormal things about you I
should know, milord?” she asked.

He came into the room with the easy grace
of a man assured of who and what he was. His black silk shirt and black leather
pants fit his frame as though he’d been poured into the garments. Just watching
him was a delight for the eyes.

“My friends would answer aye to that
question,” he told her. “May I sit with you?”

“Please,” she said. Her heart was racing
and the closer he came to her the harder it pounded against her rib cage.

He sat down beside her and turned,
stretched his arm over the back of the settee. “What were you reading?” he
inquired.

“A silly romance novel,” she said and felt
her cheeks burn. She risked a look at him—expecting the condescending smirk
Alyx always gave her when he asked the same question.

The Vampire wasn’t smirking. He was
smiling. “Is it any good?”

“Not really,” she said, trapped in the blue
depths of his gorgeous eyes.

He lowered his voice. “Is there sex in it?”

“Bounteous amounts I’m afraid,” she
admitted.

“Learning anything useful?”

“Milord!” she reprimanded then realized he
was teasing her and not being vulgar. She gave him a tremulous smile. “You are
wicked, milord.”

“You have no idea, milady,” he said with a
wink. “Trust me when I say you’d have me no other way.”

Antonia felt a tightening in her lower
belly at that wink. It suggested things that she longed to experience.

“I spoke with your mother,” he said.

“Oh?”

“She tells me you would prefer to remain at
Castle Blackthorn when we are Joined.”

That was the first Antonia had heard of it
and she tried to hide her surprise. All she could do was latch onto the last
word he’d said. “Joined?”

“Aye,” he answered. “Is that what you want,
milady?”

“To Join with you?” she countered, trying
to buy time to understand why her mother would say such a thing. “I don’t
remember you asking.”

“My pardon. I shall correct that,” he said
and slid from the settee onto one knee. He reached for her hand, turned it to
the side, brought it to his lips and kissed the underside of her wrist before
placing her palm flat against his chest—over his heart.

Beneath her hand she could feel the steady,
sure beat of his heart. The silk shirt was cool but with her hand pressed so
tightly against him she could feel the heat of his body. He was staring into
her eyes with such intensity, she felt a strange ache between her legs.

“Lady Antonia Blackthorn, I pledge my body
and soul to you. My sword hand to your protection. My wealth to your security
and my loyalty to you and you alone. I will do everything in my power to make
your life as enjoyable and comfortable as it is possible to do. I swear before
the goddess that I will never lay a hand to you in anger nor cast you aside for
another. All this I vow as my unbreakable oath to you. Would you do me the
honor of becoming my bride?”

Her gaze roamed over his handsome face. He
was not as pale as he had been when she’d gone to his room that first night.
She visually traced the bold sweep of his eyebrows, the deep creases in his
forehead and beside his eyes, then lowered her scrutiny to his lips. They were
thinner than she might have preferred and the right side of his upper lip rose
higher than the left but the dimple in his chin made up for that. Moving on to
his broad shoulders and the hint of chest hair showing in the open neck of his
shirt, she had to contain the sigh that wanted desperately to escape. His
muscular thigh flexed as he knelt and she knew if she put her hand there, it
would be hard as 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 a second.

She gasped and stumbled back, would have
fallen had he not snaked out an arm to support her back. “Don’t sneak up on me
like that, milord. You’ll give me a heart attack!”

Her soft hands were pressed to his chest
and her head back so she could look up at him for he was a good foot taller
than she. In the moonlight her green eyes had a chatoyance to them like those
of his Panthera race.

“I didn’t mean to scare you but you need to
calm down,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What has
you so distraught, wench?”

“My mother,” she said.

“What of her?”

“She is making this an ordeal instead of a
pleasure,” she complained. “First it was the flowers then it was the ermine
carpet she wants me to walk up.” She gave him a pleading, dejected look.
“Ermine, Ricky? Really? Really?”

He threw back his head and laughed, his
chest rumbling.

“It’s not funny!” she said and tried to
wiggle out of his arms, pressing her forehead to his chest in her effort to
break free.

