The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(77)
“This is my room?” The incredulity in her voice was utterly charming. “Where’s the bed?”
“In here.” He took her hand and led her to the room left of the sitting room. A massive gold pedestal bed stood in the center against the far wall, as if holding court with all the other furniture.
March’s gaze swept the room until it landed on the bed. “These rooms are larger than the entire family wing at Lawson Court. Is that bed even in the same county as the sitting room?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Slowly, her darkness faded. Still holding her hand, he drew her until she faced him. He smiled at the flash of brilliance from her eyes.
“What were you going to say on the stairs? Perhaps what?” he cajoled. Without letting go of her hand, he pulled her close and pressed a kiss against her lips. “Answer now, or I’ll use more of this type of torture until you reveal all your secrets.”
“I wouldn’t think that the mighty Marquess of McCalpin would stoop to such atrocities just for an answer to a silly thought.”
He pressed his lips against hers again and whispered, “You would be shocked at my level of depravity. Now tell me.”
She stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his ear. The warmth of her breath caused his skin to tingle in response. “Perhaps someday you’ll show me your estate. I would love to see how you raise sheep.”
When she pulled away, her eyes blazed with laughter. He leaned close as her mirth transformed her into the most gorgeous creature he’d ever had the pleasure to behold. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll give you my sheep.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s too generous.”
“Not for my marchioness.” McCalpin held his breath as her playfulness fell into shock, then tumbled into disbelief. The silence of the room gave way to the swish of her muslin gown as she stepped away. He took a step forward so as not to give her any quarter. “Marry me.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Will you, March, take me, Michael, as your husband?” he teased as he squeezed her hands. “It’s simple. I want you as my marchioness and as the mother of my children. I can’t imagine my life any other way. Marry me.”
She blinked twice, and her brows drew together as she contemplated his words. Her eyes filled with hope, as if he’d given her the world on a gold platter. “Truly?”
“Unequivocally,” he answered. The moment, and her reaction, were perfect. He’d made her happy. “I want you to say yes.”
She bit her lower lip, but he already knew her answer by the fire in her eyes.
“Yes, yes, yes.” She rushed into his arms. “If that’s not enough, let me repeat it a million times.”
He took possession of her mouth, and she took possession of his happiness. Never had anything in his life felt so perfect and untainted by any of his failings. He hadn’t planned to propose tonight. He wanted to wait until they reached London, but seeing her suffer and distressed made him want to cure her melancholy. Perhaps it wasn’t the perfect time, but he was satisfied. It’d been the right thing to do.
Perhaps with March by his side, he could make his mark on the Langham duchy without destroying it into the ground.
Chapter Nineteen
Before Michael had retired for the evening, he’d shown March the connecting door to his suite and insisted she come to him if she had any worries or concerns. The euphoria over his marriage proposal had pushed aside her gnawing emptiness that had resulted from the truth of her birth. But as sure as the sun surrenders to the night, so did her elation. The minutes ticked by, and an ill sense of doom clouded her senses much like the smoke from a green wood fire.
After she’d soaked in a rose-scented bath, March had collapsed in a yellow-and-ivory striped brocade chair and studied the fire. Her illegitimacy once again consumed her thoughts. How could she share a life with someone as wonderful as Michael when her own identity would always be a whispered rumor behind her back? Ghosts of innuendos and slights by the elite members of the ton would haunt her. She couldn’t bear it if her past compromised Michael’s political career or damaged his standing in society. Rupert would inflict more damage if he continued in his accusations that she was a forger and an embezzler. She should wait to discuss the matter thoroughly with Michael on the morrow, but it was too important to wait.
She had to reassure herself that he understood what it would mean if he married her. The honorable thing was to allow him to withdraw his proposal, even though she’d be heartbroken if he agreed.
The more March tried to settle her thoughts, the wilder they swirled. When she started to pace, her heartbeat raced in an attempt to keep up with her frantic steps. Soon she found herself walking across the shared dressing room. When she reached Michael’s door, she tentatively knocked.
“Come in.” Even through the thick wood door, his deep voice carried.
Quickly, so she wouldn’t lose her courage, she entered his private domain.
Instead of darkness, soft light bathed the room from a well-tended fire before her. Two candles flickered in welcome on a table to her right. Next to the table stood a massive four-poster bed covered with elegant emerald-green satin and brocade hangings with a faint tartan pattern of blue and red. A velvet spread covered the bed in the color of hunter green. Every piece of fabric, artwork, and furniture in the room signified power and opulence. However, the most amazing sight lay in the bed.