to.”
“That is not your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is, Marguerite-Josefina.”
She pounded his chest with a fist. “I told you before not to call me that.”
Samuel’s expression did not change. “What should I call you? Mrs. Samuel Claridge Cole?”
M.J. felt as if a hand had closed around her throat, cutting off her breath. She couldn’t speak, swallow, and a loud buzzing sound in her head escalated. Samuel’s mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear any of what he was saying.
Dios mio!
She was going to faint. The man she’d fallen in love with had just proposed marriage, and she was swooning like a silly goose.
The buzzing subsided, her pulse slowed, and by some miracle she regained her composure. “Are you asking for my hand in marriage, Samuel?”
He nodded, smiling. His deep-set eyes were mysterious. “Yes, I am, Marguerite-Josefina.”
He was calling her by the dreaded name, but this time she didn’t care. He wanted to marry her, but did he love her? And as much as she wanted to become his wife, it would not happen without love. She refused to become a participant in a loveless union.
“What about love, Samuel?”
“What about it, Marguerite-Josefina?”
“Do you love me?” There was a moment of hesitation, and she panicked, her nerves tensing. It was apparent he didn’t love her. But why propose marriage? Was it because he knew she wouldn’t share his bed unless she was his wife?
Samuel’s expression changed, dark eyebrows slanting in a frown. She didn’t know. M.J. did not know how much he loved her, had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. Everything about her lingered with him across bodies of water: her dimpled smile; her slender, curvy body; her musical, lightly accented voice; the silken feel of her skin and her distinctive feminine scent that was the perfect complement for her perfume.
“You think I don’t love you?”
“Answer my question, Samuel.” Her jaw was set in a stubborn line.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper. “I love you now, and I’ll love you sixty years from now.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Only sixty, Sammy? You’ll have to promise more time than that if you want me to be your wife.”
Lowering his head, he kissed her eyelids, tasting salty tears. “Okay, baby. How about seventy-five?”
M.J.’s arms came up and circled his neck as tears streamed down her face and over her trembling lips. “Yes, Sammy,” she whispered. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Samuel pulled her closer, his protective instincts surfacing quickly. Delicate and vulnerable, she trembled like a frightened bird, and the last thing he wanted was to frighten her.
After they’d shared their first kiss, he hadn’t trusted himself to be alone with M.J. Even with her father in attendance he still wanted to touch her, tell her that his feelings for her were intensifying with each sunrise.
He’d almost convinced himself that what he felt for Marguerite-Josefina was lust because he hadn’t been with a woman in months, but that was a lie. He may have needed a woman, but not just any woman. He wanted the one cradled to his heart.
M.J. closed her eyes, biting down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. Her brain was in tumult, her emotions spinning out of control.
Madre de Dios! her inner voice screamed.
What had she done? She’d just consented to marry a stranger.
Samuel stood in Gloria Diaz’s gran sala , holding a glass of champagne as M.J. moved gracefully around the room, accepting good wishes from friends and her cousins.
They’d left the tobacco fields and returned to the house where M.J. placed a call to Havana to tell her father that she had consented to become Samuel Cole’s wife. She’d ended the call, then informed him that her father wanted them to pack a bag with casual and evening attire because Gloria was planning an impromptu gathering to celebrate their compromiso .
During the drive to
“That is not your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is, Marguerite-Josefina.”
She pounded his chest with a fist. “I told you before not to call me that.”
Samuel’s expression did not change. “What should I call you? Mrs. Samuel Claridge Cole?”
M.J. felt as if a hand had closed around her throat, cutting off her breath. She couldn’t speak, swallow, and a loud buzzing sound in her head escalated. Samuel’s mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear any of what he was saying.
Dios mio!
She was going to faint. The man she’d fallen in love with had just proposed marriage, and she was swooning like a silly goose.
The buzzing subsided, her pulse slowed, and by some miracle she regained her composure. “Are you asking for my hand in marriage, Samuel?”
He nodded, smiling. His deep-set eyes were mysterious. “Yes, I am, Marguerite-Josefina.”
He was calling her by the dreaded name, but this time she didn’t care. He wanted to marry her, but did he love her? And as much as she wanted to become his wife, it would not happen without love. She refused to become a participant in a loveless union.
“What about love, Samuel?”
“What about it, Marguerite-Josefina?”
“Do you love me?” There was a moment of hesitation, and she panicked, her nerves tensing. It was apparent he didn’t love her. But why propose marriage? Was it because he knew she wouldn’t share his bed unless she was his wife?
Samuel’s expression changed, dark eyebrows slanting in a frown. She didn’t know. M.J. did not know how much he loved her, had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. Everything about her lingered with him across bodies of water: her dimpled smile; her slender, curvy body; her musical, lightly accented voice; the silken feel of her skin and her distinctive feminine scent that was the perfect complement for her perfume.
“You think I don’t love you?”
“Answer my question, Samuel.” Her jaw was set in a stubborn line.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper. “I love you now, and I’ll love you sixty years from now.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Only sixty, Sammy? You’ll have to promise more time than that if you want me to be your wife.”
Lowering his head, he kissed her eyelids, tasting salty tears. “Okay, baby. How about seventy-five?”
M.J.’s arms came up and circled his neck as tears streamed down her face and over her trembling lips. “Yes, Sammy,” she whispered. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Samuel pulled her closer, his protective instincts surfacing quickly. Delicate and vulnerable, she trembled like a frightened bird, and the last thing he wanted was to frighten her.
After they’d shared their first kiss, he hadn’t trusted himself to be alone with M.J. Even with her father in attendance he still wanted to touch her, tell her that his feelings for her were intensifying with each sunrise.
He’d almost convinced himself that what he felt for Marguerite-Josefina was lust because he hadn’t been with a woman in months, but that was a lie. He may have needed a woman, but not just any woman. He wanted the one cradled to his heart.
M.J. closed her eyes, biting down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. Her brain was in tumult, her emotions spinning out of control.
Madre de Dios! her inner voice screamed.
What had she done? She’d just consented to marry a stranger.
Samuel stood in Gloria Diaz’s gran sala , holding a glass of champagne as M.J. moved gracefully around the room, accepting good wishes from friends and her cousins.
They’d left the tobacco fields and returned to the house where M.J. placed a call to Havana to tell her father that she had consented to become Samuel Cole’s wife. She’d ended the call, then informed him that her father wanted them to pack a bag with casual and evening attire because Gloria was planning an impromptu gathering to celebrate their compromiso .
During the drive to
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