Rexanne Becnel (41 page)

“Listen to me, sweetheart. Listen,” he whispered huskily against the wet tangles of her hair. “I love you. You can’t leave me now. You can’t!”

At those startling words—longed for, yet never truly expected—Lacie went very still. Only a few lingering sobs shook her as she clung to him. Only his heart pounding beneath her ear grounded her in reality.

“I love you.” The words came again, soft and low, and she tremulously raised her head to peer up at him. Through her watery gaze she saw his earnest face, his serious expression.

“I love you,” he stated almost ferociously. “I didn’t know it before—oh, God! Maybe I did know, but I just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit it.” His eyes burned into hers with such intensity, he seemed to see into her soul. And for once, she was able to see into his. “I was a fool when I asked you before. I guess I knew you would turn me down, but I had to ask anyway. Now I’m asking again. I love you, Lacie. Marry me, and I promise you—I promise you, sweetheart, that you’ll never be sorry.”

Marry him. He wanted her to marry him!

Lacie shook her head, unable to believe what she heard. “But—can you really forgive me for all I’ve done? For lying? For trying to steal from you?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I know you did it for Frederick, to keep his school going.” His hands slid up her back. “Marry me, and the school will be my wedding gift to you. Whatever you want, Lacie. I’ll do anything. Just say you’ll marry me.”

She was so stunned, so undone by his rush of words—by everything—that for a moment she could not respond at all. Then her heart began to swell, and it was as if everything in the world had turned from wrong to right, as if she would burst from the incredible happiness that filled her.

“I love you,” she whispered, although emotions choked her words.

It was his turn to stare at her in amazement. “Does that mean you will? Will you be my wife?”

Her answer was a kiss, swift and sure and passionate. Words were quite beyond her. As she wrapped her arms recklessly around his neck, molding herself to his tall masculine form, she felt both his stunned surprise and his eager response.

“Yes,” she whispered, kissing his lips, his cheek, his rough chin. “Yes,” she promised, finding his mouth once more as he lifted her clear of the ground and spun her around in an exuberant embrace. “Yes!”

If she had stopped to think, she might have reassured herself that this proposal was sincere. After all, she had nothing he wanted anymore. Not the school, nor any of the other properties he and Frederick had owned together. Likewise, she might have comforted herself with the knowledge that Sparrow Hill would go on as Frederick had wanted it to after all, better than ever under Ada and Neal’s capable control. If she had paused to think about any of that, she would have felt secure in her decision to marry him. Everything was turning out better than she could possibly have dreamed.

But Lacie did not need logic to guide her any longer. Dillon’s arms around her felt so right, so perfect. She needed only to feel his possessive embrace and return his demanding kiss to know that this time she was not making a mistake with him. For once, she was absolutely certain where Dillon Lockwood was concerned.

“Was that a yes?” he murmured in delicious nibbles against her upturned lips.

“Oh, yes.”

L
ACIE STEPPED OUT ONTO
the gallery, then moved silently on bare feet to the wide wooden rail. Beyond her, bathed in the silver-gold of moonlight, the grounds of Sparrow Hill looked at once familiar and mysterious. From her vantage point she could see the fields and the woods, the long drive and the meandering paths.

She was right to have come back to Sparrow Hill to have the baby, she thought as contentment wrapped around her like a warm blanket. It was all so dear to her that she wondered if she would be able to leave it after this long, pleasant visit with Ada and Neal. Still, there would be other visits. And one day her own little girl would come back here to go to school. She smiled to think of her sweet little Elizabeth going to classes in this very school.

Then a strong pair of arms slipped around her, circling her waist, and she leaned gratefully against the comforting bulk of her husband.

“She’s asleep,” Dillon whispered. Then he continued in a huskier, more suggestive tone. “She’s asleep and I finally have you all to myself.”

Lacie smiled at that and let her head fall back against his shoulder. “Surely you’re not jealous of such a helpless little innocent as your own daughter?”

“No, not jealous.” He turned her around so that they faced each other. “Not really.” Then he smiled down at her, that familiar, heart-stopping smile that never failed to send a warm thrill through her. “It’s just that these long weeks of waiting have driven me slightly mad.” He pulled her closer with a soft groan. “I love you so much. I need you so badly.”

Lacie smiled in complete satisfaction as she pressed her cheek against the warm skin of his bare chest. Dressed as she was in only a thin cotton nightgown, she could easily feel every muscle, every contour of his chest and waist, and farther down, his hard muscular thighs and the thickening evidence of his desire. She moved her hips slightly, sliding her belly against his loins. At his swift intake of breath, she moved even more seductively against him, pleased beyond measure at how quickly he responded to her shamelessly wicked actions.

For a moment his grasp tightened, as if he would absorb her, body and soul, into him. Then with a groan of agony he pushed himself away, holding her at arm’s length as he took a ragged breath.

“Witch,” he muttered as he stared at her with eyes glazed with desire. “Cruel, heartless witch.”

“If I’m heartless, it’s only because you stole it away from me long ago,” she murmured silkily as she slid her hands along his rigid forearms.

“Lacie, don’t,” he choked out in a voice thick with longing. “There’s only so much I can take. It’s been hard enough keeping my distance from you these weeks since Elizabeth was born—”

“And I intend to reward you for it,” she answered, sliding her hands back up to grip both of his strong wrists. She smiled at him beckoningly. “Right now,” she added breathlessly.

For a moment Dillon only stared at his wife, hardly able to think for the intensity of his desire for her, the impossible power of his love for her. From the moment he had first laid eyes on her, she had driven him crazy, frustrating him at every turn, torturing him first with her primness and later with her passion. There had been times…

He shook his head slowly, holding her beautiful moonlit features within his loving gaze. Then he gathered her into his arms, holding her fast within his embrace, molding her soft womanly form against his. She felt so good, so right. He’d been a fool to pit himself against such a one as she, when there was such happiness to be found in this joining of forces. Such unbelievable happiness and love.

It had begun in this place, this school she so loved. How fitting it had been for them to return for the birth of their first child. They would return here often, no doubt, although Denver was now their home. But then, he knew that he would be at home wherever he was, as long as Lacie was at his side.

He felt her move in his arms and looked down into her upturned face. Then he planted a sweet lingering kiss on her waiting lips.

“Shall we”—she colored a little as she stared up at him with shining eyes—“shall we go inside now? To our bedroom?”

“Yes,” he answered. He lifted her off her feet and held her high in the snug warmth of his arms. “Oh, yes.”

Rexanne Becnel is the author of more than twenty historical romance and contemporary mainstream novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. With the publication of her first novel,
My Gallant Enemy
, Becnel won the Waldenbooks Award for Best First-Time Romance Author and the
Romantic Times
Award for Best Medieval Romance by a New Author. While growing up, Becnel lived for a time in Germany and England, where she became fascinated by medieval history. After studying architecture at the University of Southwestern Louisiana, she worked as a building inspector for the Vieux Carré Commission, the agency of the City of New Orleans charged with protecting and preserving the distinct architectural and historic character of the French Quarter. Becnel lives in New Orleans with her husband and two children.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1991 by Rexanne Becnel

cover design by Julianna Lee

978-1-4804-0955-2

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

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