The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(60)

He swung the door open, and silence was all that greeted his entrance. No expected cries of surprise or even sobs of sadness came from the room. Even the normally robust fire had quieted as if it didn’t dare intrude on March’s private domain while she was in this mood.

There were five window seats on the north wall of the salon. The rain had ceased falling, but the haunting gray of the skies leaked through the windows and cast a grim darkness on the warm gold colors of the furniture. He swept his gaze about the room and found her in the second window seat closest to the corner that bordered the west and north walls.

She slowly slid her feet past the curtain until completely hidden. He let out a sigh of relief at finding her and silently approached her hidden haven.

Four feet separated them, and his body hummed with awareness. This near, her presence behind the curtain seemed to shimmer with an aura he wanted to touch and lose himself in.

He had no idea what she was doing to him, and he was powerless to fight it. Somehow she’d become entwined in his life to such an extent that when he woke in the morning, his first thoughts were of her, not his family or his estate or his responsibilities.

Just her, March Lawson.

“What are you doing there?” He kept his tone low and quiet so not to startle her.

“I’m hiding,” she replied. Though muffled by the curtain, the clear, silvery words calmed his frantic worry. “But I failed miserably if you found me so easily. It’s hard to tuck such a large body into such a small recess.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” he asked, careful of where the conversation could lead. She was sorely conscious of her size, and not in a good way. He waited for her response, but she remained quiet as if ignoring him.

Moving slowly, he sat in the middle of the bench and leaned against the window. Without glancing at her, he surveyed the salon from his vantage point. Keenly aware how near she sat, he simply waited. The tips of her slippers peeked out from under her dress. Embroidered with delicate vines of ivory thread, the dark blue silk begged for his caress. Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, he rested his hand near her feet. Not touching, but close enough that her heat encouraged him closer. He purposely kept the small distance between them. A saint would be in awe of his mammoth restraint not to take her in his arms. However, he’d not push her until he knew what troubled her.

“Well, since you won’t tell me, I’ll answer my own question.”

The material of her dress rustled as she adjusted her position. When she tried to withdraw farther into the recess of the window seat, the sole of one shoe pushed against his thigh. Her touch burned through the leather of his doeskin breeches.

“When I look at you, I see an important, beautiful, resourceful, and not to mention capable, woman who takes care of the people she loves.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“What’s upset you?”

She swallowed and took a troubled breath. “Hart left us. His lo—friend is dying, and Hart’s gone to be with him. His friend is a lovely man who always has a kind word or thought for everyone. I offered to travel with Hart, but he refused. He wants me to stay here with you.”

“Those are good reasons to be in deep thought.” McCalpin turned, expecting to find tears staining her pink cheeks, but March hid her emotions well. Except that her warm, velvet-brown eyes shimmered with pain for her friend’s suffering and hers.

She gently waved a hand through the air indicating her surroundings. “I’m surrounded by people and family in this huge mansion, but I felt so alone after he left. He’s always been present in our lives.”

“Perhaps one of those people who surround you might take Hart’s place?” he asked. The questioning look on her face was so endearing, he smiled. “Would you ever consider me as a replacement for Hart?”

She scoffed. “He’s like an uncle, and I don’t consider you an uncle.”

Her answer caused his pulse to quicken. Just another nudge, and she might admit her true feelings. “Just exactly how do you consider me, March?”

She moved toward him as if involuntarily drawn by the sound of her name on his lips. “The guardian of my siblings.”

The words gutted him as no knife could. He drew in a jagged breath, but refused to turn away. The decision proved sound when her shoulders sank in defeat, and she shook her head. Her silky mahogany curls tumbled around her face. “That isn’t true. You’re my friend, a very dear one.”

The vise that had twisted every organ in his chest gradually released its hold. He reached for one of her coffee-colored curls and twisted it around his finger. Her hair was softer than the velvet she’d worn on her luscious body the other night.

“Spend the day with me,” he gently commanded. “Your sisters are out with my mother making the obligatory visits, and your brother is busy with his studies. Together let’s shove aside your worries for the afternoon.”

She chewed the corner of her bottom lip. Full and lush, her mouth demanded attention, and he groaned at the sight. He leaned close, and her scent drew him nearer as if embracing him. He brushed his lips against hers then pulled back. Dazed, she stared into his eyes. Her look made him feel ten feet tall and just as powerful.

“I’d like that very much,” she muttered shyly. “But will it be appropriate? You and me together? What if someone from The Midnight Cryer sees us?”