Gifts of Love Read Online Free

you have completely settled in—but I do trust you mean to be a participant rather than merely an observer?”
    He inclined his head politely. “I try always to be a participant, ma’am. What is the point of a holiday if one cannot enjoy oneself, after all? I am looking forward to a very special memory of Christmas at Wingate Castle.”
    Antonia sipped her sherry, feeling peculiarly detached. Christmas? That was the reason they were all here. It was difficult to think about the usual trappings of Christmas when her mind was so filled with him. This was supposed to be an interlude of peace and good cheer, of high spirits and joy and contentment.
    But all Antonia could think of were the memories Lyonshall had dragged from the locked rooms of her mind. Secret memories. To some, they might even be shameful memories.
    As they seated themselves in the dining room, she looked at her mother and grandmother, wondering. What would they think if they knew about that rainy spring day? They would undoubtedly condemn her for what she had done. It was shocking enough that she had given herself to a man—even her betrothed—without the sanctity of marriage, but then to end her engagement within a week, seemingly without reason…
    Lyonshall could have ruined her completely had he chosen, with only a few words spoken to the right people. Antonia knew he had remained silent. For his own sake, perhaps; the tale would not have ruined him, but it would have marred his excellent reputation as a gentleman. Oddly enough, it had never occurred to her then that he might do so. It occurred to her now only because of his implied threat to “end things” between them.
    But surely he wouldn’t…
    “You’re very quiet, my sweet.”
    She looked up hastily from her plate, cheeks burning; he had not troubled to lower his voice, and everyone from Tuffet and the footman serving them to her mother and grandmother had heard the endearment.
    Lady Sophia all but dropped her fork, but Lady Ware, undisturbed, met her granddaughter’s eyes with a faint, bland smile.
    Grimly holding on to her composure, Antonia said, “I have nothing to say, Your Grace.”
    He was seated on her grandmother’s right, with Antonia on his right, and her mother across the table. Antonia’s chair was near the duke’s, so near in fact that he was easily able to reach the hand lying over her napkin in her lap. Once again, his long fingers curled around hers in a familiar, secret touch.
    “That, surely, is a rare event,” he said with a smile so private it was like a touch.
    Antonia couldn’t reclaim her hand without an undignified—and obvious—struggle, so she was forced to remain still. But her cheeks burned even hotter when Tuffet came around to serve them. Naturally, the butler did not betray by so much as the flicker of an eyelid that he saw the clasped hands, but there was no doubt he did see.
    “I have learned to rein my tongue,” Antonia said with a meaning of her own. “I no longer blurt every thought aloud.”
    “But your thoughts are part of your charm,” Lyonshall said smoothly. “I always found your plain speaking quite refreshing on the whole. Pray say whatever you wish; no one here, surely, would censure you.”
    Antonia gritted her teeth. Very slowly, she said, “If I were to say what I wished to say, Your Grace, I am very much afraid that both my mother and grandmother would find me sadly lacking in manners.”
    “I am persuaded you are wrong.”
    Antonia did not know what to think, and her earlier brief detachment had flown. How dared he do this to her! What did he mean by it? She could feel the warmth and weight of his hand even through her clothing, feel one of his fingers stroking her palm in a slow caress, and a tingling heat spread slowly outward from the very core of her body in a helpless response.
    She wanted to be angry. She wanted that so desperately. But what she felt most was a longing too powerful to deny and almost beyond her ability