The Obsessions of Lord Godfrey - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,80
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.
She seemed to feel as he did, that this was a moment to celebrate. She pressed closer, raising her lips again to his.
He tried to do the gentlemanly thing and point out that she was new to the activity and they didn’t need to rush—but she was adamant. And persuasive.
So much so that, in the end, he lay back and let her have her way.
As a gray dawn lightened the sky, Godfrey lay comfortably, cradling the warm bundle of Ellie—his wife-to-be—in his arms.
He’d woken ten minutes before and had lain still, luxuriating in the sensations and even more in the knowledge of the step they’d taken. Neither of them was the sort to commit to something they didn’t believe in.
That they were, now, committed to each other was beyond question.
Ellie had woken a bare minute ago; he’d felt the tension returning to her limbs.
He waited, watching, until her lashes fluttered, then rose. He smiled into her eyes. “Good morning.”
She colored delightfully even as she returned his smile. “Good morning.”
After several seconds of studying his face, she patted his arm. “I really should get back to my room.”
Reluctantly, he raised his arm and let her go. He lay back and watched as, with no overt show of modesty, she collected her clothes and started to get dressed. He sighed and rose and went to help her with her stays.
As he did up the tiny hooks, he asked, “When should we break the news to your father? I should speak with him first.”
“I hadn’t actually thought that far.”
“I’ll do whatever you think best, but I can’t help but feel we’ll do better to keep our engagement to ourselves until I send off my report to London and, possibly, until I’ve looked into recovering the Albertinelli—just so your father doesn’t misconstrue and suspect my offer and your acceptance is in any way connected to that. For instance”—with the last hook in place, he straightened—“that your acceptance is an attempt on your part to soften the blow of the