A Match Made in Bed

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I’m angry that MP Holwell—I refuse to call him Father—spent all the money and there is nothing I can do.”

  “We can call on my lawyer on the morrow before we leave London. He might know of some recourse.”

  “We’ll leave tomorrow?” The idea wasn’t as alarming as it had been. The ale had helped. She tapped her mug with a finger, signaling she was ready for more. With a dubious lift of his brow, he filled her glass halfway from a pitcher on the table.

  She smiled her satisfaction and looked around the room. They were the only couple in the dining room. Everyone else was either single or in a larger party. There were also several families. The mothers appeared tired, while the children were full of movement. She tried to judge the age of the children, gauging where Logan would be.

  “Logan,” she repeated, testing the name.

  Soren smiled. “I believe we should start brewing ale at Pentreath.”

  “Don’t,” she said, lifting her mug. “I don’t drink it.” Or she hadn’t before, but obviously she’d started.

  His smile became a laugh, but she didn’t feel he was laughing at her. He seemed content. He reached across the table and touched her often. Her acceptance of his, no, their circumstances had pleased him.

  Then again, he didn’t know what was going on in her head. Because if he did, he might not be so satisfied.

  She had no mooring, she realized. The truth of her life was a question mark.

  All she had was what she could experience in this moment, and although she smiled at Soren, she was conscious of a kernel of anger deep inside. He’d loved another woman.

  She was second best and she was aware that he’d never used the word “love” with her.

  Her son, when he was born, would not be her husband’s heir.

  The thought caused her to down her ale. She would have asked for another, except Soren stood. “Come, wife,” he ordered playfully. “I’m tired and ready for my bed—and for you.”

  That didn’t seem such a terrible idea.

  He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they went back to the hotel. She was glad he held her steady. She had to concentrate to walk.

  Cassandra was amazed to discover that she could be so quietly furious with him, and yet want him to make love with her.

  He hadn’t been playing when he’d made his comment in the inn. He started pulling at her laces in the back of her dress practically before they’d entered the door of their room.

  They didn’t speak. They undressed. She was naked for all save the singular pearl around her neck.

  He moved her toward the bed. She stopped him, grabbing his wrists. He let her hold him. His head lowered. He kissed her skin in the tenderest of places. He whispered words to her, calling her “golden” and “bold” but he did not try to break her hold.

  That didn’t mean he didn’t touch her in other ways. She could feel his erection between them. He pressed it toward her.

  Had she thought to control him? Why did she hold back? And then she understood—she wished he understood how hard it was for her to lose so much. His plans had not been her plans.

  His lips brushed her ear. “If it could be any other way,” he whispered.

  He knew.

  She wasn’t certain if his knowledge reassured her or made her angrier.

  His knee came between her legs and he eased her onto the bed. He found her lips.

  This kiss was not like their others. It was emotional, raw, needy.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, bringing her to him and yet she wanted to push him away as well. She stretched out her arms, letting him lie upon her.

  He found his way to her. He didn’t need his hands because she was more than ready. He went deep, deeper than he had the night before.

  Their kiss changed. His tongue thrust with hers. It was as if she could swallow him whole. She groaned, the sound primitive and passionate.

  In answer, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The kiss broke in surprise as she realized where she was. She sat on top, her knees a vise keeping him in place.

  And she still held his wrist.

  He looked up at her. His eyes were dark with desire. “Have me, Cass. Do as you wish.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant until he moved, lifting his hips.

  This was good. Very good.

  The ale in her blood heated with lust. She was angry, and yet passion poured out of her. She released her hold on his wrists.

  This was their marriage—and here, on this bed, she was his equal. She’d not have it any other way. Her hips matched his pace and then she set her own. She demanded. The pearl around her neck swung with her movements.

  And he was wild as well.

  He held her hips, encouraging her to take. She liked him beneath her. Liked feeling she had power. Her arms rose into the air as if she was a goddess praising the universe, and she sank deeper down on him. It was good, good, good—

  Her muscles tightened with a will of their own. Her body exploded with sensation. She was a goddess. She did own the universe.

  And Soren was her mate. For good or for bad, he was hers.

  He called her name. She was so lost in the moment of her coming, she heard it as if from a great distance, and then he flipped her over onto the bed. He spread her legs, lifting them in his arms and thrust deep and hard. Once, twice, and on the third, he let go.

  She felt the rush of heat and the surge of his life force, and they were one.

  He held her legs around his waist as if wanting her to hold him there. She obeyed. She had no will of her own. She had turned to stars and dust. She, who had known all power, was now without defenses. She nuzzled his ear and curled his hair around her fingers.

  And she was still angry.

  But she would go to Cornwall.

  He moved first, rolling off her and gathering her close, her buttocks against his hips. As was his way, he covered their nakedness with the bedclothes.

  She crumpled the feather pillow under her head, letting him hold her in his arms. The room smelled of them. She was wet between her legs. Her son might already be within her.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Cassandra.” Were his words a promise or a plea?

