A Bond of Honour

by Joan Vincent

  "My angel,” he breathed, “my own.” Drinking in the love glowing in her eyes, his happiness brimmed complete. “On the dressing chest..."

  Juliane gave a puzzled glance toward it. The rings he had given her lay upon a tray.

  "Will you not wear them—always?” His ardour caused his voice to tremble.

  She rose and retrieved them. Sitting beside the earl, she asked saucily. “Will you not replace them ... my lord?"

  He slipped the rings on her finger, saying sternly, “You know I shall have to break you of this formality in address."

  "I know ... my lord,” Juliane teased again and happily surrendered to his fervent embrace.

  To “the Trees"

  and

  ma bonne amie Barbe

  * * *

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