“Maybe they could continue for a little while, and then come to an end,” I suggest. “If they continue for too long, there could be some unforeseen consequences.”
“Like what?”
I blink at him. “I don’t know. That’s what unforeseen means.”
His laugh rings out again, charming and contagious. My heart suffers a pang at the thought of leaving him to return home. I’d like to stay with him all night, curled up in his bed…
“Beresford!” I exclaim. “I’ve never seen your house.”
His smile remains, but his eyes flicker with caution. “I’m a very private person.”
“Says the man who stripped naked for a room full of people tonight.”
“I’m private about my personal space. That’s why I don’t host dinners and parties at the house. I don’t want people running amuck through it. No one but myself or my trusted servants pass through those doors.”
“You’ll have to trust me as well, because I’m not living in the barn or the greenhouse.”
“Of course I trust you. But I will also expect you to follow one or two simple house rules once we’re married.”
A few house rules are perfectly reasonable. As three grown women with very little income sharing a home, Mama, Anne, and I have our own rules, which Mama calls “guidelines for peaceful coexistence.”
“House rules are fine,” I reply. “Remember, I’m used to living with two other people. It won’t be hard for me to share a mansion with one man. I’d be more worried about you adjusting to having someone else around constantly.”
“Constantly?” He quirks a brow. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with occasionally taking a little time for ourselves even after we’re married.”
“That sounds healthy,” I agree.
“Then it’s settled.” His eyes brighten with excitement. “It should be done properly, in a temple.”
“The temple of Junaeth isn’t far from here,” I say. “An hour by carriage at most. She’s the goddess of union and vitality, so it’s perfect. And they still have a priest. He can register the documents with the Crown for us. We’ll need money for his fee. And I would like a wedding dress.”
“You shall have it, along with any other clothes you need. I’ll send a coach for you tomorrow, and you can go to Gresoul with your mother and sister. Each of you can pick out a new wardrobe, and I’ll cover the cost.”
“Each of us?” I exclaim, overcome. “That’s too generous. We can’t take your money.”
Beresford gives me a swift, reassuring kiss. “Within a fortnight, it will be your money too.”
“Fourteen days?”
“Why wait?” he exclaims. “We love each other, and I want you and your family to be healthy, warm, and well-fed this winter.”
My mind whirls. Every time I fantasized about this possibility, I shut it down quickly, unwilling to let myself have too much hope. Now that it’s a reality, I feel as if I’m on a runaway wagon pulled by a gigantic, restive stallion with a blue mane.
“You could keep us warm and well-fed without marrying me,” I point out.
His expression sobers. “Yes, but if we’re fucking regularly while I give money and food to your family, you might begin to feel as if you owe me sex in exchange for my provision. That would never be my expectation, but I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward position. If we’re married, we’re equal partners in this estate, equal owners of my fortune. You’ll be my friend, my lover, my wife, and my heir.”
His heir.
Against my will, my treacherous mind creates a picture of what his death might be like. His big body shutting down, falling limp and silent. His blue eyes draining of all thought, delight, and purpose. His warm hands transforming into cold, rigid claws. His hot, smooth skin turning blue and clammy. No movement, no joy, no deep voice cajoling or contradicting me, no giant arms seizing me in a hug or scooping me up as if I weigh nothing. No heart beating wild and red and glorious in his great chest.
Nohim.
“Sybil.” He cups my chin. “You’re white as death.”
“You can’t die,” I whisper. “Not ever.”
“I don’t intend to.”
