The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(69)
Faith and Dr. Kennett shifted so McCalpin could stand beside her. The raw need to take her in his arms overpowered him, but he fought back. He couldn’t offer her comfort until he stopped the massacre that was tearing her apart.
He stopped slightly in front of her so Rupert Lawson directed his tirade at him. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled with his best sneer.
The crowd immediately stepped back at the words. No one wanted to be in the direct path of his anger. He surely resembled a roaring fiend, and he didn’t give a farthing.
Lawson’s eyes flashed red. Filled with hate and anger, his demeanor bore a striking resemblance to a rabid dog, ready to attack anything or anyone. “My lord, it’s most fortunate you’ve arrived. You above all others have been duped by this woman’s immorality.”
The crowd murmured again.
Lawson took it as encouragement and continued, “She’s a bastard and has been masquerading as the head of the family.” His mouth edged up in a mocking smile. “She was born a bastard and has no rightful claim to any of the family’s wealth or resources.”
“Leave now before I rip you to shreds and carry you out piece by piece.” He kept his voice low, but the guttural threat must have reached Lawson’s ears since the man leaned back in response. McCalpin leaned forward. The unmistakable smell of depraved determination laced with sweat permeated the area.
Lawson leashed his raging anger. “I have proof, my lord,” he offered solemnly. “A vicar from Chelmsford brought the evidence to my attention. The marriage record of the prior viscount and his wife clearly indicates that this woman isn’t who she claims to be.” He sniffed his dismissal at March. “She’s duped us all, I’m afraid. She stole from you, from Lord Lawson, and from his sisters. Indeed, by this woman’s lies, she’s injured my family.”
The words seemed to have awoken March from her trance. She moved quickly so she stood between McCalpin and Lawson. McCalpin put his hand on her arm to draw her back behind him, but she shook off the effort.
“You are despicable and speak nothing but lies,” she hissed. Her voice was soft, but the outrage was loud enough that he and Lawson could hear it. “I’m not surprised you’d say such vile things to me, but you’re hurting my sisters, and not to mention Hart.”
Lawson licked his lips. “The truth of your sins and Pennington’s behavior shall not be hidden.”
Pennington. Victor Hart was Victor Coeur Pennington. The air collapsed in McCalpin’s chest. Years ago, a huge scandal erupted over the close ties Pennington shared with the second son of the previous Marquess of Haviland, Lord Erlington. Now it all made sense what March had let slip in the yellow salon when Hart had left to attend his dying friend.
It made little difference at this point. McCalpin’s only concern was to remove Lawson from the premises and calm March and her sisters over the devil’s dramatics.
His father and William had managed to break through the crowd and reach their sides.
“McCalpin, I grow weary of this man’s presence.” His father’s gaze pierced their host, Lord Carlisle, who stood by Lawson’s side. “Why hasn’t it been removed?”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” their host offered. With a snap of his fingers, two footmen appeared and grabbed Lawson by the arms to drag him out.
Lawson shook them off and bowed to McCalpin’s father. “I’ll leave you peaceably to your evening, Your Grace.” With a growl he continued, “I’ll bring my proof to you, Lord McCalpin. Rest assured, I’ll not let this lying woman steal from you any longer.”
As the footmen escorted Lawson out, McCalpin turned to March. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but her face looked brittle as if it had cracked into a thousand lines of grief ready to crumble. The temptation to sweep her into his arms and caress her soft skin became overpowering. However, since they were in a ballroom where every guest had their attention glued to them, McCalpin tamped down the urge to offer such comfort.
His father leaned close to March and smiled. “It would be best if you and McCalpin dance. You need to show these people that nothing is amiss.”
Trust his father to provide wise advice.
“Come, March, it’s a waltz,” he whispered. The orchestra had already started the opening bars.
She let him lead her out to the dance floor, but he wasn’t certain she was even cognizant of where they were or what she was supposed to do. Still pinched in pain, her face was frozen, and her movements were stiff as if still in the throes of shock.
He coaxed her into position, and the music swelled in volume. Few couples joined them on the ballroom floor as the crowd seemed to wait with bated breath for another catastrophe to befall her.
She stared off into the distance, not focusing on anything, her limbs rigid in his arms as he twirled her around the floor.
“March, look at me,” he demanded.
The low command finally broke through whatever wall she’d erected to protect herself. Her brown eyes brimmed with uncertainty.
“Michael,” she whispered as if suddenly aware he was there. The small silvery voice penetrated deep within his chest, and his protective instincts took over.
What he wouldn’t give to take her away to a private place and hold her until her fright and shock melted away. He’d kiss her until she relaxed in his arms and found the comfort she so desperately needed.