The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(62)
As if he could read her traitorous thoughts, his eyes blazed. She was intensely aware of the undeniable force building between them. She couldn’t tell what magic he weaved around them, but she didn’t want it to stop. Deep inside, she never wanted to leave the townhouse since she had his undivided attention—no one to intrude or interrupt what they shared.
“Michelangelo’s David is a beautiful young warrior who knows what he’s facing. Stoic and prepared for a battle to the death against Goliath, he is sure of his path. This David will not stop until he wins.” Her words trailed to nothing. She took a moment, then tilted her head as if examining him as carefully as she studied the etchings in her hand. “David holds a place of honor in the art of Florence. So many renderings of the youth to choose from, but there is no doubt in my mind now. You remind me of the brazen and overconfident David by Verrocchio.”
He arched an eyebrow and regarded her with disbelief. Then he tapped a finger against his square jaw as if deeply contemplating her answer.
She wanted to be that finger. Instead of tapping, she’d stroke his skin and memorize every line of his face. He’d be strong like Michelangelo’s sculpture, but hot and alive instead of the cool white marble the master had carved from the quarries of Carrara.
“I remember now,” Michael whispered. His fingers traced her cheeks, and his touch caused her to catch her breath at the intimate touch. “You told me it was Michelangelo’s David.” His hand fell to her chin, and he held her captive with the intensity of his gaze. “Are you going to deny it?”
Riveted and charmed at the same time, she stared at him. What was he doing to her? As if falling through the air, she knew the inevitable outcome. She’d either crash to the hard ground or soar to the bright heavens. She had to decide if he was a risk worth taking.
She forced herself out of the haze he’d created around her. He wanted to lessen her struggle with life. That was the reason he showered her with attention. “Come. There’s something else I’d like to show you.”
Chapter Fifteen
McCalpin tried to concentrate on the rotunda ceiling and the intricate mural painting above, but the woman lying beside him on the plush carpet captured all his interest. March insisted they lay on the floor of the small but airy room on the main floor of the townhouse. Large windows surrounded them and allowed enough light to enter the room without the need for any candlelight.
“Tell me what you see.” The brightness in her voice reminded him of winsome wind chimes dancing in a breeze and betrayed her excitement.
He tilted slightly on his side so he could better comprehend what she wanted him to look at. It lent another benefit—he could watch her expressive face. Today after he’d whisked her away from Langham Hall, he’d somehow managed to tease and talk her out of her earlier mood. Her brown eyes reminded him of the deepest copper mixed with bronze. They cast such a glint of pure joy that he lost his breath for a moment. She was so glorious in her passion for life and not afraid of being herself with him. He found everything about her intoxicating.
She pointed to the center of the mural, and he followed the elegant line of her arm, the strong but feminine bones of her wrist, and the long length of her hand. When he’d reached the end of her index finger, he exhaled and gazed at the ceiling.
He’d much rather admire her form as the ceiling before him looked like utter chaos. There were roses, angels, and nautilus shells with no clear connection among them. Usually such murals featured some mythical battle between opposing gods or biblical scenes. Here there was no clear story to the artist’s work. His eyes darted to the decorative border of the mural. The design featured the Parthenon, much like the wood molding found in Bennett’s study at Lawson Court.
“You see? It’s the Fibonacci series.” The triumph in her voice had to be one of the sweetest and seductive sounds he’d ever heard.
“Fibonacci series,” he repeated, not knowing what the bloody hell she was talking about, but hoping he sounded convincing.
“It’s a mathematical sequence where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers: zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, and so on.” She lifted her head and turned toward him. “Some call it the Fibonacci sequence, the golden spiral, or the golden ratio. Some say da Vinci’s Divine Proportion is based upon the number sequence.”
Obviously, he hadn’t succeeded if she felt the need to explain it again. Still he didn’t understand, but he was familiar with Luca Pacioli’s book that da Vinci illustrated. “Ah, you’re referring to De Divina Proportione.”
Her eyes widened.
Secretly, he sighed in relief. He’d distracted her enough that she’d forgotten what she’d been discussing.
She lay back again and studied the ceiling. “My grandfather loved mathematics. You’ll find all sorts of hidden secrets of theorems and geometric patterns throughout Lawson Court and here.”
Silently, he groaned. Not numbers, anything but numbers. He’d not allow anything to ruin this perfect day. He lay back on the carpet and closed his eyes.
“Michael.” The whisper of his name rivaled the ardent calls of a bewitching siren.
Thankfully, he had no defense against her sweetness. As if he were the tide to her moon, he turned to her. Her eyes were like warm, dark pools welcoming him, tempting him to lose himself in their depths.