DeliveredIntoHisHands Read online

  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.”

  Chapter Four

  “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!”