A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  The door closed behind him. This was the “special” room but it wasn’t much larger than the other bedrooms at Mayfield. Granted, the appointments were nicer. The bed itself was an ornately carved canopied bed of dark wood. The bed curtains and drapes were in a soft gold and there was a carpet on the floor. A well-worn one.

  Soren moved to the bed. He opened his arms and let Cassandra drop.

  Free at last, and without an audience, she hit the mattress and reached for a pillow. She rolled onto her knees, raised it in the air, and walloped him.

  “Hey,” Soren complained.

  “It was all rot. Everything you said downstairs. Every bit of it.” She hit him with the pillow again. He didn’t have a place to run.

  “It got you upstairs, didn’t it? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  She held the pillow, her arm poised to throw it at him. “Wanted?”

  “They were into their cups,” Soren said, combing the hair her pillow had mussed from his forehead. “I wanted to shut them up and take you out of there. And look,” he announced like a magician who had something to show, “here we are, away from them. Isn’t that what you desired?”

  It was. She’d been very uncomfortable. Still . . . “You didn’t have to feed them lies.”

  “I fed them what they wanted to hear. Besides, most of it was the truth.”

  Cassandra almost laughed. “In what way? Yes, we met at the Harvest Home but I remember you stealing pies—”

  “I mentioned that—”

  “—after I’d been instructed to keep an eye on them. You got me in trouble. Mrs. Morwath had said I failed as pie guard and had dismissed me. That was the reason I’d gone off to hide with a book.” Mrs. Morwath was the rector’s wife, and a more intimidating woman did not exist.

  “Nor,” she continued, “was my hair curling down my back. I always wore my hair up. Yesterday morning and the other night were the first times you’ve ever seen it down and even then, I had it in a braid.” She sat back on her heels, holding the pillow in front of her.

  “But I have a good imagination.” Soren plopped onto the bed, making the mattress shift beneath her. “And your eyes are blue.”

  “Not bluer than blue.”

  “Did I say that?” He came up on his knees, close to her.

  She did not dignify his challenge. Instead, she grumbled, “They are downstairs with all sorts of romantic notions.”

  “They don’t have to be wrong.” He leaned close to her as he spoke and lightly pressed his lips to her neck just below her ear.

  His breath on her skin made her start. She snapped her head around. “What are you doing?” she said. Their faces were mere inches from each other.

  “Seducing you,” he answered. His voice was mesmerizing. “We are going to be very good together, Cass.” He reached for the pillow she’d been holding in front of her.

  “You don’t know that,” she whispered.

  “I’m willing to find out. Aren’t you?”

  Chapter 10

  Cassandra was an innocent. For all of her book knowledge, Soren knew she understood very little about men and women.

  Then again, he had no doubt she had attempted to glean all she could from between the lines of her favorite poets. She’d always been eager to learn, and he longed to be her tutor.

  He placed his hand on the pillow, anxious to remove it from between them. She caught his arm at the wrist. The movement brought them even closer together. Her breasts barely brushed his chest and yet heat shot through him.

  She searched his eyes. “Can I trust you?”

  “With your life. I’ll always protect you, Cass.”

  “But will you be honest with me? Honesty was not stated in the vows. I believe it should have been. It is important.”

  “Why would I not be?”

  “Did you not hear yourself downstairs?”

  And yet, she was a politician’s daughter. Everyone knew her father embellished stories. He did what was expedient.

  But it wasn’t MP Holwell who made the request. It was the woman he longed to please.

  “I vow my honesty,” he answered.

  She released his wrist.

  He dropped the pillow over the side of the bed and put his hands to better use.

  His lips found hers.

  Without a hint of maidenly modesty, Cass’s mouth kissed him without an ounce of reserve. She was acting on instinct. Her kiss was raw emotion. He adored it.

  He cupped the side of her face, to guide her. She responded. He eased her enthusiasm and deepened the kiss while he leaned her back upon the bed.

  Cass’s arm went around his neck. Her breasts arched toward him.

  Did she know what she was doing to him? He’d thought he’d be the teacher. Instead, she was the one doing the schooling. If this was what reading poetry could do to a woman, well, every man should buy his wife a book. Perhaps even ten.

  He ran his hand down over her hip, exploring, testing. Her legs were well-formed and shapely. Her hip had the sweetest curve that rolled into a perfect waist.

  This was his wife.

  And he was past ready to see all of her.

  He eased onto his back carrying her with him. Roses, diamond pins, and golden hair fell around them. Her breasts rested against his chest. Sweet, sweet Cass. She smelled of violets and woman, a scent that had teased him all afternoon. He began unlacing the back of her gown.

  Their kiss broke. “What are you doing?” she asked. Her lips were already swollen with the force of his desire. Her eyes seemed to be deep pools of blue, like the sea under a turbulent sky.

  “Undressing you.”

  “That is what I hoped,” she answered. She went back to kissing.

  She had to know how aroused he was. She moved as if aware of his erection. He took her leg and gently brought it to his hip so that he could fit against her better. The movement lifted her skirts even higher. He coaxed her sleeves down over her shoulders, but he was having difficulty. The truth was, her kisses and his hardness were making it challenging for him to think.

