“Father, I’ll return shortly,” Lady Miranda offered.
“Take your time. Enjoy yourself.” The encouragement in Lord Fletcher’s tone was unmistakable as the handsome couple proceeded to the dance floor. He turned to the duke and whispered, “They’d make a fine match.”
Without answering Lord Fletcher, the duke regarded her. The gentle empathy in his eyes bore straight through her. “Would you care to dance, Miss Lawson?”
The offer caused another stinging heat to flame her cheeks. The duke must have seen her mistake.
“No, thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered, “I’m finding it extremely warm.”
With a sympathetic smile, he nodded. “Take the exit behind me. It leads to a mezzanine balcony,” he whispered. “You’ll be able to catch your breath there.”
She bowed her head and cleared her throat. The effort did little to tame her humiliation.
Without another word, she quietly took her leave and quickly found the hidden staircase leading to the mezzanine above the dance floor. It was a perfect place to view the crowd below.
Shortly, Bennett stood beside her.
“You aren’t in bed?” she asked.
Bennett’s handsome face split into a merry grin, and like a tonic, she drank in the happy sight. “I haven’t claimed my dance with Lady Somerton yet.”
The earnest statement caused her to laugh. How could she deny him the magical evening? He had every right to enjoy this as much as she did. “I’ll let you stay up for fifteen minutes, then to bed.”
“Indeed,” Emma said. Somehow, March’s pregnant friend had sidled up beside her without making a sound. “I can’t go to bed without my dance either.” Dressed in a satin crimson gown that was daring and bold, the beautiful blond looked up at her and winked. “Besides, I don’t get many chances to escape from Somerton.”
March nodded and glanced down at the ballroom. Dr. Kennett was escorting Faith to the refreshment room. The good doctor must have noticed her sister’s pinched mouth, a clear sign she was growing weary.
Julia danced with the newly titled young Earl of Queensgrace, a representative peer from Scotland sitting for the first time in the House of Lords. By all appearances, the two were enjoying each other immensely.
March’s gaze swept across the ballroom, awash in all colors of the rainbow. She tapped her toes in time to the music, then stopped suddenly. Her traitorous eyes had found Michael dancing with Lady Miranda Fletcher. Enjoying some quip, Michael threw back his head and laughed. It had to be March’s imagination, but his deep mellifluous baritone had traveled all the way up into the mezzanine and wrapped itself around her in a suffocating weight. The joyful sound knocked the breath out of her as if she’d fallen out of a tree.
Desperate to hide her distress, she stared into the distance, willing herself not to steal another peek at the perfection the couple presented to the crowd. Gripping the railing tightly, she didn’t know if she could let go without falling into a heap of velvet, one completely emptied since her soul had withered to nothing. She gasped, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
Emma’s hand covered hers. “It means nothing. Father wanted him to dance with her as he’s courting Lady Miranda’s father for support in next week’s vote in the House of Lords.”
She didn’t say a word as she continued to stare at the whirling couples below. Finally, she swallowed and found her voice in a shaky tone that betrayed her disquiet. “It’s none of my concern.”
Liar, her mind screamed, but she dismissed the warning. It was too late, as her heart lay pummeled on the ground.
“March.” Emma’s voice softened to a whisper. “Believe me, it’s nothing.”
The orchestra began the second waltz of the evening, and the notes brought forth shimmering memories of the sweet card she’d found enclosed with the dress she wore this evening. Absently, she rubbed her hands down the soft velvet, upsetting the nap. It was exactly how she felt—out of place and out of sorts. She didn’t need a reminder of Michael’s promise of a dance. There was only one more waltz, and that was the supper waltz. She’d already promised it to William and planned to retire shortly afterward.
She’d been a fool to even wish for anything more. He was the Duke of Langham’s heir, and she was nothing more than a shepherdess. For heaven’s sake, she had the scars from the work on her hands, wrists, and arms to prove she wasn’t a lady. How could he ever see a life with her?
