He lifted his head as his body took care of his orgasm, tripping him back into jerks of sheer pleasure, over and over. He looked into her eyes, and she smiled.
“Yes. I consent to marry you, Arlo Northcott. But I have a complaint. This is not a story we can tell our children.”
She put her hand to his cheek and kissed him.
He’d never felt relief quite like this.
Chapter Thirty-Two
They belonged to each other now, forever, until death.
In the first rays of dawn, as Arlo swirled his hands on Angelika’s skin, he committed the sensation to memory. If his hands would not work, he would use his mouth to feel this otherworldly softness. He would adapt and change and live the life they had charted out together, in the quiet moments in between the breathless couplings.
He allowed himself to feel excited about Larkspur Lodge; she had described it to him so vividly that he had fallen asleep and dreamt he was walking the corridor, lined with ancestors’ and foxhunt paintings, toward their opulent bedroom overlooking the wild acres of garden.
The future glowed so bright it terrified him.
“I want to live,” he explained as she kissed his tears away. “The thought of dying now, when I have so many days and nights ahead with you . . . I cannot bear it.”
“I will keep you safe,” she replied, and because she’d proved it every other time, he chose to believe her.
Angelika was now lying across his body just like that very first morning, when he’d awoken in this rich girl’s bedroom with a mind like a blank slate. Thigh over his lap, cheek on his chest, she fit against him like a missing piece, now fully restored. Arlo closed his eyes, exhaled, and felt complete peace.
“I love you,” he told her, and although she was sleeping, she smiled.
And then, the bell above the front door downstairs rang.
Ding.
*
It interested Arlo to watch Angelika don her armor: that of a practically royal lady who held the power in every situation. She was apparently unfazed by the dawn visit and left the magistrate, the church aide, and Christopher to languish in the drawing room for going on a full hour as she readied herself for her day. Humming, she uncapped a bottle of perfume and breathed it in.
Arlo lay in bed with the sheet pulled up to his waist, feeling quite depleted, and decided to borrow a little of her self-assurance. His trousers lay in a damp heap by the bathtub, and he wasn’t keen to put them on. Like a rich man who cared for nothing but his own body, he stretched, enjoying her mattress and pillows.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, knowing what look she would give him in her mirror.
She scoffed with an arched eyebrow. “Me? Nervous? This is my house. They are lucky to even get a glimpse of me before breakfast.”
“As am I.”
She smiled, and Arlo’s heart shimmered. “You’ve seen everything there is to see of me. Good grief, I have never reached ecstasy so many times in my life. Not even on my most inspired night alone in that bed.” She pressed a pink cosmetic onto her lips.
Arlo’s body began flooding his cock with blood. It was a display of impossible tenacity.
“It will be nice to see Christopher’s face as you stagger into the drawing room with your lips all swollen,” he told her. “I like the man, but I’m fairly sure I could kill him for the way he looks at you.”
To his relief, this comment didn’t pique her interest.
“No need,” she shushed, and began an enjoyable sequence of dressing; this time choosing an impressive uniform of stays, garters, silk stockings, and drawers. “These are from a store in Paris that is busy with whores and dancers. It’s absolutely scandalous. You will come with me and choose what I buy.”
Now there was a five-minute diversion.
Pink-faced, she dressed in various layers of petticoats, a sumptuous violet dress, and a diamond necklace fit for a princess. The tiara was a bit too much at seven in the morning.
Arlo, naked, penniless, the luckiest man imaginable, knew himself even more.
“I was such a shy child,” he told her out of nowhere as he realized his tongue-tied sensation was a familiar one. “I liked church because that was the one place where I could either sit quietly with no questions asked of me, or I could sing and knew the words.”
“At least you knew the words,” Angelika replied, turning on her tufted dressing stool and crossing her legs. “Victor and I used to just warble along like birds. You were shy? I can imagine that. You have a reserve with those who don’t know you well.”
They were interrupted by Sarah’s rhythmic knock.