A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  And she was hitching her future to his. “That sounds good.”

  “Come,” he said, holding his arm out as if to shepherd her. “You need breakfast. And there are plans to make.”

  Cassandra didn’t even know what plans needed to be made. Fortunately, the dowager did.

  The entire female half of the company jumped into the wedding planning. “This will be grand fun,” the dowager assured Cassandra. “A wedding, especially a controversial one, will make my country party the talk of the year.” The other women agreed, and ideas and suggestions began flowing freely while Cassandra pecked at her breakfast.

  Her stomach was uneasy. She felt as if she’d made a decision to walk off a pier. Her father had always been with her.

  Willa took the chair next to hers. “Congratulations. This is exciting. I believe you are marrying a good man. He’s certainly a handsome one.”

  “Our families are enemies.” Cassandra didn’t understand why she made the statement. Everything was jumbled in her mind. She’d disavowed such nonsense herself several times, but now, since she was severing all ties with her father, it sounded different.

  Willa laughed. “Enemies? Isn’t that rather medieval?”

  “Not in Cornwall.”

  “Fortunately, you are not in Cornwall.”

  This was true. Cornwall was the last place Cassandra wished to be. “I haven’t been there in years.” She thought a moment and then said, “We will live in London.”

  “Of course,” Willa agreed, although she sounded a touch distracted, and Cassandra realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t thought of anyone else.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked Willa.

  “Did you think the duke is interested in me?”

  It seemed a lifetime since Cassandra had fretted over whether the duke paid attention to her or not.

  “He sat with you at dinner. How many points would that be?”

  “That silly game.” Willa looked away a moment as if needing to compose herself. “I told myself it was all right that I haven’t married. After all, you and Leonie were in your third Season. Now, well . . . my closest friends are gone.”

  Cassandra abhorred hearing Willa, who was lovely and talented, talk this way. She also understood the feelings of being left behind all too well. “Camberly isn’t worth your interest.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “You do?”

  Willa nodded. “He is taken with Lord Bainhurst’s wife. He had me sit next to him at dinner as a ruse. What they were doing under the table with their hands was silly.”

  “Under the table at dinner?” Cassandra was shocked. “With Lord Bainhurst at the table?”

  “Can you believe? I had to pretend I didn’t notice anything. They were so rude. Meanwhile, my father has hopes up that I have attracted his attention.”

  Willa frowned. “What sort of man takes up with another man’s wife? Especially when that man is a guest under his roof? My skin crawls to think of it. Oh, wait, Father is signaling me to join him. And he is standing by the duke.” Willa sighed. “I wish I was married. Then I’d be done with all of this nonsense.” She looked to Cassandra. “And scoring points is not fun without competition.” She left to see what her father wished.

  Cassandra excused herself when the dowager and her friends had talked themselves out on the subject of her marriage and were, instead, discussing starting a game of cards.

  Her valise sat on the bed. Maggie, the maid she and Helen shared, must have packed it. Cassandra was fortunate it had not been put on the coach. She removed her clothing and checked the false bottom. Her jewels were still there.

  She began putting her things away. Only then did she reflect on everything she was losing. Abby, her personal maid, was at the London town house. Cassandra could contact Abby to see if she would accept a position with her once she and Soren decided where they would be living.

  Where would they be living? Would Soren let her choose the house? What expectations did he have of her?

  He’s like his father, secretive and conniving. She pushed her father’s words from her mind.

  Instead, she stretched out on the bed and surprised herself by quickly falling asleep. A knocking on the door woke her. “Miss Holwell, the company is gathering for dinner,” a maid said.

  Alarmed by how deeply she had slept, Cassandra called, “I will be down presently. Please give the duchess my apologies.” She hurried with her toilette, performing it herself. She shook a lace-trimmed dress in a light blue from the valise and styled her hair into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck with curls around her face. She wore the pearls again. She appeared fine in the looking glass.

  “When I am married, I will wear bold, bright colors,” she promised. That made her feel a bit better.

  Soren was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, looking every inch the elegant gentleman. He’d shaved, and she liked the spicy scent of his shaving soap. She’d noticed it before, she realized, during those times when she’d attempted to avoid him.

  He escorted her into the reception room. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I was just tired.” She didn’t want to think about the falling out with her father. She put on a brave face and plunged into the conversation and good humor of the esteemed company. Whereas the day before, the other guests had been rather dismissive of her, now everyone treated her as if she was one of them. Lady Melrose patted her on the hand and assured her, “You are making the best choice. A married lady lives a far better life than an unmarried one.”

  During the meal, Cassandra noticed other details about Soren that she’d not noted before. Her eye watched the grace with which he touched his glass and raised it to his lips. His nails were clean, his fingers tapered. He had a swordsman’s hands. He’d killed men with them. He’d said as much to her.

  Whenever she could, she covertly studied his lips. This morning’s kiss had been the first thing she’d thought about when she woke this evening . . . and how well her lips had fit with his.

