The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(45)

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.