For All Eternity by Heather Cullman Read Free Book Online Page B

chuckled and said, “Of course you don’t, my dear. I didn’t expect that you would. It is one of the many things I shall teach you once we are married.”
    “You may be assured that I shall follow your instruction to the best of my ability,” she vowed, almost sagging in her relief.
    “That is all I shall ever ask of you. Now, having told you that, I believe it is time for me to frame my question.” Clasping both her hands between his as if they prayed, he asked, “Miss Barrington, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
    At last. Tugging her mouth back into what was by now a well-rehearsed smile, Sophie looked up and said with as much pleasure as she could muster, “You do me great honor, my lord. Yes, I will marry you.” Despite her efforts, the words came out wooden.
    Apparently only the meaning of those words mattered to him, for he smiled as if she’d just granted him the world. Lifting her left hand to reverently kiss her ring finger, he murmured, “You’ve made me the happiest of men, my dearest Sophie, and I promise that you shall never regret your decision.” Lowering her hand to clasp it to his heart, he inquired, “I may call you Sophie now that we’re engaged, mightn’t I?”
    “Of course, my lord.”
    “Nicholas,” he corrected her. “You must call me Nicholas.”
    “Nicholas.” Oh. So that was his name. She’d never so much as wondered what it was. Before she could ponder the matter further, his palm cupped her chin and raised her bowed head.
    Drawing her face close to his, he whispered, “I believe that it is traditional for us to seal our engagement with a kiss.” Without awaiting her response, he pressed his lips to hers. As he did so, the scar came into clear, sharp focus.
    Sophie screwed her eyes shut. Tightly. Think pleasant thoughts. Think pleasant thoughts, she frantically chanted to herself. Pretend that he’s Julian.
    Yet, try as she might, it was impossible for her to imagine that it was her beloved who kissed her. Where Julian’s lips were soft and cool, Lyndhurst’s were hard and hot, claiming hers with a hunger that she found terrifying.
    Oh, heavens! He must be a daisy man after all. Or worse yet, a custard man. Lydia’s brother had told them of men who made their wives sit naked on their equally bare laps, licking custard from a cup held pressed between their breasts. Just the thought of being subjected to such an indignity made her want to die.
    Mercifully the kiss was a brief one, and was over almost as soon as it began.
    “Now,” he murmured, pulling back with a grin. “The only thing left to do is to choose our wedding date. I was thinking of sometime around Christmas, say, the twenty-second of December?”
    “I, uh,” she stammered, distracted by the horrible suspicion that he might be a custard man. The twenty-second of December? Hmm. Why not? She opened her mouth to give her consent, then her mind cleared and she remembered that time was of the essence. Praying that he wouldn’t think her brazen and thus withdraw his offer, yet seeing no other option, she coyly ducked her head and whispered, “I’m not so certain I want to wait so long.”
    Silence.
    Just when she was starting to dread the worse, he chuckled. “In truth, my dear. After kissing you. I’m not so certain I can wait that long, either.”
    A custard man. He was definitely a custard man.
    His hand cupped her chin again. “Just say the word, sweet Sophie, and I shall obtain a special license. We can be married within the fortnight.”
    “And that word is?” she sweetly inquired.
    He kissed her. This kiss was a gentle one, filled with all the tenderness and reverence a girl could wish for from her groom. To Sophie’s surprise, it wasn’t nearly as awful as the first. Not when she didn’t think of daisies or custard.
    Like his first one, this kiss too ended quickly. Yet this time he didn’t pull away, but instead leaned his forehead against hers to stare into her eyes.
    Brown,