“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Will you, March, take me, Michael, as your husband?” he teased as he squeezed her hands. “It’s simple. I want you as my marchioness and as the mother of my children. I can’t imagine my life any other way. Marry me.”
She blinked twice, and her brows drew together as she contemplated his words. Her eyes filled with hope, as if he’d given her the world on a gold platter. “Truly?”
“Unequivocally,” he answered. The moment, and her reaction, were perfect. He’d made her happy. “I want you to say yes.”
She bit her lower lip, but he already knew her answer by the fire in her eyes.
“Yes, yes, yes.” She rushed into his arms. “If that’s not enough, let me repeat it a million times.”
He took possession of her mouth, and she took possession of his happiness. Never had anything in his life felt so perfect and untainted by any of his failings. He hadn’t planned to propose tonight. He wanted to wait until they reached London, but seeing her suffer and distressed made him want to cure her melancholy. Perhaps it wasn’t the perfect time, but he was satisfied. It’d been the right thing to do.
Perhaps with March by his side, he could make his mark on the Langham duchy without destroying it into the ground.
Chapter Nineteen
Before Michael had retired for the evening, he’d shown March the connecting door to his suite and insisted she come to him if she had any worries or concerns. The euphoria over his marriage proposal had pushed aside her gnawing emptiness that had resulted from the truth of her birth. But as sure as the sun surrenders to the night, so did her elation. The minutes ticked by, and an ill sense of doom clouded her senses much like the smoke from a green wood fire.
After she’d soaked in a rose-scented bath, March had collapsed in a yellow-and-ivory striped brocade chair and studied the fire. Her illegitimacy once again consumed her thoughts. How could she share a life with someone as wonderful as Michael when her own identity would always be a whispered rumor behind her back? Ghosts of innuendos and slights by the elite members of the ton would haunt her. She couldn’t bear it if her past compromised Michael’s political career or damaged his standing in society. Rupert would inflict more damage if he continued in his accusations that she was a forger and an embezzler. She should wait to discuss the matter thoroughly with Michael on the morrow, but it was too important to wait.
She had to reassure herself that he understood what it would mean if he married her. The honorable thing was to allow him to withdraw his proposal, even though she’d be heartbroken if he agreed.
The more March tried to settle her thoughts, the wilder they swirled. When she started to pace, her heartbeat raced in an attempt to keep up with her frantic steps. Soon she found herself walking across the shared dressing room. When she reached Michael’s door, she tentatively knocked.
“Come in.” Even through the thick wood door, his deep voice carried.
Quickly, so she wouldn’t lose her courage, she entered his private domain.
Instead of darkness, soft light bathed the room from a well-tended fire before her. Two candles flickered in welcome on a table to her right. Next to the table stood a massive four-poster bed covered with elegant emerald-green satin and brocade hangings with a faint tartan pattern of blue and red. A velvet spread covered the bed in the color of hunter green. Every piece of fabric, artwork, and furniture in the room signified power and opulence. However, the most amazing sight lay in the bed.
In repose and shirtless, Michael reclined holding a book, his other arm stretched across an ivory bolster. The muscular contours and valleys of his body emphasized his strength, reminding her once again that he was a virile, masculine creature who could break her without much effort.
As she struggled with her thoughts, another crossroad lay before her. Whether she chose the right path and offered to release him from his marriage proposal or selfishly clung to the life he promised was a deadly battle, one her mind and heart fought with vigor. To free Michael from his promise could very well result in her heart not surviving the night, but it was the right decision. Slowly, her labored breath grew less frantic while her heartbeat skipped in fits and starts, urging her to join him.
He smiled briefly, the one he used when he was about to tease her. The sight so familiar and comforting it reminded her of home and the sun on a summer day. When she caught his gaze, his eyes glimmered with a sensual magnetism that compelled her forward, but riveted to the spot, she lacked the ability to move toward him.
“Sweetheart, what is it?” His brows drew together in a line.
“I can’t”—she struggled for the right phrase, for the correct words, for anything—“marry unless you understand all the ramifications of what I discovered today in Chelmsford—”
“You can.” Michael threw aside the velvet spread and rose from the opposite side of the bed. He turned toward the wall with his backside facing her, leaving March with a clear view of his naked body. The muscles in his back rippled with his movements. Unable to tear her gaze away, she studied every line of his form as her heart hammered against her ribs. Wide shoulders narrowed into strong hips. His perfectly formed buttocks tensed as he reached for his banyan.
The air around her grew heavy and locked her into place. There was no need for the forced captivity. She could watch him all day. With wide eyes, she consumed him with her gaze. Michael was perfect.
She shook her head to clear the spell that held her enthralled. With a turn, she faced the ebony door and rested her forehead against it. The smooth wood comforted the fever that had swept through her. She wore only the dressing gown the duchess had given her. When she’d finished her bath, she’d searched for her nightgown, but it was missing. The maid must have snatched it up along with the rest of the laundry. Servants acting as lady’s maids were still a foreign concept to her. Now because she’d carelessly left her nightgown next to the clothes she’d worn today, she was practically as naked as he was.
