Nicole Jordan (47 page)

Evidently he’d had enough of her silence, though, for he released the reins and closed the distance to her, pulling Antonia into his arms. His whisper was a harsh rasp as he demanded, “Do you think I’ll ever give you up? Never. I want you in my life, Antonia. In my bed, at my side, in my heart.”

He gave her no chance to reply before bringing his mouth down hard on hers. He kissed her with stunning effect, making her blood sizzle and her head spin.

When finally he lifted his head, his eyes were blazing. “You can’t lie and tell me you don’t feel that,” Deverill said, his voice rough and husky with desire.

Dazed, Antonia looked up at him through a mist of dreamy tears. “Oh, no . . . I most assuredly felt that.”

“Then you will marry me?”

“Yes . . . I will marry you, Deverill.”

He stared down at her, his gaze searching, as if he didn’t quite trust her answer. “Good,” he said at last. “I was prepared for another battle royal. And if you wouldn’t agree, I intended to take a page from Apollo’s book.”

“What book?”

“Did you ever hear the legend of our Isle of Cyrene? Apollo fell in love at first sight with the nymph Cyrene, and when she spurned him, he created an island for her and kept her imprisoned there until she came to love him in return. So you see, sweeting, I’m not letting you go until you fall in love with me.”

A joyous smile spread slowly across her lips. “I already love you, Deverill. I have for some time, even if I would never let myself admit it. And I realized last night that I very much want to be your wife.”

Deverill stared for another moment before muttering, “Thank God!” and bringing his mouth crashing down on hers again. He stunned Antonia with another long, fierce kiss—until suddenly he broke off and grasped her shoulders to hold her away. “Then why in hell were you driving here in the park with that fribble?”

“Because my friend Emily insisted— So
that
was her scheme.” Antonia flushed as she gazed up at Deverill. “Now that I think of it, I expect Emily was trying to make you jealous, so you would be incited to act. When I told her all that had happened during the past month—that you had abducted me in order to protect me from Heward—she was delighted. She thought it terribly romantic, in fact. And when I confessed that I was in love with you, she said she would contrive a way to force you to declare yourself.”

A frown darkened Deverill’s features. “She led me to believe you had your matrimonial sights on Lord Fenton. She could simply have told me that you loved me.”

“Perhaps . . . but I feared you didn’t reciprocate my feelings. Emily said that I should somehow induce you to propose again. Then once I was your wife, I would have the time to try and make you fall in love with me.”

Deverill’s arms tightened around her waist. “I love you now, vixen.”

“But I didn’t know that this morning. Emily thought you might care for me. She called on you today specifically to see your reaction for herself . . . to judge how deeply your affections were involved. After observing you, she gave me reason to hope—but I didn’t dare let myself dream you already loved me.”

“Well, you can lay your fears to rest.”

“I realize that now.” Antonia flashed Deverill a brilliant smile. “Your response was all I could have wished for.” Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around Deverill’s neck. “You not only saved me from that terrible bore, you declared your intentions in a quite satisfying, piratical manner. But you do realize that a good number of the ton witnessed my abduction? I suspect I am thoroughly compromised. You will have to wed me now, Deverill.”

He smiled then, a slow, triumphant smile of such warmth and blatant sensual appeal, it made her breath catch. “Which was precisely my intention, sweeting,” he admitted as he loosened the pins of her chip-straw hat and tossed it to the ground.

Antonia wrinkled her nose defiantly at him. “Well, your strategy worked. But if it hadn’t, I was considering a more drastic action myself.”

“Oh?”

She threaded her fingers through the gold sunstreaks in his hair. “As a last resort, I meant to create a scandal by getting caught in your bed. I knew from experience that you were honorable enough to propose.”

A wicked light entered Deverill’s eyes as he tightened his arms around Antonia again. “You were that certain of me?”

“No, Deverill.” Her levity faded. “That is the whole point. I wasn’t certain of you in the least. Isabella told me that I needed to prove myself your match, but I have been racking my brain to think of how.”

Deverill grinned. “You’re more than a match for me, love. You always have been. Nothing in my life has ever compared to you. How many women do you know who would shoot their former betrothed in order to save my life?”

Antonia felt her breath falter at his tender expression; the way Deverill was looking at her made her heart hurt. “You truly do love me, don’t you,” she said in wonder.

“Absolutely and completely.” Deverill gave a dry chuckle. “It was obvious to Macky as soon as he saw us together. And probably to Thorne as well.”

“I think Sir Gawain wanted us to marry,” she
said thoughtfully. “I know Isabella did, since she told me outright. As for my father . . .” Antonia gazed solemnly up at Deverill. “I believe Papa would have wished it, too. He would want to see me this blissfully happy, even if you don’t have a title. And as you said, his grandchildren will have blue blood. His spirit will just have to be content with that.”

Deverill searched her face intently. “What about you, Antonia? Are you certain that marrying me is what you want?”

Her eyes blurred again. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life. It took me a while, but I finally realized that I couldn’t throw away this chance for love simply to fulfill my father’s dreams.”

“Thank God,” Deverill breathed again as he drew her close and buried his mouth in her hair.

Her arms entwined about his neck, Antonia stood with her face pressed against his strong shoulder, awe whispering through her at the joy of holding him.

She knew the truth now. She wanted far, far more than a marriage of convenience. She yearned for a marriage of true love. Deverill’s love. The fierceness of her need frightened her.

“I love you so much, Deverill,” she murmured with a ragged sigh.

At her confession, he shifted his head to kiss her again, smothering her with a hungry, consuming tenderness. When finally he left off, he gave a groan. “God, I would give my right arm to be able to make love to you right here.”

