His Christmas Pleasure by Cathy Maxwell Page B

that all their guests, as well as her mother, stood peering out the windows.
    However, the barón seemed undeterred by the audience. He took Abby’s arm and guided her into the bare autumn garden, moving toward a bench beside a fountain. In the summer, the splash of the fountain’s water was one of Abby’s favorite things about the garden. Today, it was quiet. As they approached, a squirrel scurried for cover amongst fallen leaves, but even the hubbub of London seemed miles away.
    “What is it?” she asked. “What has you so upset?”
    He didn’t answer until they’d reached the bench. He sat her down and knelt on the ground in front of her.
    His expression was so serious that Abby didn’t know what to make of him or his actions.
    “Does this have anything to do with last night?” she pressed. Her breath came out as puffs of frigid air. The bench’s wooden slats were cold even through the cloak.
    “Will you marry me?” he answered.

Chapter Six
    Andres had not intended to be quite that blunt. He could see by her wide eyes and dropped jaw that she hadn’t expected a marriage proposal. It was just that his mind was brimming with opportunities, challenges, things that must be done; he hadn’t really developed his thoughts toward her completely
    … and yet she was instrumental to his reaching what he desired.
    He wrapped his hands around hers, both for warmth and to keep her where she was until he could finish building his case.
    “I’ve surprised you,” he said, thinking rapidly. “I’ve surprised myself. I mean, I’ve thought about this … a little—well, a lot—”
    “You can’t have thought about it a lot. We’ve just met.”
    “In my life, twenty-four hours can be a long time,” he confessed, and that was true. He’d never been afraid to make a quick decision and stick to it …
    although this was the first time his decision depended upon another person.
    Lord Dobbins hadn’t been jesting. He’d signed the deed to Stonemoor over to Andres. It was his now. His. He didn’t know if she could understand what this meant to him.
    And he prayed he had the right words to convince her. He’d never asked a woman for anything. He might have had a reputation for being a ladies’
    man, but that had more to do with them flocking to him than vice versa.
    “Please, Miss Montross, hear me out before you make any decision.”
    She glanced at the house. “They are all watching us.”
    He didn’t turn to look. He didn’t care. His focus was on her. “I have property. Good property. It’s a house, a huge house like what Holburn has,”
    he assured her, knowing that if he confessed he’d never seen it, she’d wisely run. “And I have stables and land.” In his mind’s eye he could picture them.
    He’d spent the night plotting them out.
    The stables looked like what his father had owned. He started describing them to her. “They are built around a shaded courtyard so when you go to relax or saddle the horses you are not burned by the sun—”

    “Is this in Spain?” she asked.
    “No, in Northumberland,” he answered, the name still a bit alien on his tongue. Northumberland. It sounded very English.
    “There is no sun in Northumberland,” she said.
    “You have been there?” he countered, her words interrupting his dream.
    “No, but it’s further north. I assumed less sun. People have said it is not as hot as London.”
    “There is still sun,” he assured her. “And there is a bubbling spring nearby with the freshest water in the whole country. The tile roof is of the finest red clay and keeps everything cool—”
    “A tile roof out of red clay? I thought they were slate.”
    Andres shook his head, realizing in his enthusiasm his mind was playing tricks on him. Of course it wouldn’t be red clay. “It is clay,” he said, uncertain and not wanting to be distracted with details.
    He rose to sit on the bench beside her. “What it is, is mine. I am going to build something magnificent