“I apologize for interrupting you.” As if it were perfectly normal she’d be addressing the door, she continued, “It can wait until morning.”
Mortified, she wanted to melt into the woodwork. She’d ogled him as if he were a sweet treat especially prepared for her. Eyes closed, she fumbled to find the door handle.
Suddenly, warm fingers laced with hers. Like a phantom, he’d reached her side without making a sound.
“You can interrupt me anytime.” His warm breath tickled her ear, while he pressed his hot body against hers. “Anywhere.”
Caught between the cool wood and Michael, she should escape.
Thank goodness “shoulds” carried less weight than “wants.”
As if demanding her to stay, his scent of evergreen mixed with pure male, covered her—no, marked her. She inhaled deeply.
He nudged her ear with his nose. “If you’re planning on breaking our betrothal after only two hours, I’ll kiss you senseless until you renege,” he whispered.
With their fingers still clasped, he wrapped their arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She was helpless when a slow throb pulsed in her belly. With no hesitation, she leaned her head against his shoulder. In a rare feat, he made her feel small and feminine.
Cherished.
“What shall I do to convince you that our marriage is a wise decision?” he murmured. He turned her to face him and their eyes met. Never breaking their gaze, he leaned close, rested his elbow against the door, and framed her with his body.
He tenderly touched his lips against hers. He demanded nothing. When she tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled away slightly.
“I want this marriage. Let me try to persuade you that I’m the perfect man for you,” he hummed.
She could only nod in response.
“I’m very effective with my arguments.” He kissed her again and gathered her in his arms. Chest to chest and leg to leg, their bodies fit together perfectly. His untied banyan had fallen
open, and his hot chest burned through her dressing gown. Her breasts grew heavy and her nipples tightened into peaks as he finally, and thankfully, deepened the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around him, and a slight sigh escaped her when his hands caressed a path down her back, the touch mesmerizingly slow. Somehow, her dressing gown had come untied. She gasped at the shock of his smooth skin against hers. In response, he growled. His tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance, one he was teaching her.
One hand grazed her breast in the barest of teasing touches. She moaned in protest, and he chuckled. He traced the taunt nipple with one finger, then stepped away. Holding her hand in front of him, Michael allowed his gaze to sweep down the length of her body.
After an eternity, his gaze caressed her. Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers. His dilated pupils were huge, but it was the sight of his erection that caused her breath to hitch. Its hard length mesmerized her. A drop of his essence leaked, and in the candlelight, it glistened.
She chanced a glance at his face. His nostrils flared as he watched her. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you dance in the attic with your court dress.”
He kissed her cheek, then trailed his lips across her neck, then lower. Her breath caught at his touch. Tenderly, he sucked one nipple into his mouth while he gently kneaded the other. The feel of his lips and hot tongue, alluring and tormenting at the same time, churned her desire. Like a puppet on a string, she reacted to his every touch, and her center tightened in response. The room faded from view. She was only aware of his mouth and the bristles of his evening beard brushing against the sensitive skin of her breasts, bewitching her more with his magic.
He glanced up. The lazy smile he delivered was spellbinding. There was no need for words. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
As if worshipping her body, he knelt before her, then trailed his mouth down her abdomen. Framing her hips with his hands, he kissed her in the most secret of places. With his mouth on her, he licked through her folds until he found her sensitive nub. Her eyes fluttered when his tongue circled her clitoris.
Her body was embarrassingly wet from her desire. Thinking he would be horrified, she shifted to escape. He gently pulled her back, then captured her gaze.
“Don’t you like this?” He pressed a slight kiss in the valley where her hip meet her leg, then studied her.
“I do, but…” God, how could she even discuss this? “I’m…”
He cocked his head, and the uncertainty in his eyes tugged at her heart. “You’re what?”
She closed her eyes, and heat bludgeoned her cheeks. “I’m wet,” she whispered.
“I know. Look at me,” he commanded, his voice gentle but unyielding.
She did as directed.
His eyes flashed, and a devilish grin suddenly appeared. “I’m wild about it.” He grasped her hand and laced their fingers together. “Don’t be embarrassed. You excite me. Here’s the proof.” He waved his other hand at the hard length of his erection. “Let me take care of you?”
Without letting go, he rested their entwined hands on her hip and proceeded to pleasure her. The splendid slow sweep of his tongue against her center teased and taunted her unmercifully. Sparks of pleasure burned through her. The sensation increased and built to a point she didn’t know if she’d survive. Uncertain whether she could stand of her own volition, she grabbed his hair with her other hand to keep from falling. As if pleased, he squeezed her hand, the one he held.
He continued the sweet caresses and kisses, sweeping her into a wonderfully mindless world. His touch, his mouth on her body, and his gentle strength overwhelmed her. At this point, she wanted more. The pleasure he gave was not only relentless, but also addictive.
Soon, every nerve stood on edge ready to explode. She labored for breath and tried to rein in the effect he had on her, but soft mewling sounds escaped. She’d never experienced anything this fantastic before. Like a feral animal, her response bucked to be set free. When her body reached its peak, she let go and fell completely into the passion he’d created.
