The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(81)

With his girth, she had expected to be uncomfortable. Instead, her body hungered for more of the exquisite fullness that he was giving her.

“Put your legs around my hips,” he whispered, never taking his lips from hers.

She did as instructed and lifted her hips. Swiftly, he seated himself fully. She felt a pinch and jerked in reaction.

“All right?” His gaze locked with hers. A longing gleamed from the blue depths of his own that made her feel revered like a divine and rare creature in his safekeeping.

She nodded and hoped he could see the trust and love she felt for him. Such an exquisite being, and she was going to marry him. He kissed her again and started to move slowly away. She groaned in protest, but he entered her again.

The pleasure built into a force that fed itself. It became stronger and faster until all she could do was hold him close. His hands gripped the sides of her head as he studied her. Slight trickles of sweat streamed down both sides of his face, so she brushed them away. Each time, he kissed her hand or her fingers—whatever was in his reach.

What they’d created continued to gather strength. Every touch and move became a force she could no longer harness. Finally, her pleasure took control of all of her senses. Stars exploded behind her closed eyes, and she whispered his name. Inside, her body clenched his as if never letting him go. With a final thrust, he groaned as his seed filled her.

Their joint release continued in waves. He buried his head in her neck and repeated her name over and over as if in prayer. She’d never felt closer to another being in her entire life. Slowly, their breathing calmed as she stroked his neck, down his muscular back to his taut buttocks, and then reversed the pattern while the sound of his heartbeat echoed in her ear.

If she never had to leave his arms, it would be too soon.

He pressed his lips against her cheek. As if luck was against her, he rose from the bed, then crossed the room to a small pitcher and basin where he dunked a linen towel in water. Suddenly shy and unsure, she quietly stood and donned her dressing gown.

He walked back to her with a surprising frown replacing his easy smile. “Is something amiss?”

She shook her head and chanced a glance his way. “I’m not certain what I should do.”

In a move even the most experienced dancer would appreciate, he dropped to his knees once again. She knew him well enough to know he’d never be a humble supplicant. Before she could protest, he unbelted her gown and pressed his lips one the slight curve of her abdomen. “Stay with me.”

Her mind stilled at his words, but her heart beat frantically, trying to reach the spot where he kissed her. With hooded eyes, he gazed at her, then turned his attention to her body. With utter tenderness, he cleaned her, stroking the linen against her inner thighs. Stains of red marred the perfect white of the cloth. For once, such a sight didn’t bother her. When he finished his ministrations, he kissed her leg again before proceeding to the other side. At his touch, her breasts tightened as if he were making love to her once more.

Slowly, he stood and tended to himself before he washed the cloth again to remove any evidence that they’d been together. When he returned to her side, he pulled her into his arms. “Will you sleep with me?”

She nodded and relaxed into his embrace.

“Did I hurt you?” He pressed a kiss against the top of her head.

“Never.” She tilted her head back so she could meet his gaze. “It was everything I dreamed it would be.”

A true genuine smile broke across his face, lending him an exceedingly happy but very satisfied expression. “Come to bed.”

She pressed a kiss against his heart. Soon, they were nestled next to each other with his hand stroking her hip. They whispered things to each other about everything and anything.

Eventually, his rhythmic breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. Instead of joining him in slumber, her mind refused to quiet, and her earlier worry and tension returned. How could she marry him with all the upheaval in her life?

The fire snapped and blazed in answer. Instead of worrying, she should determine the extent of the damage and see if she could rectify it herself. She’d make an accounting of every pound she’d embezzled and the same for her expenditures, then she’d divide it into estate management, household, and personal expenditures.

At least her mind could concentrate on something besides worries that she had no answers to.

*

When McCalpin stepped into his study in the wee hours of the morning, he found March huddled over his desk, sound asleep. With a single candle flickering beside her, she appeared so alone that his heart lurched. Biting cold, the kind that reached inside you and took hold like a rabid dog, permeated the room. She’d wrapped herself with a fur cover from one of two sofas that framed the fireplaces.

He stoked the fire and fed several logs until the room, or at least the area surrounding the sofas, was toasty warm. It’d make the perfect place to hold her while she slept. He might suffer from the heat, but he wanted her comfortable and safely ensconced within his arms.

He approached to pick her up, then suddenly stopped. Not only were the McCalpin Manor books open, but also the McCalpin House books he’d brought with him when he traveled to find her. They surrounded March as if she were holding court.

Pieces of vellum where she’d written columns and tables of numbers were stuck between the pages. Scrap sheets where she had added amounts lay partially hidden beneath her arms. She’d remembered to cap the inkstand but her quill lay beside her as if waiting for her to resume whatever she’d been doing.