A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I’m receiving lessons in bold. But you aren’t paying attention.”

  “Oh, I am paying attention, as you noticed. It is hard to be a man. I couldn’t fake it even if I wished. However, you come first.” He walked to the washstand. The water was cool but it would do. He poured it into a basin.

  “I like looking at you naked,” she announced, sounding almost defiant. And then she added, a touch shyly, “I liked it the other night as well.”

  “Then I will never wear clothes for you.” He returned to the bed holding the basin of water and a linen cloth.

  “Promise?”

  Her coy response delighted him. “I promise, but I do think I will have some difficulty when I attend Parliament. They have a strict idea of how a lord should dress.” He knelt by the bed on her side, setting the basin on the mattress.

  “Pity,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed, and in the next beat, the two of them were grinning like fools at each other.

  Her hand reached out to lace her fingers with his. “I’m glad I married you.”

  “Because of what I can do for you on a bed?” He was only half teasing. Cass’s openness touched him. In a world swimming in chicanery, she had survived fresh and unsullied. Even with who her father was.

  “I would have been miserable,” she continued, “living as an unmarried relation with Helen and her daughters. I’ve always hated their pity.”

  “Why would they pity you?”

  “I don’t know.” Her easiness gave way to the sort of deep reflection he knew of her. “Sometimes I was jealous of them because they knew their mother and I had lost mine. I often believed they resented my inheritance. They would always refer to me as ‘the heiress’ in a tone of voice that was not flattering. A portion of my inheritance was given to them for dowries. I did not mind, but still they were rather cold. This will sound odd, but I used to sense that I was surrounded by secrets. Did you ever feel that way?”

  “No, I knew all the secrets. My grandfather lost money, my father lost money, I’m trying not to lose money. It is all right there.”

  That wasn’t truly the complete truth. He did need to tell her about his son and his first marriage, but now was not the time.

  Her expressive eyes became solemn. “Am I putting too much faith in a kiss? You must tell me, Soren. I don’t have very much experience, especially in these matters.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers. His gaze holding hers, he said, “Trust our kisses. They never lie.”

  Her smile was as if the heavens had opened and blessed them—and he knew she would make everything wrong in his life, right again.

  “Why did you bring the water over?”

  “For you.” He pushed back the counterpane. He gently began wiping the signs of their lovemaking, of her virginity from her thighs.

  She tried to close her legs, squirming away from him, even as she reached for the cloth. “I can do that.”

  He waved her away. “This is no chore. I’m here to take care of you. As time goes by, we’ll know each other’s bodies better than we do our own.”

  Or at least that was his intention. It had not happened with his first marriage. When Mary left him, he’d felt as if he’d never known her at all.

  But this time it would be different. He and Cass shared a common heritage. And he’d do all he could to keep her happy. He’d been too young and anxious to make his fortune in his first marriage to realize that his wife must come first.

  Cass held still.

  His task finished, he folded the cloth and carried it and the washbasin back to the stand and then returned to bed. He pulled the covers down so they could both slip under the sheets. She nestled up to him. It was a good moment. He decided now was the time to tell her about Logan.

  However, before he could speak, she said, “The other night when I saw Letty Bainhurst and the duke in the reading room, they weren’t doing what we just did.”

  “They weren’t?”

  “No, the duke was down around her knees.”

  That comment caught his interest.

  She leaned on one arm to look at him. “He was beneath her skirts. Whatever he was doing, she liked very much.” There was more than a hint of suggestion in her voice.

  Ah, Camberly. “And you are curious as to what was happening?” Soren suggested.

  “There are things I wonder about.” She lay back down, her head on his pillow. “When I have questions, I can usually reason things out from what I’ve read in books.”

  “Such as ‘the passion flower of ecstasy’?”

  Her smile was quick. “I wasn’t exactly certain what that meant. I know now.”

  “And here I was thinking I should read more poetry.”

  Her eyes took on a delicious sparkle in the room’s thin light. “I will not argue that point with you, husband.” She said the title as if she liked the taste of it in her mouth. “But, Soren, what was he doing?”

  The blood rushed through him. “Around her knees, eh?”

  She nodded.

  “I could write a poem for you . . . or I could show you.”

  She didn’t wait a beat. “Show me, please.”

  And show her he did. He spent the rest of the afternoon showing her and most of the night. Later, they would talk.

  Right now was for pleasure.

  Chapter 11

  At last, the world began to make sense to Cassandra. The connection she felt with Soren was intense. He’d opened her to a whole new appreciation of her being. For the first time in her life, she felt valued, adored . . . beautiful.

  In the wee hours of the morning, she woke to find her back against his chest, her buttocks cozied up to him. He slept with a protective arm around her, creating an intimate haven.

  So, this was marriage.

  Moonlight streamed in from a window and fell across the bed. She rolled over to study her husband in a way she never would when he was awake.

  The stubble of his beard shadowed his jaw. She could trace with her finger the bump in his nose. However, she did not see these as flaws. She liked him exactly the way he was.