She pressed her eyes closed to stop tears from forming. Michael was a good man who treated her fairly after all she’d done. This ball and this night were his world, not hers. She’d do well to remember that piece of wisdom. It’d keep her heart from shattering into smaller and smaller pieces.
She pasted a smile on her lips and turned to Emma and Bennett. “I’d like to see that waltz now, if you please. In minutes, my brother might turn into a rat if he doesn’t go to bed.”
Emma stared at her with a crinkled her brow as if not believing the change of mood.
Bennett approached and then in a bow that would have made the fussiest dance master proud, asked, “My lady, may I have this dance?”
Emma turned her attention to the young lord and granted him a proper curtsy. “It would be an honor, my lord.”
Bennett’s happy face shot to March’s, and he waggled his eyebrows. That simple expression garnered a real smile. She’d not let her disappointment over Michael rob her of this precious moment—her brother’s first dance with a lady, even if the chosen lady was pregnant.
When the couple started to dance, March didn’t try to tame her glee. Bennett’s arm could barely reach around Emma’s waist. Somehow, Emma adjusted their stance, and they stepped with relative ease and grace into the waltz movements.
As her laughter subsided into uncontrollable giggles, March clung to the beauty before her. Silly as it was, Emma with her brother was exactly the type of frivolity she needed at this despicable moment. There was kindness and friendship all around if she would just forget her sorrows and focus on the goodness. Her sweet brother’s first waltz was a perfect example of all the happiness that awaited her. She’d not let her petty wishes for another life rob her of this special moment in time.
Emerging from the small hallway leading to the family quarters, Lord Somerton observed the proceedings. With a breathtaking smile that clearly showed his love for his wife, he sauntered forward and tapped Bennett on the shoulder. “Lord Lawson, may I have my wife now?”
Graciously, Bennett nodded and stepped out of the way. Lord Somerton took his beautiful wife in his arms and instead of leading them away, he swept Emma into the full waltz pattern.
Never in her life had March witnessed anything as breathtakingly beautiful as the couple before her—one full of life and love, dancing and cherishing each other. She brought her hand to her mouth in awe.
A familiar scent of pine wafted toward her, but she ignored it. Earlier, when she thought Michael had asked her to dance, she’d allowed her imagination free rein. Now, she’d not be tricked again. She was trying desperately to survive the rest of the evening without thinking of him with Lady Miranda. She wanted now, this perfect moment, to be the memory that wrested away her unhappiness.
“They are a sight to behold, aren’t they?” Michael whispered.
She couldn’t allow herself to look at him or she’d burst into sobs. All she could manage was a nod.
Bennett wrinkled his nose and directed his attention to the marquess. “Sometimes when March sees something that makes her happy, she cries. You should see her when she helps a ewe lambing. Like a spring shower if you know what I mean, McCalpin.”
She tried to escape by stepping closer to the exit toward the family quarters. Michael stopped her, standing in her path with a gaze that reached deep inside and twisted her resolve. All the control she’d managed to summon within the last several minutes, he crushed into tiny shards.
Fearful he’d see what was in her heart, she turned back to Emma and Somerton�
��s waltz. She’d never recover if Michael discerned her pathetic disappointment over his dance with Lady Miranda.
“Dance with me,” he demanded.
Surprised, she blinked and tore her attention from the couple.
“Please,” he said. The blue of his eyes captured hers, and she couldn’t pull away.
She didn’t want to. It was pure folly. No, a better description was pure torture, but her heart demanded she agree. It might be her only chance. She called forth every piece of strength she had and smiled.
His warm hand possessed hers, and he squeezed her fingers as he led her close to Emma and Somerton. With an elegant turn, he took her in his arms. It felt like heaven. He led her in the sweeping pattern, and with no resistance, she closed her eyes, concentrating on his touch and the movement that threatened to make her dizzy.
“You are the most beautiful woman here tonight,” he whispered close to her ear.
