The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses

by Janna MacGregor

  Her sounds, the whimpers and the sharp breaths, hit him like bolts of lightning. Her supple body relaxed against him. She was gorgeous in the afterglow of her climax. His thoughts scattered as his cock demanded its own release.

  Quickly, he unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and took himself in hand. He lay on his side and clenched his length. He pressed his face against her cheek. Her scent of arousal caused his to strengthen. Hunger for completion took control as his cock pulsed. His climax exploded from him, and he willingly surrendered.

  The exquisite pleasure lasted for what seemed like minutes. He found her lips and made love to her mouth again as if possessed. Then as his heartbeat slowed, he kissed her gently, with more tenderness. He wanted all of her. It was madness, but he never wanted to let her go.

  He’d just come in his hand like an adolescent. Never had he been this beguiled and so out of control with a woman. He wanted to see her come again and witness how passion made her flush a brilliant pink. He wanted to take her and make her his in every way.

  More importantly, what had she done to him? For God’s sake, she was a virgin. He’d made her come as she lay on the floor fully dressed. He hadn’t even taken her to bed. It was as if an avalanche had fallen and captured them both in the swirl of their uncontrollable need for each other.

  He pulled away and made quick work of finding a handkerchief to clean the evidence of his climax. With a glance, he saw her slight pant, the desperate effort to gather her sanity from the madness they’d created.

  He turned on his side and rested his head in his hand. Magnificent. There was no other word to describe her. She lay before him like a feast he could spend days devouring.

  March blinked away her remaining bemusement, then shifted to meet his gaze. “Why?”

  “Why?” he mimicked. It was the only thing that had popped into his muddled brain.

  She turned the rest of her body so they lay facing each other. “What we shared. Why did you do it?”

  “I wanted to spend the time pleasing you.” He released a careful breath as he knew exactly why he had done it. At first, he could attribute his desire as a way to hide his anxiety over her numbers-and-patterns discourse.

  However, that was a lie.

  When he’d taken her in his arms, the truth had slowly unfurled. She was so beautiful to him and he wanted her—wanted to seduce her and prove how special she was. Only, he didn’t realize she could shake his very foundations. Gazing across at her tempting mouth and warm eyes, he wanted her again. “And I’m fond of you. I want more with you.”

  The utterance should have terrified him. Surprisingly, it didn’t. It was the truth.

  Her brow crinkled as she considered his answer. “Your brother doesn’t care for me. Please don’t misunderstand. I enjoyed what we did.” She closed her eyes as if to hide, but a perfect blush colored her cheeks betraying her unease.

  He leaned closer until a scant inch separated them. “I truly care for you. If I’ve offended you—”

  Her fingers touched his mouth to quiet him. Instinctively, he pressed his lips against her fingers.

  Her gaze was fierce. “I wanted this. I know if I would have said no, you’d have stopped. It was amazing.”

  Some part of him, the hidden primeval beast, made him want to pound his chest and grunt in approval. He reached to embrace her again and prove to her how much she meant to him.

  “But…” she whispered. A hint of pain shadowed the confusion in her voice.

  The word made him stop cold. What they had shared had been beyond his comprehension until he held her in his arms and experienced her affection and desire. There would be no “buts” about the passion storm they’d created between them.

  “March—” He took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. There was no kiss on the top of her hand, but something more intimate. He rubbed his lips against her skin as he spoke and met her gaze as he continued to caress her. “Tell me what William said to you. What did that reprobate do?”

  She met his chuckle with a loud sigh. She appeared tired, and sorrow lined her pretty face.

  “Nothing that would deserve your wrath.” She spoke calmly but her brightness had dimmed. “He doubted my family’s circumstances and my reasons for bringing my family to London. I’m surprised he didn’t discuss the conversation with you. Emma caught the last tails of the conversation and took him to task.”

  “William is too skeptical for his own good.” McCalpin shook his head. “Those two can fight over what day of the week it is.”

  She smiled in answer, then asked, “Why does William spend so much time with you?”

  His heart jolted to a dead stop, or at least it felt like it. To explain that his brother helped him with the financial aspects of the estate would be akin to admitting his failure. A haunting misery like a familiar jealous lover wrapped itself around him. So acute, he felt as if he were drowning.

  Before, when anyone talked of numbers, money—for heaven’s sake, even the odds on a particular horse in a race—he could skirt around the issue with some quip or haughty look. But this was March, and she deserved an answer. As the seconds ticked by, he broke into a cold sweat.

  “The estates are so vast, he’s proven valuable in their management.” He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. The silent distance between them grew so great it felt as if an iceberg had wedged itself there. “He’s my brother.”

  The explanation sounded lame even to his own ears, but it was all he could drudge up after the shock of her question.

  As he waited for her response, a flash of loneliness tore through him, not only for himself but for March, too. She had borne the responsibility of an estate and raising her siblings at the age of sixteen. She’d never experienced the frivolities of a Season or explored the world of young ladies who were carefully groomed for their introductions to society. While most women her age had been shopping for gowns, March had been shearing sheep and delivering lambs. God, she must have wanted to run away from it all. It was a testament to her character that she shouldered all the responsibility with nary a complaint.