Smiling a bit provocatively, Antonia glanced behind her through the willow branches, where she could see the throng milling about the park. “Not here, Deverill. It would be too scandalous, even for you.”

“Very well. We can be married by special license
tomorrow—and then I intend to take you to bed for a week.” When Antonia looked at him quizzically, Deverill explained. “After your friends visited me today, I spent my time procuring a special license so we wouldn’t have to wait three weeks for the banns to be called. You are wedding me tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

Her mouth curved with satisfaction at his impatience, yet she shook her head. Regretfully extricating herself from his embrace, Antonia stepped back in order to put a safer distance between them. “I cannot marry you tomorrow, Deverill. At the very least we must wait until Mildred Tottle arrives from Cornwall. She would be terribly hurt if she missed my wedding, she has waited for so long to see me married. And doubtless Emily will want to help plan a ball or a wedding breakfast or some such celebration. And we haven’t discussed a thing about what happens afterward.”

“What do you mean, afterward?”

“I would like to visit Cyrene for our wedding trip.”

“That can be arranged.”

“And we must decide where we would live.”

Deverill frowned slightly. “We can live here in England if you like. Sir Gawain won’t be pleased, but I can carry out my work from here.”

“What if I don’t want to live in England? What if I want to live on Cyrene?”

“I thought you didn’t want to leave your father’s shipping empire.”

“If you find a reliable candidate to take over as director as you promised, the company will be in good hands.”

The change of subjects made Deverill pause. “Which reminds me . . . what the devil did you mean, sending Cochrane to turn over half your company to me?”

“I thought,” Antonia responded calmly, “that you could use my ships to advance your cause. I considered writing to Sir Gawain to ask him how I could arrange it, but then realized it would take too long . . . that you might leave England long before I could receive his answer. So this morning I decided to just give you controlling interest in the company, so you would have all its resources at your disposal and could act as you saw fit. Phineas said it could be done. I couldn’t tell him about the Guardians, of course, but I thought you would be pleased to have control.”

“Then your gift wasn’t a bribe to persuade me to become director?”

Antonia smiled at his suspicious look. “No, Deverill. I only want to help you pursue your cause. I want to be your life’s mate in every way. I only hope I can earn the right.”

“No, sweeting, I’m the one who will have to work to deserve you.”

Drawing her into his embrace again, Deverill brushed his thumb over her lower lip. Antonia was the perfect mate for him. With her by his side, he could still keep his sworn vow to himself. She understood his calling, understood that he had dedicated his life to the Guardians’ cause. And she would never try to change that. Instead, she would only support and abet him.

What was more, she satisfied a burning need in him. Filled the empty ache inside him as only she could. Antonia made him feel complete, as if she were the missing part of him.

She’d burrowed under his skin and found her way unerringly into his heart.

“You
are
my life’s mate, Antonia,” Deverill said softly. “If I couldn’t have you, my heart might as well stop beating. You wouldn’t leave me to such a terrible fate, would you?”

“Never, my love,” she whispered, raising her smiling lips again for his tender kiss.

Epilogue

The Isle of Cyrene, October 1815

A hushed silence fell over the crowd, the spectators holding their collective breaths as Antonia sighted the straw boss mounted on the immense stone wall of Olwen Castle a hundred yards distant. She had one arrow left to shoot, the last of the contest against her sole remaining opponent, the highly skilled Earl of Hawkhurst.

She was vying to be crowned Cyrene’s archery champion for the year. Currently she had four points less than Hawk, so a gold bull’s-eye would garner her the win.

Deverill held his own breath as he watched Antonia carefully draw the bowstring. He needn’t have worried, however. When she released the arrow, it flew the distance and struck the target dead center, splitting the shaft of Hawk’s arrow down the middle.

Loud cheers and applause greeted the remarkable feat, along with exclamations of amazement and dismay. Many in the crowd were clearly astounded that the Earl of Hawkhurst had pitted his vaunted skill against a woman and lost—and were also disappointed, since despite his intentional remoteness, Hawk was a favorite of the island, long admired for his feats of athleticism and horsemanship.

There was nothing aloof or withdrawn about the earl’s manner just now when he congratulated Antonia with an expansive bow and a light kiss on her cheek.

“I stand defeated,” Hawk conceded, his tone good-natured. “Although it is some small consolation to be bested by such an excellent marksman.”

A becoming flush colored Antonia’s cheeks as she gazed up at the tall, jet-haired earl. Deverill felt an instinctive surge of possessiveness, seeing his beautiful wife lauded by the island’s most eligible nobleman. Yet he knew with utter confidence that he had no reason to be jealous of his friend. Antonia had given him her heart, wholly and completely.

When other well-wishers surrounded her, offering more acclamation and praise, Deverill stood watching her, feeling his own heart beat in his throat. Her glorious auburn hair was pulled back sedately in a sleek chignon, but enticing little tendrils framed her face, while her skin glowed with warm incandescence in the golden afternoon sunlight.

The word
glowing
described Antonia perfectly—and the warmth inside him, as well. He continued to be amazed at his extraordinary good fortune at finding the one woman in the world meant for him. Antonia was the perfect match for him—his soul mate. She made every breath feel like his first.

And for the first time in his life, he knew true contentment. He’d had exciting adventures and satisfying victories aplenty, but never this soul-deep happiness that he’d found with Antonia.

Just then she looked about her, as if searching for someone. When her gaze found him, she smiled radiantly, and Deverill felt his heart turn over.

Stepping forward, he joined the crowd around Antonia, giving her a congratulatory kiss and clapping his friend Hawk on the back in sympathy. “My condolences, old son. But I warned you not to challenge her.”