And for some reason, his decision at that very second meant everything to me.
Absolutely everything.
Because I knew, if he made the wrong one, the damage would be irrevocable.
“In this country,” he began slowly, and when he did, I knew he’d made the right one so I pulled in a soft, relieved breath. “At times, it is customary, when a man is unattached, usually widowed, for him to take a wife who has been the same. This could, of course, be a natural coupling where they meet, find each other agreeable, and wed. Other times, a man will take this wife, a relative not of blood, say, his cousin’s widowed bride…”
He hesitated. I braced and I was glad I did when he carried on.
“Or a relation of his dead wife, in order to provide her a home the likes to which she has become accustomed. It happens mostly only amongst those who are members of a House and it happens with women who sometimes have children, but also if she is alone, or perhaps a man who has children and thus they have no mother. And it usually happens in order that the female, who is unlikely to be able to provide herself with an income, is able to live amongst those of her own in comfort and with protection.”
I let out my breath in a whoosh, having a feeling I knew where this was going and not sure how I felt about it.
“In any case, amongst the Houses, where a man intends to take a woman as wife, if that intention is understood and agreed between the parties, that union being inevitable, prior to that, she will begin to be addressed as a lady of that House. In this case,”—he held my eyes—“you being addressed as Lady Ulfr.”
Yes, I knew where it was going.
“And who in your House am I marrying?” I asked instantly.
“Me,” he replied just as instantly.
I stared at him for long moments.
He let me.
Then I stated, “So you just told that man we’re engaged.”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
Holy cow!
“Are we engaged?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered immediately and decisively.
I sucked in a sharp breath and on the exhale, noted, “I think this is pretty much the definition of moving too fast, Apollo.”
Apollo said nothing.
“Did I miss your proposal?” I queried.
“The words weren’t uttered,” he replied. “But I think your answer was ‘please.’”
I blinked and asked, “What?”
He suddenly leaned forward, his hand shooting out and clasping mine.
This was not an affectionate gesture.
It was a claiming one.
And his eyes were burning into mine.
Oh shit.
“When I covered you last night, before I took you, you said ‘please.’”
I remembered that. Hell, I’d never forget it.