Gifts of Love Read Online Free Page A

to fight.
    Lady Sophia, looking anxiously at her daughter’s flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, and unsettled by the oddly intimate conversation going on between Antonia and the duke, rushed hastily into speech. “I do trust, Your Grace, that this wretched weather won’t keep you tied by the heels here and cause you to miss very many of—of your usual pleasures! You were promised to Lady Ambersleigh’s cotillion in a fortnight, were you not?”
    It was such a transparent hope that the duke’s unnerving presence would not be unnecessarily prolonged, it was actually rather comical. Antonia caught herself glancing at Lyonshall, and felt a spurt of reluctant amusement when she met the laughter shining in his eyes. His voice, however, was perfectly grave.
    “I was, ma’am, but I sent my regrets.” His gaze flickered to Lady Ware’s impassive face. “Having been warned I was likely to find myself snowbound here.”
    Her amusement vanishing, Antonia looked at her grandmother as well. “I was not warned,” she said.
    “You did not ask, Antonia. Lyonshall, being a man of good sense, did ask.” Placing her napkin beside her plate, the countess regarded her noble guest with a questioning lift of her brows. “Shall we ladies withdraw and leave you to enjoy your port in lonely splendor?”
    He inclined his head politely. “I would prefer to forgo that custom, ma’am, with your permission.”
    If Antonia had cherished hopes that Lyonshall would release her when they rose from the table, those hopes were swiftly dashed. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and held it there as they returned to the drawing room.
    He was, in short, behaving as though he and Antonia were still engaged! She did not understand what was in his mind…
    “Play for us, Antonia,” her grandmother commanded with a nod toward the pianoforte. “I am sure Lyonshall would be delighted to turn the music for you.”
    Antonia considered rebelling, but at least he would be forced to release her since both her hands would be required for the task. She seated herself on the bench, and was further disturbed by the swift pang of loss she felt when he let go of her hand. Automatically, she began playing the piece already set before her, realizing too late that it was a soft, gentle love song.
    Lyonshall leaned against the pianoforte, ready to turn the pages. His voice was low. “I have missed your playing, Toni.”
    She kept her eyes resolutely on the music, grateful only that her mother and grandmother could not overhear whatever shocking things he said while she was playing. “I am merely adequate, Your Grace, and you well know it,” she said repressively.
    He turned the first page for her. “If you use my title one more time, my sweet, I shall take my revenge in a manner calculated to shock your mother very much.”
    Antonia hit a wrong note, and felt her cheeks flaming yet again. Her practiced mask was in splinters, and her voice was much more natural—and, to her fury, helpless—when she said, “What are you trying to do to me, Richard?”
    “Have you not guessed, love? I am doing my poor best to court you. Again. In fact, I have a special license, and fully intend to marry you before the new year.”

Two
    I t was truly remarkable, Antonia thought much later that evening as she paced her bedchamber, how the social manners drummed into one from childhood had the power to hide even the most intense emotions. The moment Lyonshall had stated his astonishing intentions, her mask had almost magically rebuilt itself, and she had actually been able to behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
    She knew she had remained calm, that she had continued to play the pianoforte; she could even recall responding to several of his more casual remarks. But the wild emotions churning beneath her mask had enabled her to ignore—almost to the point of literally not hearing—the shockingly intimate things he had murmured to her under cover of