“Shush, now,” he said. “There will be no
little critters perishing so you will be forced to walk on their hides.”

She flinched and made a slight little
hopeless sound. “It’s just awful. Awful!”

He hooked his index finger under her chin
and tilted her head. His heart missed a beat as he took in her beautiful
face—as scrunched up as it was as she struggled not to cry. He could barely
find his voice because he was so filled with love for her.

“Would you like me to talk to the Lady
Maripose?” he asked, hoping she’d say no.

Which she did.

“No, it’s my problem and I will handle it
but I will not…” She stamped her foot. “Let her send men out to hunt down those
precious animals!”

“Nor will I,” he pledged.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “You promise?”

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I
promise. Now come here.” He folded her against him once more with her cheek
pressed over his heart.

“I don’t know if I can stand another day of
this,” she said.

“You need to relax,” he said.

“I need you,” she said.

Her words—though innocent enough—made him
instantly hard. His cock leapt and her body clenched for he knew she could feel
the rigid press of it against her stomach.

“Ricky?” she questioned in a thin, squeaky
voice.

“Ignore it, wench,” he said, squeezing his
eyes shut. “It’ll go away.”

“Is th-that an erection?” she whispered.

He groaned. “Tonia, please!” He tried to
move away from her but her hands were snagged in his shirt. When her right hand
began to slide down his chest, he went completely still. The moment her palm
grazed the fly of his pants he all but collapsed to the ground in a heap. It
had been months since last he’d lain with a woman and he wanted this one so
badly he had been taking matters in hand two and three times a day. Cold
showers had all but congealed his blood. With her hand on him at that moment,
it was all he could do not to throw her to the ground.

She molded her hand around the bulge and
his knees went weak. His cock leapt again and throbbed so brutally he had to
bite down on his lip, sinking his fangs into the flesh.

“Does it hurt when it’s like this?” she
asked, rubbing him as though to ease away any pain he might feel. “Surely it
does. It is so hard.”

“Tonia, no,” he managed to say in an almost
conversational voice, reaching down to grip her wrist. “You are playing with
fire and don’t even know it!”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“It hurts like you can’t believe,” he said
with a moan. “But please, don’t…”

“Then let me soothe the pain,” she told
him. She tried to put her hand on him again but he kept it away from his
crotch. “Ricky, let me help you.”

“Ah, goddess,” he whimpered.

“Would you prefer Cherise to relieve you?”
she asked in a thin voice. “She has offered to pleasure you and she is well
experienced in—”

“I don’t want any woman save you!” he
stated. He stepped back, urgently needing to break contact with her, to put
distance between him and that sweet hand before he unmanned himself before her.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her
pretty face crinkling with hurt.

“No, love, no!” he was quick to tell her.
“It’s just when a man desires a woman as strongly as I desire you, he—”

“You desire me?” she asked breathlessly.

“Ah, goddess, wench, you have to know I
do!” he replied around a groan.

“Then let me service you,” she said.

“No!” He all but hopped back away from her
and it was at that moment—for whatever reason—she put out her little tongue and
curled it over her bottom lip.

That was his undoing.

He sprang forward, grabbed her and buried
his hand in her hair, angling her head so he could take her mouth with his.

She gave a little gasp as his lips covered
hers. She had them clamped shut but he swept his tongue over them until she
opened to him. He wasted no time in gently thrusting into her warm mouth.

Other than kissing her wrist he had not ventured
into this forbidden realm. He knew himself well enough to know that if he
didn’t keep a strong grip on his body things would escalate out of control for
the goddess-be-damned thing had a mind of its own.

And at that moment, his body wanted Antonia
Blackthorn like no woman it had ever craved before. Before he knew what he was
doing, without breaking the kiss, he pulled her from the pathway and into the
deeper cover of the garden—away from prying eyes. He lowered her to the ground
and slid his body atop hers, pinning her to the cool, crisp layer of leaves
from the sycamore tree overhead.