A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(80)

Carl grinned. “No, I think they’re wagering on something else this time.”

She rested her head against his upper arm, lightly, almost hesitantly.

His breath hitched in his chest, and he had the desire to wrap his arm around her. He couldn’t keep from leaning in to her, bending toward her ear, pretending to whisper something but instead pressing his lips there.

She gasped, but made no move away from him.

His body tightened with the need to kiss her again—this time on the lips. But he drew in a ragged breath and forced himself to think rationally. He couldn’t kiss her right there in front of everybody.

“I think they are wagering on us,” he whispered, staring at the stretch of her neck that was only a breath away.

“Wagering on us?”

He nodded. Suddenly all his concerns, all the reasons why he shouldn’t marry her seemed insignificant. Why did it matter who he was in his past life? He was no longer Gottfried Charles von Reichart. He was no longer the same weak, pampered nobleman who had stepped off the steamboat.

The past months had given him a taste of a life he’d never known, and although he never thought he’d like farming, he’d adjusted much more than he’d believed possible.



Now he was simply Carl Richards. He was someone new here. Wasn’t he? And that was all that mattered anymore. One little deception about his identity didn’t have to stop him from taking Annalisa as his wife, did it?

“They’re wagering on whether we’ll get married tonight.”

She stiffened and lifted her head away from his shoulder.

He tightened his hold of her hand. “Don’t go. I think we should at least talk about it.”

He’d assumed she was as attracted to him as he was to her. That day in the rain, when he’d kissed her, hadn’t her eyes beseeched him to love her?

He turned so that he was facing her, giving her little chance to hide her feelings. “Do you think we should get married?”

She stared at his chest. “But you said you didn’t want to be a farmer.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

“What if I changed my mind?” He didn’t have to go to Chicago. He could always write to Fritz and tell him he wasn’t coming after all.

She was silent for a moment. The clapping and stomping to the accordion seemed to fade, and all he could think about was her and how he’d be able to hold her in his arms that very night.

A thrill of excitement wrapped around his gut.

Finally she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. They were wide and trusting and yet filled with so many questions. “I don’t want to be your last choice.”

He paused, not sure how to answer her.

“I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated to help me or because the men are pressuring you. I want you to marry me because you want to. Truly want to.”

Did he? He looked deep into her eyes and saw that she wanted to have her fairy tale and didn’t want to settle for anything less with him.

She’d come a long way since the spring when he’d first arrived, when she’d been timid, broken, and resigned to a loveless life, when she’d all but given up on happy marriages.

But now the strength in her statements reached out to reassure him. Maybe he had less cause to worry about her and her future than he’d anticipated.

“You’re growing into a strong woman.” He reached his knuckles to her cheek and caressed the edge of her face down to her chin.

At his praise, her eyes lit.

“Let’s stop analyzing everything.” He took a deep breath and pushed down all of the nagging doubts that began to battle inside him again.

He needed to do it. Now. Before the doubts could climb out and stop him.

She didn’t respond.

He put on what he hoped was his most dashing smile and brought her hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss against the soft warmth of her fingers. “Annalisa, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She hesitated.

Herr Mueller’s accordion came to an abrupt stop. Silence trickled through the barn.

Heat crept up the back of Carl’s neck.

Was everyone watching them? Were they waiting to hear Annalisa’s answer to his question? Had the men placed such high wagers that they couldn’t give him a few more moments to talk with her?

Annalisa looked toward the barn door.

Carl chanced a glance around him. Nobody was paying any attention to them. In fact, not one person was even looking in their direction. Instead, all eyes were focused on the same place as Annalisa’s—the entrance of the barn.

Carl followed their gazes. There, outlined against the dark of the evening, stood a young man, a stranger.

The shadows hid his face, but even so, a shiver crept up Carl’s backbone.

“Guten abend.” The man took a step forward so that the light of a gas lamp illuminated him. His face was pale, and he was thin and slightly stooped over.

As the man of the farm, Carl knew he should step forward, greet the visitor, and offer his assistance. But trepidation had wormed its way into his spine and paralyzed him.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your festivities.” The man gave a cough that came from deep in his chest, and it bent his shoulders even more.

Carl forced himself to move, to walk to the center of the barn and to face the man. “How can we help you?” He tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart, telling himself this man was only a sick passerby in need of their compassion.