His warm breath teased her skin. Lost in the moment, she didn’t respond. The need to relish every sensation he gave her this evening took precedence.
“I imagined how utterly right you’d feel in my arms, but the reality of perfection isn’t an adequate comparison. The softness of the velvet to the silkiness of your skin—”
“Stop,” she whispered. “There’s no need to pretend this is anything other than what it is.”
He seemed confused. “Which is?”
“A dance.”
She chanced a glance at Emma and a besotted Somerton. Their happiness was almost tangible, and it caused a crushing emptiness inside her. She refused to let it overtake her. Not here, not in front of him. “You’re the guardian of my family, and I’m an additional responsibility. You don’t have to pretend anything else.”
Bennett studied them as if trying to divine what was occurring between her and Michael. She didn’t need her brother quizzing her in the morning in front of her sisters. How could she explain it if she didn’t understand it herself?
How can someone fall in love and experience the most euphoric moment of their life, her family finally taking their rightful place in society, then in the same evening feel as if a pack of wolves had shredded her heart?
She bit her lip and sighed. Michael narrowed his eyes and stared at her lips. He swept her in a perfect circle. Thankfully, the waltz finally ended and they came to a slow stop.
Emma covered her mouth with her elegant silk-gloved hand and yawned. “Come, Bennett. Lord Somerton and I will escort you to the nursery. I’ll show you some of McCalpin’s favorite hiding places when he was your age. Sometime you may need an escape from your lovely sisters. Tomorrow, I’ll show you mine. In exchange, perhaps you’ll share with Somerton that move you used to turn us. I quite enjoyed that.”
Somerton drew her close and kissed her on the cheek. “Minx,” he whispered, but it was still loud enough they all heard it.
With Bennett chatting away to Somerton, the couple took their leave heading to the family quarters.
Without letting go, Michael drew her into the shadows of a curtained alcove. Foolish as it was, March followed without any resistance.
* * *
Not saying a word, McCalpin waited until March finished her thorough examination of the floor. Thinly disguised, the effort kept her from looking at him. Finally, her gaze met his. Her beautiful eyes glistened with sadness, making his heart clench. Her hurt, mistrust, and longing combined into a maelstrom that nearly brought him to his knees.
Without thought of the decorum or propriety of meeting a woman alone in the middle of a ball, McCalpin trailed the back of his hand against her cheek. He cursed as his glove kept him from touching the silkiness of her skin. He ripped the offending piece off his hand, then returned to his ministrations.
She closed her eyes as if his touch soothed.
“Tell me what’s happened?” he coaxed.
Her eyes fluttered open. She searched his with an intensity that surely exposed every flaw he’d so desperately tried to hide.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing important.”
Her whisper caressed him in return. For the entire night, he’d wanted to take her in his arms. However, when she’d stood beside him and started to discuss wool prices and taxes, he had to escape. If he’d stayed any longer, someone might have asked him a question he would not have been able to answer. His inability to perform his duties laid bare for all to see.
His only solution had led him to ask Lady Miranda to dance. When he’d returned the chit to Lord Fletcher, McCalpin’s father had told him where he could find March.
Now they were alone, and he wanted to brush his lips against hers. Ever since they’d shared their first kiss at Lawson Court, he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. He didn’t care that he was responsible for her family. He didn’t care they were in a ballroom filled with guests.
He didn’t care about anything except her.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. The sweet taste of peppermint and her warm mouth greeted him. She sighed gently. He deepened the kiss until her lips opened, inviting him in.
Not rushing, he tenderly delved into every inch of her mouth with his tongue, exploring what she liked and teaching her in turn. Her moan was a heady sound, and he embraced her tightly to his chest. The softness of the velvet and the crush of her breasts yielding against his chest caused a wildfire of desire to ignite through him. She was as lost as he was if her moans were any indication.
With her fingers threaded through his hair, she urged him closer, almost frantic in her desire for him.
