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“Ghosts are already dead,” she hums, and I smack her open folds making her yelp before I go back to working her clit hard, and that’s all she needs.
I bellow and roar, coming harder than I ever have in my life. I empty inside her, pulse after pulse, her insides massaging, drawing out every drop of my seed until it’s dripping out around my shaft and I collapse on top of her, feeling her chest rise and fall as we struggle together to gain a handle on our breathing.
If I didn’t know it before, I know it now. I waited a long fucking time for the one. She’s here and nothing else seems to matter except knocking her up, making her happy, being the best man I can be for her and giving her the world.
I snuggle her into the bed with me next to her, listening to her soft sighs as she falls into a gentle sleep. The room seems to hum around us and there are a lot of questions I need answered. But for right now, this is enough. She’s enough.
An hour later, she stirs. “We have to get ready for tonight.”
“Yes.”
As much as I don’t want to leave, I settle her back in her room, kiss her nose, her lips, her cheeks, letting her know I have some things to take care of, but we will not hide.
I will take her to the ball, present her with her prize, then let the world know she is mine.
Chapter 11
Delia
Last one standing.
That’s what I am. The last one. The final contestant. The whole manor house, the trust fund, everything, it’s mine if I can just last until the ball this evening when the prize will be awarded.
It turns out, apparently Charles didn’t do quite as well with his final challenge as I did. Ashby wasn’t clear on the details, but Charles ended up pushing his panic button and was removed from the contest.
I couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in Ashby’s eye when he delivered the news when I got back to my bedroom, Silas kissing my lips right there in front of him as he told me there was something he needed to attend to and he would be sure to see me later.
Silas.
Whoever he is exactly I’m not sure but he is interested in me. Wants me. Agnes Cordelia Anderson.
It’s all a little overwhelming, to say the least.
As I sit on my bed, looking around the room, it starts to dawn on me what it all means. I won’t have to worry about money ever again. My life will never be the same again.
And I think I’m in love.
In love.
Wow. I’ve never thought that before. I’ve never been in love. Is this what love feels like? I have no idea, I have nothing to compare it with, but I think it is.
If only I still had my phone, I could call Harlow and ask if she knows or at least have a friend to tell about what’s going on. But no phone, so that’s a no go. All I can do is wait for her to show up at the ball this evening, when the public is allowed into the estate.
“Calm down, Delia,” I tell myself, placing a hand over my thundering heart. It’s just so overwhelming. “Try on my gown. That’s what I’ll do. Make sure it’s perfect for this evening. For seeing…”
Oh. My. God.
The mere thought of him. The memory of his eyes, of the way he looks at me, of the feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever he’s around. The way I feel his seed seeping into my panties…
A little squeak slips from my lips as I squeeze my legs together, trying to stifle the torrent of bliss and confusion and fear.
The dress. I need something to distract me.
Taking it from my case as I sit on the end of the bed, I marvel at the stitching work on the costume. Of course, it’s only for the theater, only for acting. It doesn’t have to stand up to much except an audience three or four yards away from the stage. When he sees me up close, will Silas be disappointed? Will he realize how poor I actually am?
As I finger the material, there’s a knock at the door.
“Madam, are you decent?” Ashby’s voice comes through and I think, for a moment, that he almost sounds fatherly, friendly.
I put the dress away and stand up from the edge of the bed. “Yes.”
He pushes the door open and comes in, and there’s that curious look again. The same curious look I’ve seen from Dalton, like they’re not seeing me for the first time, or like there’s something special about me. He smiles and brings out from behind him a dry-cleaners’ bag.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Anderson, but Mr. Worthington…that is to say, the present Mr. Worthington…bade me bring this to you and inquire whether you would consider wearing it for tonight’s festivities. It is, of course, entirely up to you. The dress belongs to the house collection, and has been in the family since the first Mr. Worthington was alive. I assure you it is quite presentable, however, and if I may be so bold it would bring out your eyes if you chose to wear it.”