  He had said she would come to know his body better than her own, and she already believed that to be true. His spicy masculinity, his heat seemed imprinted upon her forever.

  She was his wife, and she was pleased.

  No one had shown her the dignity and compassion he had. Her father never had. He thought such actions weak.

  But Soren believed in kindness and it ennobled him to Cassandra. Nor did he chastise her when she asked for what she wanted or told him what she preferred. He acted as if he appreciated her speaking up.

  “My father is wrong about you,” she told his sleeping form. “He said I shouldn’t trust you but I do, Soren. I trust you always to do the right thing. And you can trust me. I’ll always stand by your side. I promise you that.”

  She burrowed into him and slept deeply. She woke the next morning to her husband making love to her. She has rolled back over on her side. His hands covered her breasts.

  He knew she’d woken. “Shhh,” he warned against her ear. “My love is asleep.”

  His love. Such wonderful words.

  “Oh, no, she is not,” Cassandra countered, and began moving to give him everything he needed. When they were done, she flung her arms around him and said, “I pray we wake this way every morning.” And he laughingly promised her it could be done.

  However, eventually, they had to join the world outside the bedroom. Soren was determined to return to London immediately to confront her father. If she’d had her way, they would avoid any meeting, but she knew he was right.

  Cassandra chose an ivory day gown with a sprigged pattern, her pearls, and good walking shoes for the trip. She’d learned to be prepared for anything when she traveled.

  Downstairs, they found more guests were leaving that morning. London was only three hours by coach.

  Lord Bainhurst, who now proclaimed hims
elf their matchmaker, offered to give them a ride to the city in his vehicle. Soren said yes—because they truly had no other way of traveling and this would save them from hiring a conveyance. Of course, that meant Cassandra would have to spend more time in Letty Bainhurst’s company. Caught up in her new understanding of the intimacy of marriage, Cassandra was puzzled that the woman would cuckold her husband.

  Camberly was on hand as they were preparing to leave. Cassandra noted the lingering looks the duke was sending to his lover. However, to Cassandra’s surprise, Letty was decidedly cold.

  When Cassandra had a chance for a private word with Soren, she said, “Apparently His Grace and Lady Bainhurst are no longer friends.”

  “Good,” Soren said. “She is a man-eater. His grandmother and I both wanted him free of her.”

  “But he looks so sad.”

  He turned her to face him. “Do I need to call him out?” He sounded teasing, and yet was there an undertone of jealousy?

  Cassandra had never believed herself capable of inspiring any such strong emotion. She laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the end of his nose, without regard to whoever was watching. “My eyes see no other man save the handsome one in front of me.”

  “Ah, the newlywed,” Lord Bainhurst’s bored voice chimed in. He’d overheard her declaration. “In a year’s time, you will be like my lady and myself.”

  Cassandra prayed his words would never come true. She wanted to feel the way she did now toward Soren every day of her life. She liked how he rested his hand on the small of her back to guide her. She adored leaning toward him, knowing if she should fall, he was right there. It felt good to be treated as if she mattered. Perhaps if Lord Bainhurst was more attentive to his wife—?

  But she did not voice her opinion. Why should she give him advice he would not heed?

  Once they were comfortably seated in the coach, Lady Bainhurst asked, “Where will the two of you live in London?”

  It all depended on her money.

  Cassandra deferred to Soren. He was more adept at fielding money questions than she was. And besides wasn’t that what good wives did? They let their husbands speak for them? After the night they’d shared, she believed she could tame her natural inclination to speak up.

  “We haven’t discussed the matter yet,” he said. “If you will let us off at the Pulteney, we’ll stay there until we reach a decision.” He referred to a well-known hotel. “Of course, soon, I will need to return to Cornwall.”

  “But we will live in London?” Cassandra quickly pressed.

  “We will need a London address,” he assured her.

  “I’ll stay in London,” Cassandra told him, “whenever you visit Cornwall.”

  “If you wish,” was his answer.

  She did wish. She smiled, certain that when it came to husbands, she had the very best one. They had just had a discussion and had reached a reasonable solution. The skeptical lift of Lady Bainhurst’s eyebrow didn’t bother Cassandra at all. Her Ladyship should look to her own affairs instead of judging theirs. She slid her gloved hand into the crook of Soren’s arm.

  The coach arrived in town in the early afternoon. Cassandra had never stayed in a fine hotel. There had been no need to do so. She’d rarely been in a country inn. It was rather exciting to walk into the Pulteney’s reception on her husband’s arm.

  Had the gossip preceded them that they had married? Did people stop and stare? She didn’t know. There had not yet been an announcement posted in the papers. Soren would do that on the morrow, once they settled the issue of her fortune.

  Besides, she was too busy taking in this new experience, and Helen wasn’t there to hiss at her to “school” her eyes.

  She held back a few steps while Soren approached the desk to register.

  “Lord Dewsberry?” the clerk repeated when he saw Soren write his name in the book.

  “I am.”