  She sensed the problem. “Here, let me help.” She slid off him so that she could stand by the bed. First, she removed the famed strand of pearls and set them on the bedside table. Then, grabbing her skirts, she pulled her dress up over her head.

  A low growl of satisfaction caught in his throat. She wore a lawn chemise that barely covered full, round breasts, and a petticoat of the same sheer fabric. The shadow of her legs in silk stockings was the stuff of men’s dreams.

  “Am I too bold?” she asked. She held her dress in front of her, bringing to his attention the fact that he stared. No, he did more than stare. He was bloody drooling. “Aren’t we both supposed to be naked for this?”

  Soren scrambled out of the bed. “Yes, yes,” he agreed. He began pulling on his neck cloth. His fingers had stopped working properly or the knot had been too tight. He yanked it hard.

  Of course, the real problem was that she had folded and set aside her dress on a chair and was now untying her petticoats. He could barely think coherently as he watched her slip the ribbons free.

  She noticed his lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

  “No, nothing,” he assured her. He still hadn’t undone the knot. “Carry on.”

  “Oh, no.” She held her petticoats in place. “You need to do your share.”

  “I do,” he agreed, fiddling again with the knot, but then he noticed the creamy expanses of breasts against her chemise. Damn it all.

  He’d never manage to undress.

  “Let me help.” She pushed his fumbling hands aside.

  Her hair smelled like flowers warmed by the sun. Her body heat teased him as she tried to undo the mess he’d made of his knot.

  He put his arm around her waist. His hand rested on her hip. She felt good in his arms. Her petticoat ribbons were loose. He could easily free her of the garment.

  “You did yourself no favors,” she said, working on the damage.
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  His response was to kiss her hair, her forehead. She put her mouth up for him to kiss, and so he did. She surprised him with her openness, her playfulness.

  She won the knot and pulled his neck cloth from around his neck. Pressing her body against his intimately, she whispered, “This is it, isn’t it?” She pushed his jacket down over his shoulders.

  “Yes, it is,” he assured her. He pulled his shirt over his head and then picked her up again and set her on the bed. Her loosened petticoat fell to the ground. Her lower half was naked save for her stockings. She pressed her legs together in modesty. Her breasts pushed against the chemise.

  It was all he could do to unbutton his too full breeches, especially with her intently watching his every movement.

  He kicked off one shoe and then another. He took his time lowering his breeches and enjoyed the way her eyes widened.

  Oh yes, this would be fun.

  Cassandra scooted back on the bed and pulled her chemise over her head. Her skin seemed to glow in the room’s late afternoon light. Her breasts were full and perfectly formed. Her waist and hips were a study in grace.

  And, she still wore her silk stockings. She was bringing him to his knees.

  “You are a beauty, Cass.”

  Doubt came to her eye. “Is that something you are just saying—?”

  “No, I mean every word. And I assure you, I will be a good husband to you.”

  She nodded, but her gaze drifted to his proud arousal. “It is different than I had imagined.”

  “Hopefully in a good way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He laughed, delighted. She was candor and innocence and completely herself. Had he thought to go slow?

  That idea was gone. His Cass was full of anticipation. Their mating would be good. He threw himself on the bed beside her and drew her to his side. He stretched his body against hers and kissed her ear. Her answer was a soft gasp of pleasure, and then she kissed his ear.

  She did it well.

  Soren was down to business now. His wife was a perfect student. Whatever he did that she liked, she copied on him.

  He bit her lower lip; she nipped at his. He nibbled her neck; she nibbled him.

  But what he really wanted were her breasts. They were round and pink and responsive to his touch. How many hours, even when they’d been young, had he spent trying to imagine them? And here they were. His fantasies had not done them justice.

  He now gave them proper attention.

  Cass breathed his name in surprise at the sensation of his mouth upon her. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as if to hold him to her. He paid her close attention. First one, then the other . . . even as he let his hand dip lower.

  The heat of her was a beacon. He moved to her core, rested a moment for her to relax, and then he slid one finger inside, testing her.

  She’d tensed. Her hands went still.

  He found her ear. “Easy.”

  Cass swallowed and then turned to him, their lips inches from each other. “Will there be pain?”

  “Not if I can help it. And if there is, it will be only an instant.” At least, that was what he’d heard—and hoped. He stroked her. Her legs opened as if of their own accord. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll never hurt you.”

  “I believe you.”

  He lifted himself up over her to settle against her heat. “Help me, Cass.” He slid his hand under her buttocks to curve her toward him. He knew exactly where he must be to make it easiest on her. He wanted to do this right.

  But his wife was not one to wait. She moved against him. Her arms tightened around him, her movements a touch frantic, as if she distracted herself. She kissed his hair, the side of his eye, the middle of his forehead—and he did what must be done.

  In one fluid movement, he entered her. He did not pull back but thrust deep. The thin barrier was nothing against the force of his need, and he easily claimed her.