Slowly, she awoke from the sensual dream. Without realizing it, she was gently running her fingers through his hair. When he pulled away from her to stand, he took her hand and kissed it.
“You’re even more beautiful when you come,” he whispered. His lips touched hers, and she could taste herself. No dream and desire she’d ever experienced could compare with the giving lover before her.
Like a gust of wind clearing the winter leaves, his enchantment eliminated her concerns. She would marry him.
“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered.
As if the tethers holding her in place suddenly released, she allowed her decision to take charge. Whether her heart had completely defeated all doubt in her mind made little difference. It was all so perfectly clear. Everything she needed and wanted was with Michael.
She grasped his hand and led him to bed. The warmth of his fingers against hers encouraged her to face the chill of the linen bedding. They both shed their robes and climbed onto the master platform bed. Instinctively, she moved closer to him when he lay beside her.
As he pulled her tight against him, the soft sound of his chuckle swept across her. “You’re a determined thing when you make a decision.”
“Yes,” she whispered. It was difficult to keep the wonderment out of her voice when a bare chest was right in front of her eyes for her viewing pleasure.
Michael trailed his fingers through her hair, combing it while soothing her. “Your soft tresses belie your hair’s underlying strength. Just like you.” He pulled a thick curl to his face and brushed it across his cheek. The movement brought her mouth close to his, and he brushed his lips across hers.
She released a ragged sigh. She was in deep and wanted to go to the bottom.
“Kiss me,” he whispered. Almost a plea, his words caused her to shiver.
She ducked her head against his neck. His scent enticed her closer. God, she wanted it to cover her like the heat from his body. She trailed her lips across the sharp angle of his jaw until she found his square chin.
“Kiss me,” he growled in response, but he didn’t attempt to take her mouth with his.
She ignored his command and gently placed her lips on the dimple of his chin, the one that had fascinated her since she first met him.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” His eyes blazed. With a swift turn, he twisted with her in his arms until he loomed over her, forcing her onto her back with her head against his pillow.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” she softly demanded in return.
He rested on one elbow and with his other hand played with her hair. His piercing gaze made her believe he saw every crevice of hope and longing in her being. “I’ve always kissed you. Now, your turn.” With that last statement, he lifted one perfect eyebrow in challenge. “We are to be married if you remember.”
His encouragement was the sweetest seduction. She dipped her gaze to the smooth skin of his chest. The perfect flow of muscles, sinew, and chiseled planes would have kept any artist spellbound. As a simple sheep farmer, what chance did she have to resist? None. So she reached for his broad shoulders. His skin twitched beneath her hands in response.
“Kiss me, I’m begging you.” His deep gravel tone reminded her of a smoke-infused whisky—sharp but mellow at the same time. Yet, there was a hint of vulnerability, a longing. One that made her believe she was the only woman who could soothe and love him the way he deserved.
She pressed her lips against his in a gentle touch of yearning. He rewarded her with a groan that vibrated through every part of her. In answer, her pulse pounded, and her body throbbed once again. She’d happily surrender all her reservations to this night and to him.
He deepened the kiss, and she sighed in response. His tongue coaxed and petted hers, then withdrew. She whimpered at the loss. Without preamble, her lips played with his and her tongue slid across his full lips. Pulling her tighter as if never wanting t
o let go, he groaned again and let her inside. Her tongue swept and explored until both were out of breath.
With his chest heaving, Michael pulled away and stared down at her. She would give him everything if he’d just keep kissing her. The tenderness in his expression was like a caress, one that made her aware of his every breath and every inch of skin where they touched. The beauty of it was almost incomprehensible. Even the air surrounding them seemed to shimmer with unspoken words of tenderness and love.
Such emotion could easily replace the need for actual nourishment. She could live off his attentions and kindness and never crave anything else in her life. No wonder these feelings held such power over a person.
He cupped her face gently, and the splay of his fingers against her cheeks made her breath catch. Gently, he trailed those same fingers down her neck, causing her nipples to harden in anticipation. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll die if you don’t touch me.” He made her believe she was truly precious.
“We can’t have any of that, can we?” he whispered as he slid his knuckles across her nipples.
Wanting more, she arched her back. The slide of his fingers against her bare skin made heat flash outward from her body as if struck by an uncontrollable force of nature.
He rose above her, and his breath caught. A look of awe crossed his face. “Oh, darling, look how beautiful you are.” He cupped one breast, then nestled the underside with his mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed the sensation to take control.
Each kiss, each stroke, each graze of his teeth caused a new restlessness within her. She’d experienced desire before, but this was different. This was hunger, one only he could satisfy. She stroked his back as if playing an instrument. The slide of her fingers down his skin made each muscle contract. His response to her touch made her want him more. As if he knew what she wanted, he slid his body over hers.
She spread her legs, and he settled his hips against hers. Hot, hard, and unbelievably large, his erection slid through her folds. She cried out, then stilled. It took every piece of willpower she possessed not to angle herself to take him. He quit attending to her sensitive breasts and gazed into her eyes.
The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses Page 24