Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) Read Online Free PDF Page A

before opening them to reveal her home. A sitting room was to her right with a fireplace providing heat to the house. The furnishings were, of all things, a deep burgundy. She almost laughed, but didn’t want to insult Rhys. The scent of balsam pine filled her nose even though she couldn’t see a tree or even a wreath on the door.
    His home was lovely and well kept. She turned in the opposite direction to a small dining room with a simple mahogany dining table and chairs. Gillian felt Rhys no more than a step behind her when she walked through the open doorway that led into the kitchen. White and black tile on the floor, and white walls and cabinets kept the room bright even in the soft glow of lamplight. She stared at the large iron stove, imagining next Christmas when she might prepare a feast for her husband…and possibly a child. A table just right for two occupied a corner of the kitchen with a chair on each side.
    “It’s not much but…”
    She whirled on her new husband. “It’s lovely. A new wife couldn’t ask for more.”
    His gaze locked with hers for long minutes as though he was determining if what she’d said was true. She took the time to admire his ice blue eyes and teak-colored skin. A man weathered, but beautiful. He was also a man who probably wouldn’t care to be called beautiful.
    “I’m glad you like it.”
    “I do. I’m sure I’ll be very happy here.”
    His eyebrow hitched. “We’ll see, mon petit chou .”
    Gillian wrinkled her nose. “Cabbage?”
    Something in her question made him laugh, and Gillian decided to let go of the fact he’d just called her a small cabbage. “May I see the tower?”
    His laughter stopped. “Not tonight.” He cleared his throat. “The privy is just behind the house a few feet. Should you…”
    “No.”
    He released a breath, and Gillian relaxed again. She continued to explore the kitchen with her gaze, not wanting to rattle around in his house her first night here.
    He raked his fingers through his ginger hair, and Gillian had the sudden urge to run her fingers through the thick waves as well.
    “Would you like some hot chocolate? Best I can do for a Christmas treat.”
    “I’d love some. Thank you.”
    He followed her back through the dining room, placed her bag by the stairs, and nodded up the stairs. “Bedroom’s up there. We’ll head up in a bit. I’ll get our hot chocolate.”
    Gillian could only nod and stare up the narrow staircase. He’d definitely said we’d head upstairs to the bedroom. On the train, she’d hoped the man she married would want to give it some time before consummating the relationship, but with Rhys, it seemed right she’d become his true wife this Christmas. So why was she shaking as if he’d tossed her into Frenchman’s Bay?
    “You’re shivering, Gillian. Go sit by the fire, we’ll have our chocolate there.”
    She didn’t correct his assumption about why she was shivering. She pointed her feet in the right direction and managed somehow to move them to the sitting room. Looking the room over, she weighed her options. She could be safe and take one of the overstuffed chairs with the length of a throw rug separating them, or sit on the sofa and see if Rhys would sit next to her. She took her place on the sofa.
    The warmth from the fire relaxed her, and Gillian watched the snowfall through the windows. Now that she was inside and safe, she admitted it was beautiful. Large, wet flakes just right for snowball fights and making a snowman. Her mother used to help her build a snowman every year, and then they’d go into the house and have hot chocolate. That is, until her mother fell ill and left Gillian when she was eleven. After that, snowman-making was rare, and her life turned into avoiding her father and spending time with the servants.
    The sound of boots on the hardwood floor brought her back to her new home. She saw the same quandary play out on Rhys’ face regarding where to sit. In the end, he sank