Page 80 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"That's quite a lot of saving."

"You're quite a woman."

"Your woman."

"Mine," he agreed, pulling her closer. "Completely, utterly, irrevocably mine."

"Yours," she confirmed. "And you're mine."

"A matched set."

"The Beast and the Lady."

"Former Beast."

"Reformed Beast."

She laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. "I love you, my reformed Beast."

"And I love you, my chaotic Lady."

Outside, the rain continued, washing away the dust of the evening's drama. Inside, two people who had found each other through the most unlikely circumstances held each other close, their criminal dog snoring at their feet, their future stretching before them full of promise and probably more fountains.

It was, Arabella thought as sleep finally claimed her, a perfect ending to an imperfect evening.

Or perhaps, more accurately, another perfect beginning in their series of perfect beginnings.

After all, every day with Lucien felt like diving into that lake again—terrifying, exhilarating, and absolutely worth the risk.

***

The morning after the ball arrived with a deluge of calling cards, letters, and enough flowers to stock a hothouse. Morrison, displaying more animation than Arabella had ever seen, appeared in the breakfast room with a silver salver piled high with correspondence.

"It appears," he said with what might have been satisfaction, "that last evening was a success."

"Success?" Lucien looked at the pile with suspicion. "Or curiosity?"

"Perhaps both, my lord. Lady Potts has sent a particularly effusive note."

"Lady Potts? Lord Potts’ wife?"

"The very same. She writes that she has never been more entertained and hopes Lady Blackthorn will call upon her at her earliest convenience."

"That's... unexpected," Arabella said, taking the note.

"There's more," Morrison continued. "Lady Worthington has invited you both to a card gathering. Lord and Lady Ashby request your presence at a musicale. And..." he paused dramatically, "the Duchess of Marlborough has sent an invitation to her autumn house gathering."

"The Duchess?" Arabella nearly dropped her teacup. "The one whose slipper Thistle stole?"

"It would appear your dog has made you famous, my lady."

"Infamous, more likely."

"In society, the two are often interchangeable," Julian said, strolling in looking remarkably fresh for someone who had consumed vast quantities of champagne the night before. "Good morning, triumphant couple. I trust you slept well after your social conquest?"

"We slept excellently," Lucien said. "How's Potts?"

"Damp but recovering. His valet was most upset about the fountain incident."