  They would fit together well in other areas as well. He was taller by a few inches; however, her hips and his were about exactly right.

  This man would guide her in the mysteries of sex. A poet at one of her literary salons had spoken of “the passion flower of ecstasy” between a man and a woman. Cassandra dearly wanted to know what he had meant.

  Later, after dinner, when the gentlemen finished their port and joined the ladies, Cassandra could not help but admire how fluid his movements were as he crossed the reception room to her. Some men stomped, others minced, and then there were the bounders. Soren was none of those. He walked as if he was confident of his place in the world.

  And yet, he’d known setbacks. Life had not been easy.

  She believed she could respect him—if she could trust him. He’s like his father, secretive and conniving.

  The party started to disperse. Cassandra was surprised at how tired she was, even after her afternoon of sleep. She’d felt as if she was on a stage all evening.

  “Let me escort you to your room,” Soren offered.

  She barely murmured a response.

  “I have the license,” he said as they walked up the stairs. “The rider returned shortly before dinner.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but “oh” was the only word she could manage.

  “Camberly has offered a special suite of rooms in the family wing for tomorrow night.”

  “Hoooo.” This was “oh” spoken while one was blushing. Did he notice? He wasn’t looking at her. Perhaps he was a bit shy on the topic as well?

  “Then I thought we would go to London.”

  That was a relief.

  They had reached her door. “I will call on your father when we are there.”

  Cassandra found her voice. “He will not see you.”

  “He will. We must discuss your inheritance.”

  “Of course.” She felt strangely deflated
. What had she expected his reason for calling on her father to be? To mend fences? That would have been a waste of effort.

  Still, she found she wanted to hope.

  He seemed to glean the direction of her thoughts. “I know this is not the way you would have chosen to marry. I’m sorry it is this way.”

  “It is not your fault. Father is wrong to be bullheaded. How about your family? Will they be angered by this news?”

  “Only my mother; however, she doesn’t like anything I do. I ceased worrying about her approval years ago.”

  “So, we are both defying our families.”

  His lips curved into a reluctant smile. “Apparently. But it will be a good marriage, Cass. I know it isn’t what you would have wanted, but we will make it work.”

  “And how do you know what I wanted? I do like you, Soren. If our regard for each other can survive a dog drawn on a slate, well, then, we might be happy.”

  “That is my hope.” He barely acknowledged her attempt at humor. Instead, his gaze had moved from the doorframe—and to her lips.

  He hoped for something more, too. He wanted to kiss her, and yet he held back, something he hadn’t done that morning.

  Just the thought of the kiss they had shared brought heat to her blood. Her breasts seemed to press against the light material of her dress—

  Cassandra kissed Soren before he could kiss her. She sought to control the moment. She didn’t aim for his mouth but for his cheek. She kissed him the way one would a cousin. A quick buss and nothing like the morning’s kiss—because after an evening of knowing looks and talk of a “special suite,” she was overwhelmed.

  Then, before he could respond, she opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it firmly behind her. She collapsed against the door. Her heart raced as if she’d taken a great dare.

  Seconds turned into a minute and then two. He was still there on the other side of the solid wood. She could sense his presence.

  She rested her ear on the cool wood. She could swear she heard him breathing. Was it her imagination or did she catch a whiff of his shaving soap?

  He spoke, his voice quiet and close to the door. “The hardest part of the future, Cassandra, is leaving what is known and trusted to move forward with courage. I know this is not the way you expected your life to unfold, but sometimes, expectations should be abandoned.” He walked away.

  She listened to his booted steps echo on the hardwood floor and wondered what he meant. Was he talking about the kiss? Or did he sense her deeper turmoil?

  Soren was no poet, and yet his words had perfectly captured the conflict inside her.

  Or was he speaking of himself? Did he, too, wonder if he was making the right decision? After all, he was selling his title for money.

  They would soon know, because, on the morrow, they would both be stepping into their futures.

  Chapter 9

  So, she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her the way he had that morning.

  That was the reason she’d taken the matter into her own hands. Soren understood her motive as clearly as he knew his own name. What puzzled him was what she was afraid of. What she was thinking. Cassandra never acted without forethought, sometimes too much forethought.

  For his part, kissing her had been all he could think about over dinner.

  The kiss they had shared on the dueling field had made a difference. She’d responded to him. She’d not been experienced, but she had not held back. He wanted to believe her natural curiosity extended to the bedroom. This was a good thing, because Soren had no desire to be a monk and he wanted his wife to be his lover.

  He understood the dangers of marriages of convenience. His parents had had one and they had come to detest each other. His mother had been from a good family of modest fortune. They had scraped together a sizable dowry to launch their daughter into Society. Soren knew it had been hard on her to watch her lazy albeit noble husband invest her money in silly schemes or gamble it away.

  Meanwhile, his father had discovered he’d married a woman who was doomed to be perpetually disappointed. She was never satisfied, something that increasingly weighed on Soren.

  He was their only child although he had a bastard brother and two bastard sisters. He wondered if Cass knew? It seemed to be a big secret in Cornwall, a place where secrets never stuck.

