The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,10

beneath the overhang of leaves and turned to face him.

“Well, so I’d have a place to stay when I came East.” And a place for you and our children to live, he thought.

“It’s your concern, of course, but...” She paused, looking out to sea and lifted her hand in a dismissing fashion. “Please forgive me. It was presumptuous of me to question what you do.”

“No.” John strode toward her. “Tell me what you think. I want you to.” When he was by her side he reached out, lifting her chin and tilting her face toward his.

“It’s only I don’t think I should ever come East were I to live in Montana. And certainly not to live in a huge house on Fifth Avenue.”

“You live on Fifth Avenue,” he reminded gently, letting his finger trail off her chin.

“Yes, I do.” She lowered her lashes and John found himself missing the clear sparkle of her turquoise eyes.

“I also thought to build a cottage here in Newport.” This idea came to him this morning while he waited for her. It was only fitting that she have the best of everything, he decided, but she didn’t seem to think this any better plan than his New York mansion.

“Do you like it so much here?” Her gaze was as direct as the question.

“There are some things here I like very much.” John took a step toward her. A fine mist of spray from the sea that churned against the rocks glistened in her hair. When the rising sun shimmered off her curls it looked to him as if she were covered in diamond dust. A sudden urge to sweep her into his arms engulfed him, but before he could act on it—or not, as reason dictated—she gave him a wry smile and turned away.

“Are you a fortune hunter, Mr. Bonner?”

He was so shocked by this turn in the conversation John was momentarily stunned to silence.

“Well, are you?” Her eyes met his but she’d effectively put several feet of distance between them.

“No, Miss Fiske, I assure you I have no need for a larger fortune.” John folded his arms. “Why do you ask?”

Her breath was deep. “I’ve been warned about them.”

“By your mother?”

“And my father.” Curls curtained the sides of her face as she lowered her head. “They both seem to think my wealth would be the main reason I would attract a gentleman’s attention.”

“They’re wrong.”

Her heart beat faster at his words and she hoped he couldn’t hear it pounding against her ribs. She wasn’t even sure what they were saying to each other. In the book she was reading Charles came right out and told Linette how much he adored her. That he couldn’t live without her. Certainly John Bonner had not said... or even implied anything of the sort.

But the way he looked at her. Like he could see right through her. The tone of his voice. Certainly it meant something. But honesty forced her to tell him what he obviously couldn’t see for himself. “I’m very tall.”

He grinned. “Shorter than me by a bit,” John said as he moved closer, proving that he stood over half a head taller than she.

“I’m awkward.” This was confessed with an air of dejection. There was no way in the world he could prove this untrue. But to Eleanor’s dismay he didn’t even try.

“At times, you are, yes.” Color flooded her face and she tried to turn away. His hands bracketed the shoulders of her gown, stopping her. “But there are other times, like when you moved along the path toward me, that you are incredibly graceful.”

“You needn’t lie.” Eleanor felt on the verge of tears and blinked her eyes.

“I know that. If I wished to be untruthful with you I’d have sworn you were never clumsy at all.”

“That would have been difficult after the spilled wine last night.”

A smile lit his face and Eleanor couldn’t help responding in kind. “Did any of it hit Sir Alfred’s pants?”

“No, why?” Eleanor could feel the heat of his hands through her gown and it was making her lethargic.

“It’s just too bad you didn’t soak him.”

“But—”

One of his hands left her shoulder, traveling up her neck to cup the delicate turn of her cheek. “I didn’t like his sitting beside you. Talking with you.” John gave a small shrug and one side of his mouth lifted. “I wanted to be in his place.”

“Even with the threat of wine spilling over you.” Her voice was a mere whisper because to speak