The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(66)
If he were truthful, he rather liked the odd, little room. In the future, every time he stepped in here, he’d finally have a happy, if not salacious, memory of numbers—his first time with March as she fell apart in his arms.
In addition, a more important memory—the day he decided they would marry.
*
Sleep had never been elusive to March until she’d arrived in London. The late nights attending social events, the shopping, the numerous callers who dropped by during the day, not to mention the hectic schedule of events the duchess insisted March and her sisters attend during the day, should have ensured she fell asleep quickly and deeply.
Tonight was no exception, but it differed from her other sleepless nights. Michael had taken control of all her thoughts. She rose from her comfortable bed and slipped on her silk dressing gown. Generous to a fault, the duchess insisted that Mademoiselle Mignon make one for each of the Lawson sisters. Both Faith and Julia had received a delicate pink silk dressing gown. The duchess had chosen a deep-gold silk trimmed with ermine for March.
Decadent but providing little warmth, the wrap was perfect since her room was toasty. She collapsed onto the small sofa that faced the fire and allowed Michael full reign over her thoughts.
Gently, she stroked her fingers over her still-tender lips as she recalled his mouth on hers. Tantalizing and taunting her at the same time, he’d masterfully taught her how to kiss in a way she’d never fathomed. When he’d touched her so intimately there, she should have been shocked. Instead, she had begged for more. Her body shivered in response as she recalled the startling release he’d given her. He’d made her feel like an instrument, one he tenderly had tuned then played like a virtuoso.
Then when he’d found his own climax, she’d been enthralled by the act. Unable to look away, she’d stared at his thick and engorged length. All the while, she imagined how gentle he would be when he made love to her.
She closed her eyes and dismissed the thought. At least, she tried to banish such an outrageous thought. Her behavior should bring a mortifying heat to her face. No well-bred young woman should engage in such outrageous and bold behavior prior to marriage. Her parents had raised her to believe such acts would banish her from her society.
Even though she was a viscount’s daughter, inside beat the heart of a sheep farmer. After a month, the hard callouses that marred her hands had softened. However, the scars from her work would always remain whether prettily disguised by elegant gloves or not.
There was no marriage in her future, and Michael’s teasing when he left her townhome was nothing more than an attempt to bolster her confidence. What rational man, let alone a ducal heir, would be interested in marrying her, especially with the responsibility of caring for three siblings? Perhaps someday, with a little luck, she might find some gentleman farmer or a widower to marry. Her money would certainly convince the poor fellow to overlook her height and size.
Well, she’d discovered something profound about herself over the last several weeks. Whatever attention the Marquess of McCalpin bestowed upon her, she would steal, then preserve the memories for the lonely times she faced in her future. Bennett would likely spend years at school. Her sisters would marry and have families and fulfilling lives—all the usual consequences of being a viscount’s daughter.
March wouldn’t have such high expectations for herself. She’d accepted her responsibilities. Furthermore, she’d see them finished. It was a promise she intended to keep.
After she settled into bed, the reality she faced tomorrow brought bittersweet thoughts. It was one day closer to her lovely sisters finding their true loves, and one day closer to leaving London and Michael. Life’s inevitable passing of time continued its race forward no matter how much she longed for it to slow its progression.
It also brought closure to what her future held. There would be no love or strong arms to hold her at night. Nor would there be that enticing scent of pine and a particular man that she longed for.
Finally, the elusive sleep claimed her, and her dreams took command with her David center stage.
Chapter Sixteen
Tonight, dressed in a mazarine-blue silk and satin gown, March felt a kindred spirit to Cinderella. Emma and Daphne had insisted the elegant dress in a shade between indigo and violet would be the perfect match for her mother’s sapphire earrings.
Thank heavens for friends.
As the Earl of Queensgrace whirled her around the dance floor, the dress shimmered and glistened in the reflective light cast by the candles in the chandeliers. Since she and her sisters had arrived at Lady Carlisle’s, none of them had missed a dance. Truly, to say her sisters were a success wasn’t at all an exaggeration. They seemed to have a following of men and women who craved their attention.
In the earl’s arms, she relaxed. Even the Duke and Duchess of Langham had remarked about Faith and Julia’s success. Generous as always, they’d congratulated March on her sisters accomplishments. The duchess had even whispered that she fully expected offers of marriage to be forthcoming within the next couple of days.
March exhaled a long sigh of contentment.
“Miss Lawson, might I call upon you tomorrow?” Tall, with a handsome face, the earl peered down. A serious countenance replaced his normal lightheartedness.
“I would enjoy your visit.” March waited three steps then pressed him for more details. “Shall I have my sisters with me, or do you wish to speak privately?”