  His half sisters were suitably and happily married. His half brother had a commission and served on the Peninsula. Soren had seen to their successful prospects. Not his father.

  But there were things he needed to discuss with Cass, and they were topics that might not please her—such as his first marriage and his son.

  Soren had no doubt Cass would find his mother a trial, just as he did. However, he hoped she bonded with his son. He’d mentioned Logan that morning to her. He’d told her that he wanted to save Pentreath for his son and she’d not made a comment . . . except now, on reflection, Soren wondered if she had fully understood what he’d meant. She might have thought he was speaking about a son in general, such as their son once they married.

  He’d been preparing for bed. He now sat on the edge of the mattress, working over this new problem. It was quite possible Cass hadn’t registered much of anything that was said, what with the duel and the proposal.

  Absolutely, now that Cass had agreed to marry him, he must speak to her about Logan before she heard any rumors. His son was his sole motive for doing what he must to save Pentreath. He was also the reason Soren needed to return home soon. Considering he’d had no choice but to leave Logan in his mother’s care, he’d already been gone too long.

  So, when to talk to Cass?

  There would be no time before the ceremony. Nor would he run the risk of Cass crying off. She was that independent-minded.

  Should he have mentioned Logan before? Perhaps. But Cass had been so cold to him, there had not been an opportunity for private conversation.

  He was also aware that she’d have a few questions about his late wife, Mary. And what would he say?

  Soren lay back on the bed. Should he admit his bitterness toward Mary? She had attempted to rob him of Logan. He understood her justification. She’d decided she did not want their child to be raised in a white world. She’d been Lenape, and after he’d give up his commission, had suggested several times she wished him to return to her tribe with her. Soren had refused. He believed then, as he did now, their best opportunities were among his people.

  Mary had disagreed and so she had never told him she was pregnant. She’d left and kept their son secret from him.

  Soren stared at the ceiling, remembering the confusion, anger, and, yes, hurt he’d felt to return home and find his wife gone. He’d been away for a few days meeting with some gentlemen who wanted to help him open a trading post. She’d even instructed a neighbor to tell him not to come after her. She’d returned to her people.

  He’d tried anyway. Mary had refused to see him—probably because by that time her pregnancy would have been showing—and it had made him very angry. He’d sacrificed everything for her.

  However, time had calmed his temper. He could now blame himself for some of what happened. He’d been gone too often for a new bride. He’d left her in a culture that she understood but had not fully embraced. He should have understood how hard life was for her in the settlement.

  And now he had a second chance at marriage.

  He realized he truly wanted Cass. Even when she was prickly, and that was quite often. She knew her own mind, and she was exactly what Logan needed. She understood the manners and expectations of English Society. As MP Holwell’s daughter, she’d also been an outsider. She would give Soren good advice concerning his son. He also believed Mary would have liked her.

  For a moment, he imagined Mary and Cass facing each other. It would be hard to place odds on which woman had the most resolve.

  And that was his curse, wasn’t it? He didn’t enjoy women who had little between their ears and brought nothing to the table. He liked them spir
ited and vibrant. Cass was a strong woman. Their children would be healthy. Her fortune would set their future on a good path.

  Her fortune.

  How many times today had someone made mention of it? Many had cheered his good luck at marrying an heiress. Others had made comments cloaked in jealousy. A few had wondered if he was interested in a business venture they were exploring or could he advance them a small loan? His answer to both was no.

  Soren was going to secure Pentreath Castle for his son and his children by Cassandra. He was determined to put the lands around it to good use and to be an upstanding member of the House of Lords. He was not going to waste Cassandra’s wealth. And he was going to take the admiral’s advice and meet with Holwell with all haste.

  The time to tell Cass of his son and first marriage would present itself. He just needed to wait for the right moment, and before the wedding would not be it.

  That night, he wrote two letters. One was to his mother informing her of his marriage. The other was to Deborah Fowey, his father’s mistress, who, after his death, had married the local wainwright. He was more honest in the second letter than the first.

  Soren was happy to finally find his bed, but he did not sleep well. Instead, he had dreams of taunting a lonely girl who had trusted his friendship. Only, in the dream, she turned the tables on him. She’d drawn a picture of him as a “liar and sneak.”

  The accusation rolled around in his head even when he woke to greet his wedding day.

  Cassandra had slept well, and her natural optimism was revitalized for it.

  She was picking up the reins of her life, she realized. Her father might not be happy, but she would not be trundled off to some corner of the world to be ignored. Instead, she would be experiencing life to its fullest.

  With a husband came a place in Society. She vowed not to be passive and meek the way Helen was to her father. She planned on being a partner in marriage. She would help Soren manage his social affairs and become a famed hostess. Just as Society coveted invitations to the Dowager Duchess of Camberly’s house party, everyone would desire the opportunity to attend one of her literary salons. She would host only the most important people and join them in discussions of great ideas. They would listen to her opinion, something her father never did.