The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(65)
“William is too skeptical for his own good.” McCalpin shook his head. “Those two can fight over what day of the week it is.”
She smiled in answer, then asked, “Why does William spend so much time with you?”
His heart jolted to a dead stop, or at least it felt like it. To explain that his brother helped him with the financial aspects of the estate would be akin to admitting his failure. A haunting misery like a familiar jealous lover wrapped itself around him. So acute, he felt as if he were drowning.
Before, when anyone talked of numbers, money—for heaven’s sake, even the odds on a particular horse in a race—he could skirt around the issue with some quip or haughty look. But this was March, and she deserved an answer. As the seconds ticked by, he broke into a cold sweat.
“The estates are so vast, he’s proven valuable in their management.” He cleared his throat and dropped her hand. The silent distance between them grew so great it felt as if an iceberg had wedged itself there. “He’s my brother.”
The explanation sounded lame even to his own ears, but it was all he could drudge up after the shock of her question.
As he waited for her response, a flash of loneliness tore through him, not only for himself but for March, too. She had borne the responsibility of an estate and raising her siblings at the age of sixteen. She’d never experienced the frivolities of a Season or explored the world of young ladies who were carefully groomed for their introductions to society. While most women her age had been shopping for gowns, March had been shearing sheep and delivering lambs. God, she must have wanted to run away from it all. It was a testament to her character that she shouldered all the responsibility with nary a complaint.
Guilt stole through him. She shared her fears. If he confided his weakness to her, she wouldn’t judge him. It might provide a bridge to help them both trust each other better. Could he dare risk it? He’d held everything in perfect balance for so long, he couldn’t find the words to start his confession.
She was a remarkable person—intelligent, quick-witted, dedicated, with a common sense that put the majority of the ton to shame, and beautiful to boot. He wanted to take her burden from her shoulders and allow her to experience some of life’s pleasures, even if they were as dull as society events. “March?”
She sat up and clasped her arms around her knees as if protecting herself. It racked him with guilt that she felt vulnerable and alone. Was it because of this afternoon or her meeting with William?
“How do I get you to trust me?” Earnest, he wanted more from her than this tenuous place they seemed to be stuck in. “You have my word I won’t hurt you.”
She rested her head against her knees and regarded him. “I could ask the same question. How do I get you to trust me?”
“I think sharing ourselves with each other and spending time alone helps, don’t you?” he gently queried. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
He lost himself in the fire of her eyes. It reminded him of sunshine passing through a glass of brandy. He wanted to drink every drop of her until he quenched his thirst. Inside, he knew he’d never have that particular thirst satisfied, nor was he sure he wanted to.
Like dawn gradually breaking the night’s hold on the sky, his mind cleared. He wanted her in his life permanently. He would make himself learn to trust her.
“Have you changed your mind about marriage?” It was a bold question, but he wanted her to know that he wanted more.
She shook her head.
“I could see you married with children tugging on your skirts. Blissfully happy with a husband who adores you.” He narrowed his eyes and growled low in his throat. “And I don’t like it one bit.”
“Is it because you don’t want to be burdened with the business of approving the settlements?” Her sparkling laugh showered the room in light. “Don’t worry. No one has expressed any interest in me, and I haven’t received any gentleman callers.”
He could bask in her brightness all day and all night if she’d let him.
“Are you sure about that?” He drew close and whispered in her ear, “I might have somebody in mind for you.”
Slowly she pulled away and stared at him. The moment she deduced what he was implying, her eyes widened, the shock evident on her face.
“After tomorrow’s night ball, we’re going to have a discussion about your future.” He stood and extended his hand to hers. As if she expected his touch would burn her, she tentatively took his hand for assistance. With one pull, he had her on her feet.
In an efficient manner, she bent her head, exposing her glorious crown of ebony hair, then briskly brushed her skirts.
He was definitely attracted to her physically. Her attitude regarding family and the Lawson estate perfectly matched his toward his own family and the huge responsibility he felt for the entire duchy.
He caught her gaze. The flush of her cheeks, the remnants of their intimate interlude, brought a lovely vibrancy to her face. Indeed, she was nothing at all like the other society chits. If he’d dabbled with one of those, they’d be screaming for his offer of marriage. As an honorable man, he should marry March for what transpired. However, there was no expectation in her demeanor. She observed him with such candid honesty that her regard humbled him.
“Miss Lawson, it’s chilly here, and I think we should return to Langham House. I can’t have you catching cold.” He wrapped her arm around his and led her out of the numbers room.