He traced the edge of her bodice with his fingertips as if trying to memorize the dips and swells of her exquisite flesh. With one forefinger he slipped beneath her stays, he explored the gentle curve of her breast and found her nipple. She cried out in pleasure, and he kept up the sweet torment. She pulled him closer, but slowly with infinite care, he pulled away. If they continued, he’d sweep her into his arms and carry her to her bed.
She reached for him as if displeased he broke the kiss. To appease her, he brushed her lips once more, then rested his forehead against hers. Their wayward breathing proved they were both desperate for more.
His lips trailed around the delicate skin of her ear. He closed his body around hers seeking to protect her from any more sadness. Velvet heat coursed through every inch of him. His hard length pulsed against her lower body, electrifying him, and she responded in kind with the tilt of her hips.
He nipped the lobe of her ear to make damn well certain she paid attention.
“Does that feel like a responsibility to you?” he whispered.
Chapter Twelve
While McCalpin always had a voracious appetite in the morning, today was outside of the ordinary. He generously spread the delicate elderberry jam across his toast and inhaled the sweetness that rose to greet him. He couldn’t seem to get enough to eat. Every flavor enhanced, and every bite sweeter, fresher, and better seasoned.
He glanced at William across the table. “Does the food taste any differently to you?”
William sliced another bite of ham. “No.”
McCalpin shook his head in wonderment and stared at his empty plate. “For some reason, everything tastes more delectable.”
His brother smirked. Before he could reply, their sister, Emma, arrived for their weekly breakfast meeting. The siblings had started this ritual shortly after Emma married Nick. They gathered at McCalpin’s townhouse to discuss what was going on in their lives without any interference from parents or spouses. Their cousin Claire always attended as well. More like a sister than a cousin, she grew up beside the three of them. As the sole survivor of the tragic carriage accident that claimed the lives of her parents, the previous Duke and Duchess of Langham, Claire had come to live with them when she was ten. Since she’d just delivered her third child a month ago, she’d chosen to stay away the last several times they’d met.
Dressed to the nines in a light green velvet morning gown with black satin rib
bon trim that set off her brilliant-green eyes, Emma gracefully maneuvered her body into the seat beside McCalpin.
One side of Will’s mouth twitched up. “Any problems escaping from Somerton?”
With a smile, she arched one eyebrow and leaned close as if divulging a secret. “I always tell him I plan to sleep late on the days of our breakfast morning gatherings. He’s been in his study all day.”
“Naughty girl, Em.” Will resumed eating his ham. “Exactly what I would do.”
“Does he mind that you come without him?” McCalpin had always had a soft spot for his high-spirited sister. “I’d hate to cause any disagreement between the two of you.”
Emma snorted in that delicate way of hers. “Please. It’s all a game between us. He stood by the window and waved good-bye as I entered the carriage. He knows nothing would keep me away from our mornings together.”
A footman delivered a plate filled with fresh fruits, cheese, eggs, ham, and toast for Emma. She sipped her tea and addressed a question to Will.
The white of the linen table covering caught McCalpin’s attention. His mind drifted to the creamy softness of March’s neck. Last night, when he’d nuzzled the delicate skin between her neck and shoulder, it had been heaven—one he wanted to taste again.
She’d bewitched him in that dress, but there had been more. Her scent had him panting like a wild animal desperate for its mate. Her lips had practically caused him to come undone. Soft, sweet, and wet, her mouth was a masterpiece of sensual delights, one he could have studied and tasted for hours.
However, she’d devastated him beyond all reason with the sadness in her eyes when he’d first seen her. Something last night had caused her to shy away until he’d practically begged her for a dance. For the life of him, he had no earthly idea what he’d done. That was what had driven him to take her into the alcove and kiss her until neither of them could remember that the rest of the world existed.
A sheepish smile tickled his lips. It would be his pleasure to beg forgiveness again and again if she’d reward him with her little moans of desire.
The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses Page 14