  She inhaled as if there was a bit of pain. He held himself still, waiting for her to signal whether he could go on.

  Dear God, she was so tight, he prayed he wouldn’t embarrass himself. His primal urge was to drive on, to take what he wanted. He employed every bit of control he had—

  “Is that it? Are we done?”

  Her questions broke his concentration.

  Soren looked down at her. She had the most puzzled expression on her face. “How are you?” he countered. “Have I hurt you?”

  “There was a needle’s prick of uncomfortableness.” She ran her hand along his shoulder as if admiring the play of muscles that were doing everything in their power to hold him back from pillaging her. Her lashes lifted up to him. “But if this is all there is, why do poets go on about it?”

  Soren laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

  A smile came to her lips. “I felt that. You laughed and I felt it all the way through.” Her brows came together. “We aren’t done, are we?”

  “We are just starting,” he promised. He began moving to show her what he meant.

  “That is very nice,” she managed as if it was a complete understatement. “Very nice.”

  And then she took him to new places by raising her hips herself. He went deeper, and now Soren knew he had no control over himself. If she’d cried stop, he didn’t know what he could have done.

  Nothing had ever felt as good as being inside his wife. She’d been made for him. Her summer scent. Her passion. She met him thrust for thrust and kiss for kiss.

  Her hold tightened. She cried his name as if lost and he was the only one who could find her. He understood. She was coming close. He was almost past reason himself but he knew she needed his guidance.

  “Let it go, Cass. Trust me. Let it happen—”

  Her muscles constricted with such force he called her name.

  Her release came in waves. She surprised him with the power of it. He could no longer let her be. He pushed forward, burying himself to the hilt, her arms and legs around him. He gathered her as if he could take her inside himself and found his own blessed completion.

  The blinding force of it felt as if he touched eternity, and he lost himself in her.

  Had he ever experienced this before?

  Not with such magnitude. It was as if he and Cass had joined souls.

  Her face was buried in his neck. He’d keep her there forever . . . and then he felt tears.

  They confused him. He’d not harmed her. Or had he?

  He also knew he was incapable of consoling her at this moment. He couldn’t even move.

  Ever so slowly, life came back into focus.

  Cool air on his heated skin roused him to awareness. Then it was her skin, her scent, her warmth . . .

  Soren shifted his weight. She grasped him tighter, both arms around his neck, holding him as if she was hiding. “Cass, are you crying?”

  She shook her head. She was lying.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Another shake of the head.

  He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. Taking care, he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. She tried to avoid him but he shushed her not to argue.

  She let him see. The tears had not stopped. Her eyes shimmered with them. A shudder went through her as if she was trying to control herself.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he begged, “What is it? What have I done to you? Was the pain that great?”

  Her belly against his, her breasts on his chest, she looked down at him and said, “That was the most wonderful experience of my life. No one had warned me. My friend Leonie acted as if it was nothing. But it is something. Truly something.”

  Relief released the tension inside him along with an accompanying swell of pride. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “It was better than I imagined the ‘passion flower of ecstasy’ could ever be.”

  “The what?”

  “The ‘passion flower of ecstasy’ was in a poem I once heard to describe what happens between a man and a woman. I
now understand why everyone wants to make love, why they go in search of it. Was it special for you as well?”

  He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face. “Aye. Very special. A passion flower full of ecstasy.”

  She laughed. Her laughter had its own music, and it gave Soren great pleasure. This was the way a marriage should be between a man and his wife. There should be laughter and excellent sex.

  Soren reached for the edge of the counterpane beneath them and pulled as much as he could over their nakedness. Their bodies were warm together but he wanted to protect her from the night air. In doing so, he gathered the diamond-tipped pins and roses strewn over the sheets. He set them on the table and snuggled her close.

  “Can it be better?” she wondered, her breath against his neck.

  He grinned. Was there ever a man so fortunate? He liked her ambition, especially in this area. “Yes,” he assured her. “That was just our first try. If we practice enough, who knows how good we will become. There is a whole garden of ecstasy to discover.”

  She curled into him, rubbing her legs against his. Her stockings had been kicked off in their lovemaking. He ran his toes over hers, enjoying the feeling of her bare feet. “I’d like to become very, very good. How often should we practice?” Her hand slid lower down his abdomen.

  He stirred. Of course he did. What man could resist her?

  Still, he had to think of what was best for his wife. He caught her wandering hand before she could stray too far. “I’ve worked you out enough for the first night. I don’t want you to be sore on the morrow.”

  Her nose scrunched adorably at the idea. “I can be sore down there?”

  She had so much to learn. He could not wait to teach her.

  Reluctantly, he eased out from under her body and climbed out of the bed.

  “Where are you going?” She moved as if to follow him.

  “Rest right there. I’ll be right back.” His movements had shifted the counterpane. He tossed his share over her. “I need to take care of you.”

  “You can take care of me right here.” She pouted, patting the mattress beside her. “I can see you want to.”

  He did. This part of his anatomy had always had a mind of its own. “Cass, you’ve grown bold.”