  Guilt stole through him. She shared her fears. If he confided his weakness to her, she wouldn’t judge him. It might provide a bridge to help them both trust each other better. Could he dare risk it? He’d held everything in perfect balance for so long, he couldn’t find the words to start his confession.

  She was a remarkable person—intelligent, quick-witted, dedicated, with a common sense that put the majority of the ton to shame, and beautiful to boot. He wanted to take her burden from her shoulders and allow her to experience some of life’s pleasures, even if they were as dull as society events. “March?”

  She sat up and clasped her arms around her knees as if protecting herself. It racked him with guilt that she felt vulnerable and alone. Was it because of this afternoon or her meeting with William?

  “How do I get you to trust me?” Earnest, he wanted more from her than this tenuous place they seemed to be stuck in. “You have my word I won’t hurt you.”

  She rested her head against her knees and regarded him. “I could ask the same question. How do I get you to trust me?”

  “I think sharing ourselves with each other and spending time alone helps, don’t you?” he gently queried. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  He lost himself in the fire of her eyes. It reminded him of sunshine passing through a glass of brandy. He wanted to drink every drop of her until he quenched his thirst. Inside, he knew he’d never have that particular thirst satisfied, nor was he sure he wanted to.

  Like dawn gradually breaking the night’s hold on the sky, his mind cleared. He wanted her in his life permanently. He would make himself learn to trust her.

  “Have you changed your mind about marriage?” It was a bold question, but he wanted her to know that he wanted more.

  She shook her head.

  “I could see you married with children tugging on your skirts. Blissfully happy with a husband who
adores you.” He narrowed his eyes and growled low in his throat. “And I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Is it because you don’t want to be burdened with the business of approving the settlements?” Her sparkling laugh showered the room in light. “Don’t worry. No one has expressed any interest in me, and I haven’t received any gentleman callers.”

  He could bask in her brightness all day and all night if she’d let him.

  “Are you sure about that?” He drew close and whispered in her ear, “I might have somebody in mind for you.”

  Slowly she pulled away and stared at him. The moment she deduced what he was implying, her eyes widened, the shock evident on her face.

  “After tomorrow’s night ball, we’re going to have a discussion about your future.” He stood and extended his hand to hers. As if she expected his touch would burn her, she tentatively took his hand for assistance. With one pull, he had her on her feet.

  In an efficient manner, she bent her head, exposing her glorious crown of ebony hair, then briskly brushed her skirts.

  He was definitely attracted to her physically. Her attitude regarding family and the Lawson estate perfectly matched his toward his own family and the huge responsibility he felt for the entire duchy.

  He caught her gaze. The flush of her cheeks, the remnants of their intimate interlude, brought a lovely vibrancy to her face. Indeed, she was nothing at all like the other society chits. If he’d dabbled with one of those, they’d be screaming for his offer of marriage. As an honorable man, he should marry March for what transpired. However, there was no expectation in her demeanor. She observed him with such candid honesty that her regard humbled him.

  “Miss Lawson, it’s chilly here, and I think we should return to Langham House. I can’t have you catching cold.” He wrapped her arm around his and led her out of the numbers room.

  If he were truthful, he rather liked the odd, little room. In the future, every time he stepped in here, he’d finally have a happy, if not salacious, memory of numbers—his first time with March as she fell apart in his arms.

  In addition, a more important memory—the day he decided they would marry.

  * * *

  Sleep had never been elusive to March until she’d arrived in London. The late nights attending social events, the shopping, the numerous callers who dropped by during the day, not to mention the hectic schedule of events the duchess insisted March and her sisters attend during the day, should have ensured she fell asleep quickly and deeply.

  Tonight was no exception, but it differed from her other sleepless nights. Michael had taken control of all her thoughts. She rose from her comfortable bed and slipped on her silk dressing gown. Generous to a fault, the duchess insisted that Mademoiselle Mignon make one for each of the Lawson sisters. Both Faith and Julia had received a delicate pink silk dressing gown. The duchess had chosen a deep-gold silk trimmed with ermine for March.

  Decadent but providing little warmth, the wrap was perfect since her room was toasty. She collapsed onto the small sofa that faced the fire and allowed Michael full reign over her thoughts.

  Gently, she stroked her fingers over her still-tender lips as she recalled his mouth on hers. Tantalizing and taunting her at the same time, he’d masterfully taught her how to kiss in a way she’d never fathomed. When he’d touched her so intimately there, she should have been shocked. Instead, she had begged for more. Her body shivered in response as she recalled the startling release he’d given her. He’d made her feel like an instrument, one he tenderly had tuned then played like a virtuoso.

  Then when he’d found his own climax, she’d been enthralled by the act. Unable to look away, she’d stared at his thick and engorged length. All the while, she imagined how gentle he would be when he made love to her.

  She closed her eyes and dismissed the thought. At least, she tried to banish such an outrageous thought. Her behavior should bring a mortifying heat to her face. No well-bred young woman should engage in such outrageous and bold behavior prior to marriage. Her parents had raised her to believe such acts would banish her from her society.

