The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(76)

New fires blazed in the twin fireplaces of his study, a luxury some highly practical ancestor had incorporated into the architecture. A simple fare of roasted quail, carrot soup, sliced cheese, and dried figs sat before them on a small round table. March refused to look at anything other than her plate. If he hadn’t known her better, he might think she wanted nothing to do with him or their dinner as she rearranged the food around her plate, never taking a bite. Her soup lay discarded by her side.

Her pale face highlighted the evident pain she suffered. The proof of her sadness tore through him until he couldn’t stand her suffering any longer. He turned his chair and scooted his plate next to hers. His fork gently pierced a piece of fowl. He brought the meager offering to her mouth and tempted her to take a bite. She turned her head as if any morsel of food was poisonous.

“You’ll ruin my reputation as a good host if you don’t indulge me.” He leaned close, willing her to gaze at him.

She lifted her warm eyes to his. The misery reflected in their depths hit him like a punch in the gut. He dropped the fork and completely ignored the clatter of it hitting the china plate. He was powerless to do anything but take her in his arms.

“Enough.” He pushed his chair away from the table, picked her up, then deposited her on his lap as if she were a child who needed comfort after a spill. Without resistance, she allowed him to hold her and burrowed her face in his neck. Her warmth soothed his own emptiness, and her touch nourished him like a famished man. “I’ll right this wrong. I promise.”

“How can you?” Her lips caressed his neck as a result of her muffled whisper.

The sensation caused him to pull her tighter against his chest. She nestled closer. The movement so endearing he brushed his lips across the tip of her ear. The subtle lilac scent that was uniquely hers rose to greet him.

“Nothing changed,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond to his muffled words.

“I promise everything will work out for the best.” He kept soothing her and offering succor. “I promise, March.”

Eventually, she drew away. The loss of her heat and the emptiness of his arms made him want to haul her back into the safety of his embrace. With a soft gaze, she studied every feature of his face. With her fingertips, she gently traveled the contours of his skin. The subdued caress caused his groin to tighten, and a heat blazed up his spine. His length started to thicken from his own craving for her continued touch. She was completely oblivious of her effect as she continued to pet and stroke his face.

He straightened in the chair in an attempt to keep his unruly body under control. Her touch, the slow sweep of her fingers, could only be described as exquisite torture. He closed his eyes in an attempt to control his body’s reaction to her. She needed comfort—not some randy response from him. She needed security and a sense that she had a safe haven with him.

No matter how much he tried to tame his desire, it became bloody apparent to both of them. She wiggled against his erection, and he grunted.

“Am I hurting you?” she whispered. “I’m too heavy.”

For the last four hours, she’d spoken hardly a word. When she decided to speak to him, it was about her own perceived shortcomings.

“Not at all.” He rested his forehead against hers. “But you’re driving me mad.”

From London to Chelmsford, his thoughts had churned. He couldn’t keep them quiet any longer. His path and hers were destined to intertwine. He’d known deep in his heart what he wanted to do but had tamped down the urge to say the words aloud until after last night’s ball. Then Lawson—that sniveling bastard—had torn her to pieces.

Through the days, he’d courted the idea and had allowed it to roll in his mind—testing the feel and the texture much like a master chef who had created a new confection. Tasting it like a wine steward who would sip a new vintage before serving it to his master.

His earlier concern with her mind for numbers had diminished to nothing. She’d proven herself loyal to her family and her friends repeatedly. Her acumen with running an estate along with her quick intelligence and bookkeeping skills would be a great resource. More importantly, he had no doubt that she desired him as evidenced by her reaction whenever he kissed her. More importantly, their friendship could easily lead to a marriage based upon love and commitment. Of that, he had no doubt.

She stood wearily. “It’s been a long day.”

“May I take you to your room?” he whispered. Really, he’d much prefer taking her to his room and holding her in his arms all night. She nodded but refused to look at him. He took her hand in his and escorted her up the stairs.

March paused at the window at the top and stared out into the darkened night. “Tomorrow, will I have the opportunity to see your estate?” She shyly stole a sideways glance. “Perhaps…”

“What do you want?” Not allowing her to escape, he tilted her chin until his gaze met hers. “I’ll give it to you.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing” sounded like “something” to him. Once he got her settled, he’d not let her escape until he discovered what she wanted. That was one of the most endearing qualities about her. She never asked for anything for herself. Her first thought was always for her sisters or her brother.

They continued down the hall until he opened the door to the green and gold sitting room of the matching suite next to his. A set of double doors led to the bedroom. Gold and ivory satins and brocades decorated the marchioness’s bedroom suite, while his was green and ivory. A joint dressing room connected the bedrooms, making access to each other discreet but easily attainable. It was another ingenious design from a previous Marquess of McCalpin, and he was thankful for such foresight, particularly this evening.