The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(32)

Her focus returned to the mirror. The moment she recognized him, her hands dropped to her sides, and the gown slowly fell with an elegant swoosh to the floor like a supplicant who worshipped her.

A vision of him taking the dress’s place and kneeling before her made his entire body tighten. In a desperate attempt to shake the image from his thoughts, he swallowed. His gaze held hers in the mirror for a moment, then his perfidious eyes followed the sensual picture the mirror presented him. The buttons on the front of her plain brown dress were undone to her waist, and she didn’t wear stays. The thin fabric of her plain chemise was a brilliant white in the candlelight. A beacon, it called him closer, enticing him to touch the creamy softness of her skin. The luscious expanse of her chest caused his breath to hitch. As a gentleman, he shouldn’t spare a glance. Yet his mind and body revolted when his traitorous eyes lingered on the gentle swell of her breasts. As much as tried, he couldn’t help but lower his gaze to her darkened nipples that gently pushed against the thin fabric, demanding his full attention.

She was a banquet of sensual delights, and he was a starving man.

“David,” she whispered like a siren calling him nearer. The bronze and gold in her eyes shimmered in bewilderment.

At the sound of another man’s name on her lips, he crashed into a massive proverbial rock much like those ill-fated mariners when they heard the sweet songs of the mythological sirens. Momentarily stunned, he stared at her. She blushed and covered herself. He prowled toward her until he stood not more than a hand’s width behind her. Her heat called him closer, but he resisted her allure this time. His gaze captured hers in the mirror.

“David?” He ground his teeth to keep from roaring. No doubt, some nefarious farmer who would dare touch her and spoil her beauty.

Again, she blushed a beautiful pink then dipped her head. He placed his hand on her shoulder and trailed his fingers around the front of her neck. Her pulse pounded against his hand. With his thumb and forefinger, he gently clasped her chin and made her meet his gaze.

“You are.” She swallowed, and the muscles on her throat rippled underneath his fingers. “The first time I saw you…” Her words faded to nothing, but she didn’t shy away this time. The warmth of her gaze melted his trepidation.

“Tell me.” He reached to cup her left cheek. With a light touch, he encouraged her to turn and face him.

Graceful in her movement, she pivoted and stood before him. She raised her head slightly to look into his eyes. “I walked through the door of your home, and you were standing on the steps after a ride. I’d never seen anyone so perfect and handsome in my life. The tilt of your head as you glanced at me reminded me of a sketch my father acquired in Florence during one of his journeys. It was Michelangelo’s David. Then your kindness when I was injured and the food you sent. You’re as fierce a protector as David was.”

In her eyes, he saw what the honesty of that confession had cost her. Vulnerable with sharing her secret, March’s chest rose and fell as if waiting for some pronouncement from him.

For a moment, he allowed himself to believe she did perceive him as perfection. Never before in his life had he ever felt perfect—far from it. Flawed and defective in so many simple ways, he’d dismissed any hint of adoration from females. If anyone knew what a simpleton he was with the simplest of figures, they’d laugh at his weakness. Once a woman understood his failing, they’d have him at their mercy. They’d only desire him as a means to a title of duchess, and a very prestigious and powerful one at that—the Duchess of Langham.

Yet the light from her eyes was heavenly, and he let himself bask in her confession as his heart pounded loudly. Without waiting for reality to intrude upon their moment, he closed what little distance there was between them. He cupped her cheeks, and his thumbs rubbed the high fragile cheekbones of her face. Her soft skin captivated him, coaxing him closer. He stared into her gaze, then slowly lowered his lips to hers.

At the first touch of his lips against hers, desire ran like a raging river through him, and his cock swelled as if flooded with her beauty. Her soft whimper escaped, and the need to pull her into the safety of his arms increased to the point of pain.

Reality interrupted his pleasure and he forced himself to pull away. This was wrong. She was his responsibility, not a woman he should seduce. He closed his eyes as his mind and cock warred against each other.

“March,” he whispered. “God, you’re lovely, but we mustn’t.” As he struggled to bring his desire under control, he traced her jaw with a finger and inhaled. As if under a spell, he couldn’t quit touching her.

Finally, she must have realized how risky their behavior was and took a wobbly step back. She was as affected as he was.

“What are you doing here?” He scooped her hand in his and raised it to his lips, not letting her increase the distance too much.

“I thought to see if any of these old dresses could be remade into gowns for my sisters.” She’d lost her skittishness, but her voice was still tremulous with passion from the brief firestorm they’d created together.

Still holding her hand, he bent down and picked up the ivory gown she’d held close to her when he’d entered. “You like this one?”

She nodded, and the radiance of her smile made him feel as if he’d just been crowned king. “My mother had it made for my first Season.” She took a deep breath and released it.