  Even though she was a viscount’s daughter, inside beat the heart of a sheep farmer. After a month, the hard callouses that marred her hands had softened. However, the scars from her work would always remain whether prettily disguised by elegant gloves or not.

  There was no marriage in her future, and Michael’s teasing when he left her townhome was nothing more than an attempt to bolster her confidence. What rational man, let alone a ducal heir, would be interested in marrying her, especially with the responsibility of caring for three siblings? Perhaps someday, with a little luck, she might find some gentleman farmer or a widower to marry. Her money would certainly convince the poor fellow to overlook her height and size.

  Well, she’d discovered something profound about herself over the last several weeks. Whatever attention the Marquess of McCalpin bestowed upon her, she would steal, then preserve the memories for the lonely times she faced in her future. Bennett would likely spend years at school. Her sisters would marry and have families and fulfilling lives—all the usual consequences of being a viscount’s daughter.

  March wouldn’t have such high expectations for herself. She’d accepted her responsibilities. Furthermore, she’d see them finished. It was a promise she intended to keep.

  After she settled into bed, the reality she faced tomorrow brought bittersweet thoughts. It was one day closer to her lovely sisters finding their true loves, and one day closer to leaving London and Michael. Life’s inevitable passing of time continued its race forward no matter how much she longed for it to slow its progression.

  It also brought closure to what her future held. There would be no love or strong arms to hold her at night. Nor would there be that enticing scent of pine and a particular man that she longed for.

  Finally, the elusive sleep claimed her, and her dreams took command with her David center stage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tonight, dressed in a mazarine-blue silk and satin gown, March felt a kindred spirit to Cinderella. Emma and Daphne had insisted the elegant dress in a shade between indigo and violet would be the perfect match for her mother’s sapphire earrings.

  Thank heavens for friends.

  As the Earl of Queensgrace whirled her around the dance floor, the dress shimmered and glistened in the reflective light cast by the candles in the chandeliers. Since she and her sisters had arrived at Lady Carlisle’s, none of them had missed a dance. Truly, to say her sisters were a success wasn’t at all an exaggeration. They seemed to have a following of men and women who craved their attention.

  In the earl’s arms, she relaxed. Even the Duke and Duchess of Langham had remarked about Faith and Julia’s success. Generous as always, they’d congratulated March on her sisters accomplishments. The duchess had even whispered that she fully expected offers of marriage to be forthcoming within the next couple of days.

  March exhaled a long sigh of contentment.

  “Miss Lawson, might I call upon you tomorrow?” Tall, with a handsome face, the earl peered down. A serious countenance replaced his normal lightheartedness.

  “I would enjoy your visit.” March waited three steps then pressed him for more details. “Shall I have my sisters with me, or do you wish to speak privately?”

  A blinding smile lit his face, and his gray eyes seemed to shimmer in the candlelight. “I should have expected you to be a wonderful tactician.” He colored slightly and bent his head close to hers. “There’s no sense in keeping the cat in the bag. I’d formally like to discuss my intentions with Miss Julia. I don’t want to go into details here, but I’d like to make my case and gain your approval for a match.”

  March squeezed his hand with hers in approval. “I look forward to your visit. But perhaps afterward we should discuss your intentions with the marquess, since he’s Julia’s guardian?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Miss Lawson. I’ve already spoken to him, and he sa
ys the decision should be made by you as the eldest of the family.”

  She stumbled slightly at the pronouncement. Once again, her heart fluttered as if preparing to take flight. Perhaps it hovered, suspended in her chest with longing, as if encouraging her to find Michael. She wanted to share the news and then discuss how the earl’s courtship with Julia should proceed. With an ease March hoped didn’t betray her rush, she glanced around the ballroom and found the marquess.

  He stood with his father and brother and another man, the Earl of Fletcher, deep in conversation. By Michael’s side, Lady Miranda gazed adoringly up at Michael. March’s stomach dropped at the familiar uncertainty, the familiar sting of jealously, the familiar thoughts of her own unsuitability.

  She turned to Queensgrace. His face softened, and he leaned close. “Miss Lawson, the marquess was highly complimentary of your acumen in matters such as these. I believe he mentioned he held you in ‘high regard’ when I discussed my intentions with Miss Julia.”

  A sudden heat rose from her chest to her face, and it had nothing to do with the soft burr of his voice, the one Julia practically melted over every time she talked about him. “I hold the marquess in high regard also. He’s taken his responsibilities to our family seriously. We’re fortunate he possesses such a keen interest in our welfare.”

  The earl threw back his head laughing. The deep baritone rang through the ballroom. Several people turned in the midst of their dance and smiled at the happy sound.

  “Miss Lawson, there are responsibilities and there are the heart’s desires. I’m astute enough not to confuse the two. I believe you are too.”

  Suddenly, she felt as if the floor had turned into an icy river that was better suited for skating than dancing. One slip, and her heart would be laid out for all to see. This conversation had taken a turn into an unknown area, one she didn’t have the faintest clue how to answer.

  As the dance came to a slow end, the earl gracefully released her and bent over her hand. “Thank you, Miss Lawson. I enjoyed our dance, and I look forward to our visit.”