Wrapped in each other, they surrendered to oblivion.
Ellie came to consciousness slowly, waking with a languidness that was simply delicious.
Then she realized where she was, that the firmness beneath her cheek was no pillow and the weight across her shoulder far heavier than the covers, and that, she decided, with a contented smile, was even more delectable.
As she lay there, no longer quite so boneless yet unwilling to stir, thoughts looped lazily through her mind.
This man.
He was the one she’d been waiting for, even if she hadn’t realized she was.
Somehow, in just over a week, he’d carved out a niche in her heart and taken up residence.
Abruptly, her thoughts ceased their whirling as one truth—a new truth—took center stage.
This was surely what love felt like—this warmth that suffused one from the inside out at the mere thought of the other person.
She loved him.
She poked at the notion, but it was resilient and strong, immutable and undeniable.
She’d expected such a revelation to have emotional fireworks attached, but no—it simply was.
Was it that, as yet unrecognized by her, that had driven her to his room and his bed?
She hadn’t thought so, but then, at the time, she hadn’t known it was there. And perhaps love was the source of the compulsion she’d felt to knock on his door and see what might be; she’d never been an emotional coward.
Having only just recognized the correct term for what she felt, she hadn’t told him she loved him, but that was all right, wasn’t it? He’d said they would have forever to explore what was between them.
He hadn’t said the word, either, but she’d heard that gentlemen, especially those of his station, tended to avoid it.
Clever of them, she’d always thought. While such avoidance might smack of emotional cowardice, it also indicated a healthy respect for the power wielded by that emotion, and respect for love was no bad thing.
Indeed, if he’d readily professed to feeling that particular emotion, she would have questioned whether he truly did.
But he had spoken of forever…
She frowned. She’d assumed he’d meant marriage, but on replaying his words, she realized that was another word he hadn’t uttered.
He’d spoken of having a life together, of protecting her and hers…
Her thoughts seized. Men of his ilk were often referred to as “protectors” with regard to their mistresses.
He’d specifically offered protection. Was that what he was thinking—that she would be his mistress?
Her thoughts churned. Had she misunderstood?
Uncertainty swamped her, along with a vulnerability that had her eyeing the door. She needed to get away and regroup before she faced him again. If he didn’t want or appreciate her love…she would need to hide it, to screen it from his eyes.
And then she would need to figure out a way to politely decline his forever.
Carefully, she tensed and tried to ease away from him, to lift her leg free of his.
Immediately, the arm about her shoulders tightened, and a large warm palm landed on her thigh, holding that leg where it was, nestled between his.
“Oh no,” he murmured. “You don’t get to slip away in the night, not after that.”
She blinked. He was an experienced lover—that had been obvious; what had been so special about their engagement? Curiosity got the better of her. “That what?”
He turned toward her, his arms settling loosely around her. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted—ever dreamed of—in a lady. You’re passionate and intense and so honest and open. So genuine in all you feel and share—so much more than any other lady I’ve met.”
She lifted her head and looked into his face. His lashes still brushed his cheekbones. His voice was deep and rumbly, as if he was half asleep.
As she stared, his lips curved. “And now I’ve got you in my bed, I’m not about to let you go. You’re mine—now and forever.”
Frustration bloomed, but if he was speaking without thinking… “What does that mean?” Her heart started to thud. “What do you intend me being yours ‘now and forever’ to mean?”
That got his eyes open.
Godfrey looked at her and consciously allowed all he felt for her to illuminate his expression until he felt certain his love shone in his eyes. “When I arrived at the Hall, I had no thoughts of marriage. In fact, getting married didn’t figure in my calculations at all—I had no interest in the institution, no need to embrace it. And I had never met a female who even remotely brought the thought to mind.” He paused, then said, “And then I saw you, and everything changed.”
His smile deepened, and remembering, he let his lashes fall. “So what I mean by those words…”
Suddenly, he realized why she’d asked; he hadn’t actually said. He opened his eyes, fixed them on hers, and clearly enunciated, “I want you to marry me. I want you for my wife. I want to put my ring on your finger and change your name to Lady Godfrey Cavanaugh.” He paused, then amended, “Eleanor, Lady Cavanaugh.” He smiled and, once again, knew his feelings were on show. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”
He looked at her, studied her face—as usual, her reactions flowed openly across the canvas. She didn’t, transparently didn’t, understand how precious she was; he would have to keep telling her in myriad ways. When she didn’t speak but just looked at him uncertainly, he arched his brows.
She pressed her lips together for an instant, then asked, “Are you sure you’re awake?”
He laughed and hugged her closer. “I’m fully awake.” Tipping his chin to his chest, he caught her eyes and added, “This is me reaching for my dream.”
Barely breathing, Ellie stared into his eyes, hardly daring to believe. He was a nobleman, and she was the daughter of ancient but minor gentry. On one level she hoped, while on another, she had to wonder if he was serious.
His eyes searched hers, and as if sensing her thoughts, he sobered. His expression grew intent, then he caught her hand, raised it to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I know we haven’t discussed the details, but we can figure those out as we go along. For now, all I ask is this: Please, Ellie, agree to be mine.”
And for once, his expression was totally unscreened; there was no barrier to her seeing—reading—what was in his heart. He might not have said the word, but he felt the same power she did. She swallowed, then forced herself to drag in a tight breath. She freed her fingers from his grasp, raised both hands and framed his face, and allowed herself to drown in his eyes. “Beneath your unconscious arrogance, behind your unflagging, sophisticated assurance, even deeper than your invincible honor, you are a dear, dear man.”
She let all she felt color those simple words. He searched her eyes and saw her feelings there.
He grunted softly, then turned his head and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. “The only person’s ‘dear man’ I will admit to being is yours.” His eyes sought hers again. “Yours and only yours, darling Ellie.” He tipped his head fractionally. “So will you accept me, Ellie dearest? Please say yes.”
She smiled.
Godfrey saw her answer in her wonderfully expressive eyes and cherished the sight even as he heard the “Yes” that fell from her lips. He smiled, feeling as if the last of his worldly cares had sloughed from his shoulders, obliterated by the certainty that that small, simple word had come direct from her heart.