  The man appeared flummoxed for a moment. He pulled the registration book toward himself as if he feared Soren would run out the door with it. Another officious gentleman noticed the action and hurried to confer with the clerk.

  Something was wrong.

  Usually when she went into a business establishment, clerks and owners bowed and scrapped in front of her. She’d never experienced this wary restraint.

  Then she overheard the manager say the words, “Holwell Heiress” and the clerk’s attitude changed.

  Now came the bowing and scraping to Soren. A key was given to him with a flourish, and the manager himself offered to escort them to their room. A porter was called to carry their meager luggage.

  Her husband was very quiet as they followed the manager. The man was most solicitous as he showed them the appointments of the room while the porter set down their luggage. Soren pressed a coin in each hand and they could not bow low enough.

  However, once the hotel staff had left, he said, “I believe I will call on your father now.”

  He’d said he had intended on seeing her father once they reached London, but something in his voice gave her pause. She removed her bonnet and set it on the table. He’d not moved from his post by the door, his hat in his hand. She began pulling off her gloves. “Is our financial situation truly dire?”

  Soren did not lie to her. “Worse than. I just gave the last coins in my pocket to those two so they won’t go downstairs and announce they were right about me in the first place.”

  “Has it always been like this?” She’d not thought people would openly question whether one had money, although it was a common topic among the upper classes. She realized the staff of a hotel such as this would be very aware of their clientele’s importance.

  “You don’t need to worry about it.” He reached for the door. “I will return shortly.”

  “No, wait. I’m going with you.” Here was her opportunity to prove herself to him in front of her father.

  Soren had been more than generous to her. He’d been her protector at the dowager’s house party. After the way they had been last night, she could already be carrying his child. In fact, she could be in love with him—

  The thought came to her out of the air. She could be in love . . .

  Funny how she’d not considered love in relation to Soren until this moment, but here it was, swirling around her.

  Of course, she could love him.

  Without her being aware, he’d come to embody every romantic notion she’d had about men. And he’d always been there. It had all started in their childhood when he had insisted the others include her.

  That seemed like a factual and rather humdrum definition of love. Poets, she now realized, wrote about their carnal natures. The passion flower of ecstasy and all of that. She’d certainly experienced every bit of it with Soren, and hoped to do so again this night.

  And, yes, he was entirely too human. The state of his affairs embarrassed him. However, she had faith in him . . . because she loved him.

  “We will find our way through any difficulties,” she said aloud. “Whatever I have is yours, and Father will understand how right this marriage is once he sees us together.”

  “Cass, this will be a difficult interview. Your father is very angry.”

  Cass. His Cass. The nickname now sang through her.

  “My father is always angry at the Yorks. It is part of who he believes he is. Truly, Soren, he is not a bad man. But he is a fighter. He needs something to push against, and right now, that is more me than it is you. He’s angry that I did not obey him. He feels I betrayed him.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay here.”

  “I’m not a coward. And if I avoid him, we will never reconcile. No, I must go. I also have some things to collect at the house. All I have to wear is what is in my valise. I need my books and clothing.” And the rest of her jewelry. She had a set of sapphires that matched her garnets in size. They were truly beautiful and very precious. “Where will I have it all sent?”

  “I suppose to Pentreath.”


  “I’m not going there,” she reminded him.

  “Eventually you will. It is our family seat.”

  “You told me we would live in London.”

  He looked at her as if she was a child.

  “Do you not remember?” she prodded.

  “Yes.”

  Cassandra reached for her gloves and began pulling them on. “Then I don’t want my things sent to Cornwall.”

  “Except right now, we don’t have a house in London.”

  “We will purchase one.”

  He picked up her hat and offered it to her, a sign he agreed she would accompany him. “If we can,” he said. “It would be nice.” He set his hat on his head.

  “When we were in the coach, you didn’t offer any objections.”

  “I’m not about to discuss anything of this nature in front of others. Especially Bainhurst. And to be honest, Cassandra, I know you are to inherit your mother’s fortune at marriage, but I don’t know how much that is.”

  “Forty thousand pounds.”

  Soren appeared to choke. “Forty thousand pounds?” he repeated as if uncertain he’d heard correctly. “Forty?”

  “Are you displeased?”

  “I’m overjoyed,” he said. “That is an incredible fortune. You are certain of the amount?”

  “Of course, I am.” In fact, she was a bit annoyed at the question. “When I was sixteen, my grandfather’s solicitor, Mr. Calder, called upon me and Father. He insisted on telling me the terms of my grandfather’s will. The money that would have gone to my mother is to come to me when I marry. In fact, my father had not yet given me my mother’s jewelry, like these pearls, and Mr. Calder insisted he do so in his presence because those should have been mine outright.”

  Soren took a moment to digest this information, his brow concerned. “Had your grandfather recently passed?”

  “Oh, no, he’d been dead for a few years. He died when I was fourteen.”

  “Who had charge of the money?”

  “My father.”

  “Has he kept your money separate?”

  Cassandra frowned. “From what?”

  “From his.”

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”