  He pressed a kiss on her shoulder. His whiskers scratched. She liked the feeling of his chest against her back.

  Cass. His Cass, she wanted to whisper. Instead, she said, “I wonder who my father is.”

  He shifted, bringing himself closer as if he could protect her. “There might be someone who knows in Cornwall. Who remembers from that time.”

  “But what if it is something I don’t want to know?” She stared at the wall on the other side of the room. “Some lies have been good to me.”

  “Until the truth interferes.”

  She stirred to look over her shoulder at him. He watched her carefully. “Would I be happier to know that perhaps a great lord was my father? Or a groomsman? Or a traveling tinker?”

  “Will it matter to your life right now?” He lifted a lock of her hair and smoothed it back.

  “Nothing matters right now,” she confessed. “Except this.” She could feel he was aroused again.

  He kissed her neck before whispering, “Another go?”

  Of course.

  Desire was a good foil for anger.

  Her body was tender from the intensity of their last time. Consequently, she experienced even his slightest movement more keenly than ever, almost to the point of needle-sharp pain, and still her blood sang with the joy of being a part of him.

  It was quick, forceful, and satisfying.

  When they were done, she was finally exhausted. The anger might return on the morrow, but for now, she finally knew peace. It had been his gift to her.

  At last she understood women like her stepmother who followed her husband around as if he was all-important in her life. She could even sympathize with Dame Hester, who had such an old husband.

  Was Letty Bainhurst right to cuckold
her lord?

  Cassandra didn’t know. However, she could appreciate lovers in any situation.

  She moved so she could study her sleeping husband in the dark’s shadows. She’d not told him about the garnets, nor would she.

  The pearl he’d given her was still on its ribbon cord around her neck. She caught the gem in her hand. Its luster shone in the moonlight.

  The truth, she realized, was whatever one could make others believe.

  It was time she discovered her own.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, Soren roused her by whipping the covers off the bed. Cold air hit her skin. She reached for the counterpane, not ready to leave the bed’s warmth.

  She was usually an early riser but yesterday had been a day of too much emotion. She curled into a ball, her pillow scrunched in her arms, and tried to continue sleeping.

  He wouldn’t let her. He bounced on the bed beside her. “Come along, love, the day is marching on.”

  Love?

  She opened one sleep-crusted eye in surprise. He was fully clothed, boots, jacket, and all. He even wore a dashingly knotted neck cloth.

  He didn’t gaze at her how she’d imagined a lover would. This was not a moment of soul-wrenching fervor. No, he looked at her as if he was impatient for her to start moving, albeit with a smile on his face.

  “I’m ready to eat,” he prodded, playfully walking the line of her shoulder with two fingers. She reacted to the tickle. “Wake up, Cass-an-dra,” he cooed. “The day is passing.”

  She doubted his words and kept her eyes closed tight. In her dreams, when she received a declaration of love—a meaningful one, she corrected—she had always imagined herself in a lovely gown with rosettes and lace. She’d look absolutely perfect when he declared himself to her.

  Instead, she smelled of her own body and of him and sex. Her hair probably looked as if she had been in a windstorm. It didn’t matter. She never appeared her best first thing in the morning, especially when she’d been sleeping hard.

  He could not possibly find her attractive, and for that reason alone, it was best she stayed right where she was.

  As if giving a lie to her thoughts, Soren whispered close to her ear, “You stay in that bed much longer looking as delectable as you are, you might be my breakfast.”

  That brought her awake. She sat up, holding the sheet to cover her breasts and pushed the mass of her hair back. Why, there were grainy bits of sleep in her lashes. “Delectable?”

  His smile turned knowing. “Deliciously so.”

  “Soren, I look a fright.”

  He raised himself up and kissed her. Whatever protests she might have offered evaporated. They knew how to kiss very well now. Their practice had perfected it.

  And then he broke the kiss off. “You could use some tooth powder,” he murmured, the twinkle of jest in his eye.

  Her response was to grab him by both ears and kiss him again. And he laughingly let her wrestle him to the bed, where their kisses began to take on heat.

  “To the devil with breakfast,” he whispered in her ear, his hand going to her breast.

  Cassandra derived great pleasure for picking that moment to hop out of the other side of the bed. “I’m so sorry. I must use tooth powder,” she said airily, going to the washbasin and picking out her brush. The tooth powder was already sitting there. She was happy that Soren was a man who valued cleanliness—

  His hands cupped her breasts. His body pressed against her as he nibbled that spot just below her ear that always weakened her resolve. “Your teeth are fine.”

  She put the brush in her mouth and made a garbled sound.

  His lips curled into a smile against her skin. His hand dipped lower down her belly to more responsive places. “I don’t need you to talk, Cass. I just need this.” His fingers slid intimately between her thighs and she forgot about her teeth. She wiped her mouth with a linen towel.

  He was unbuttoning his breeches. He bent her forward and entered her. Her legs went weak from the pleasure. His hand around her waist held her up or else she would have fallen to her knees.

