Maid Under The Mistletoe (The Mapleton Family Saga #1) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,35

eyes and he looked as though he hadn’t slept at all.

She’d noticed similar shadows beneath her own eyes earlier.

“And what will make you happy, Anthony? Will you be happy when the neighbors’ gossip about your common wife? Will you be happy when your account dwindles away and you’re not able to repair a manor house that has been in your family for generations? When you are unable to meet your responsibilities?”

He nodded without any hesitation whatsoever.

She wanted him. God knew she wanted to marry him. But not because he pitied her, or merely desired her sexually.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

He closed his eyes for all of a second and then dropped onto one knee. And again, he grasped her hands in his. “Because although we’ve barely just met, in the deepest part of my heart, I love you. I know it sounds foolish, but you are the other half of me–– the better half of me. When I tried to imagine a life without you it was empty and cold. Nothing matters without you by my side. Put me out of my misery, my love, my dear Charlotte, and say you’ll be my wife.”

Looking down at him, his head bent and his lips pressed against her wrists, she realized that no mistake had been made. He’d felt it too, that magical connection. Her bottom lip began trembling and her knees turned to jelly.

“Yes.” She spoke to the top of his head. “Yes, Anthony. I’ll marry you.”

His head jerked up and for the first time since she’d entered the room, he smiled. “Thank God.” He burst to his feet and drew her into the strength of his embrace. “You’ll never have to deal with the likes of Lady Denton again.”

He leaned back and gazed into her eyes. “You’ve always been a lady to me. Even when I thought you were a maid, you impressed me with your person. Beautiful, you know, but so much more.” He bent forward and his lips hovered less than an inch from hers. The warmth of his breath mingled with her own. “Say the words, Charlotte. Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“I love you, Anthony.” They weren’t merely words, but a promise, a state of fact, a natural law. “I love you so much!”

Pressing up on her tiptoes, she closed the distance between them.

Something like coffee, and the spiciest liquor, and something quite undefinable and masculine compelled her to explore his mouth boldly. She wound her arms around his neck, feeling as though she’d finally found her way home.

Her breasts ached for his touch and she craved him… everywhere.

But they were in the vicar’s parlor, and likely Mr. Frye and his sister awaited them on the other side of the closed door.

A low growl drifted past his lips when Charlotte broke their kiss.

He simply held her tightly, both of them waiting for their racing hearts to slow. “I would have chased you to Scotland.”

“I no longer have need of employment.” She tilted her head back to meet his curious gaze.

With a tender tap on her nose, he grinned. “Of course, you don’t, minx.”

But she was shaking her head. “But you misunderstand.” And then she withdrew the letter from the deep pocket in her skirt. “I received this letter from—I believe she is my great aunt. She asked that I come and stay with her. She wants to present me to Society! Can you imagine that?”

Anthony was frowning now, confused as she handed over the missive she must have read a hundred times. After reading the letter over carefully, he stared back at her with a dazed sort of expression.

“Lady Sterling is your great aunt?”

Snatching the letter back, Charlotte studied the name. “I couldn’t quite make out the name properly. See here, it is signed Katherine Rochester. She…” Charlotte held the letter close to her face. “Regrets horribly that my grandparents disinherited my mother. When she heard of Papa’s passing, she felt it was high time to make amends.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“My great aunt?” It was Charlotte’s turn to be confused.

And then Anthony was shaking his head and laughing. “Not that it matters one iota to me, love, but you’ve more pedigree than either Susan Fairchild or myself.”

Charlotte set her fingertip upon his lips. “But you loved me as a maid.”

Anthony reached up to prevent her escape. “Would you have loved me as a footman?”

She’d thought of this already. “At times, I wished that you had been a footman. But I was willing to