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Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re a writer.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Well”—her cheeks warmed—“I found a poem in the bureau downstairs when I was looking for— Oh, never mind. Anyway, it was about me. It was lovely, and quite…erotic.”
Evan’s handsome face reddened. “You saw that?”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry to tell you, but that particular poem won’t be in the book.”
“Why not? It was beautiful.”
“Because of its nature. And the Vagrancy Act…”
Ally looked away. “Oh.”
He cupped her cheek and turned her back to face him. “Listen to me. I love your writing. You’re a natural, but let’s both cease trying to publish our more…arousing works until the law is changed.”
Ally nodded sadly. He was right, of course.
“That doesn’t mean we have to stop writing. We can write erotica solely for our own pleasure, and we can write mainstream work for publication. Write a novel, my love, and it will be my privilege and utter joy to publish it for you.”
Ally nodded. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“It’s whatever we want from now on. I do love you so, Alexandra.”
The warmth of love consumed her heart. “And I love you, my Evan.”
Epilogue
A month later, Evan and Ally retired to their suite after being married via special license. It had been a small ceremony at the Brighton estate, attended only by family and a few close friends. Although they had both been cleared for pleasure a week earlier by the doctor, they had chosen to wait until their wedding night.
Ally bathed with Mil
licent’s help and dressed in a sheer pink night rail. She sat down at her dressing table, dabbed a bit of lavender on her pulse points, and pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to pink them. Her face was back to normal, the only remnant of her beating a small scar next to her right eye. It wasn’t her first scar, but it would be her last. She smiled in gratitude for her new husband and life she had been given.
Perhaps she was not as broken as she’d thought. Perhaps she was worthy after all.
She lay down on the bed and waited for her new husband to come to her. A few moments later, he walked through the door, breathtaking in a burgundy silk robe.
“Alexandra, my love. You are stunning.”
“As are you, my Evan.”
He slid the robe off his shoulders and hung it over the back of the chair, striding forward, his nakedness mesmerizing her. She would never tire of looking at his magnificence.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said, pressing his lips to hers. “The last month has been torture, not being able to touch you, to love you.”
“I assure you it has been no less torturous for me.”
They crushed their lips together in a primal and drugging kiss. Oh, how she had missed his kisses, those kisses that were not kisses at all, really. They were another form of lovemaking. When Evan broke the kiss, they both took a deep breath. He rained tiny pecks over her cheeks, her neck, her earlobe.
“My God, I love you.”
“And I love you, Evan. Only you. Forever.”
He sank his teeth into her shoulder. She shivered. She was so ready for this man, this night. Her wedding night.