  Who would have imagined this? She could barely breathe. She tried to talk but all she could whisper was “Please, Soren, more.”

  And he gave her what she wanted. He always did.

  The moment was heightened by glimpses of their reflections in the small looking glass over the basin. Her face was flushed. His was a study of concentration as if he offered all.

  They both almost collapsed at the completion.

  When she could find her voice, she admitted, “You’ve turned me wanton.”

  “I’m a blessed man.” He sounded as if he’d been running a great distance.

  Facing him, her hand went to his hard, flat belly, and she lightly rubbed the skin beneath his shirt. He kissed her forehead, her nose.

  “We’ll have differences, Cass. That is the way of things, but as long as I can reach for you and you reach for me, there is nothing we can’t weather together.”

  She thought of the jewels she’d kept hidden, and the intrusion of his first wife.

  Instantly, he sensed something was amiss. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” She reached for her toothbrush to finish the task.

  Soren didn’t move away from her. He buttoned his breeches. “What is it? Go on. Speak your mind. As I said yesterday, I’ve told you the truth of all.”

  “Were you as honest with your first wife?”

  He leaned against the wall. “No, I learned the importance of honesty from her. After she left, I realized that she had been turning her back on me for several months. I had thought it was the way of things between a man and a woman. I was busy. I traveled because I wanted my shipping company and trading post to be successful. Now, I realize that she was unhappy. Maybe even lonely. It wasn’t her way to complain. She was a proud woman.” He drew her close to him. “If I’m not doing what you need, tell me.”

  Did that request sound like the statement of a man who had merely married her for money? Or were those the words of one who had called her “love” before he’d taken her hard and fast? Even now, if he touched her, she’d fall into his arms again. Did that mean she “loved” him in return? Certainly the word had come up in her thoughts.

  Cass didn’t know the answers. She’d never seen passion between her father and Helen.

  She’d read about it, as often as she could. There had been times when she’d stared at a sonnet or a poem trying to fully understand what was being said. She’d study the space between lines and wonder what was being left out.

  Now she knew. She was also discovering that the knowledge of this mystery between the sexes didn’t add clarity.

  “You dress,” he said. “I’ll be in the dining room, unless you need me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Shall I order food for you?”

  “Yes, that will be nice. What time is it?” She poured fresh water into the bowl.

  “Around half past nine. I sent a note to Winslow Forrester, a solicitor who has done work for my family. I asked if he could see me at eleven.” He ran an interested finger along the curve of her bare breast, as if he could not resist one last touch. Her skin tingled, hardening her nipple. With a regretful sigh, he drew his hand back and started for the door.

  “Are we still traveling to Pentreath today?” she said.

  “I would like to be on the road by early afternoon. That gives us five hours to reach the Rams Head, an inn I favor. Are you certain you don’t need my services as your abigail?”

  “I’d never be dressed,” she answered.

  He laughed his agreement. “I shouldn’t overwork you.” And then he did something that truly shocked her. He blew her a kiss. It was small gesture, a playful one, and yet it slipped past her guard.

  Cassandra stared at the door after he had left. Why, a little over a week ago, she’d been wishing he would disappear.

  And here was her confusion—she was still angry
and she didn’t believe it was with him. But he made an excellent target.

  Perhaps she and Mary had much in common.

  It had been unfair of Mary not to tell Soren he had a son, but Cassandra could see how anger might convince a woman to keep secrets. After all, Cassandra had the garnets.

  Cassandra gave herself a quick but very thorough cleaning with the milled soap from her valise and a linen cloth. The scrubbing gave her a sense of some control. She dressed and tried to do something with her hair. She had never been good at styling it herself. She ended up knotting it at the nape of her neck and holding it with the diamond pins. She should purchase sensible hairpins, but not just yet. She put her things back in her valise. She still wore the pearl around her neck.

  The time was closing upon ten when she presented herself in the dining room. Soren’s nod of approval for her appearance was all she could have wished. He pulled her chair out for her. “You are lovely.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured with a flush of shyness over the compliment. She looked around the room and realized that many eyes were focused on them. “Are you certain there isn’t anything wrong, though? Everyone is staring.”

  “They are staring because you are tall and beautiful.”

  That brought a deeper blush to her cheeks.

  Cass didn’t know how to respond to flattery. She knew she had even features, but she’d never garnered any male attention for anything other than her money.

  Of course, there had been that evening when Mr. Roger Edmonds, the poet, had kissed her, but he didn’t count. He was an odd character. Whereas Soren, even as impoverished as he was, would have been many a debutante’s first choice—especially once he smiled at them.

  He had finished his breakfast but he waited for her to eat. A waiter placed a plate of sausage and toast in front of her. She was famished.

  As she tucked in her food, Soren observed with a wicked wink, “You have an appetite this morning, my lady.”

  “Pleasing you is hard work,” she replied, a piece of sausage on her fork ready to pop into her mouth—

  The clearing of a masculine throat prevented her from eating. The Duke of Camberly had approached their table and had overheard her comment.