A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(11)

Soren did not pass that muster.

She would also like children. When she visited her stepsisters, she enjoyed her nieces and nephew. Their growing minds intrigued her. She found them fascinating.

And she would be involved in her children’s lives. Amanda and Laura depended upon nurses and governesses. Cassandra fancied teaching her children herself. She’d talk to them about geography and literature and mathematics and help them understand why such things were important to know—her daughters as well as her sons.

She herself had been most fortunate that the local vicar in Cornwall, Mr. Morwath, had encouraged her to read. He’d loaned her books and had even pushed her father to hire good tutors. Otherwise, her father and Helen would have been happy to keep her ignorant of science and other topics they considered “unsuitable.”

But no one told a duchess what she could and couldn’t do . . . except it appeared Cassandra had lost Camberly’s interest—

No, she’d never had it. His interest had been a ruse to match her with Soren. And now, who knew if she would realize any of her dreams? Especially the secret ones?

Cassandra went to the washbasin. She poured lukewarm water into a bowl, wet a cloth, and pressed it to her neck and heated cheeks. It felt good. She shouldn’t have let Soren goad her.

Nor could she hide forever in the necessary room. She was going to have to return to the dining room and resume her seat, but first she would enjoy a moment’s more respite from—

The door opened . . . and Soren York walked in, destroying her privacy.





Chapter 4




Storming the ladies’ necessary room was not the best idea Soren had ever had; however, it served the purpose. He had her where they could have a moment of straightforward conversation.

Cass obviously did not agree with him. “Leave this room immediately,” she ordered. She actually quivered with outrage.

It was a bit overdramatic.

His response was to walk around the room, listening at the screens set up in one corner for privacy. “Good, we are alone.”

“No, you are alone.” She began walking toward the door. “I am leaving.”

“Not yet.” He hooked his hand in her arm, circling her away from the door.

She yanked her arm away. “You would stop me? Don’t think I won’t scream.”

Soren raised a conciliatory hand. “Cass, you are not a screamer. We need to talk and here is as good a place as any—”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Obviously you do or you wouldn’t be so huffy with me.”

“I’m not huffy—”

“Cass, you are huffy—”

“And I am not ‘Cass.’ My name is Cassandra. Miss Holwell to you.”

“Yes, Miss Holwell,” Soren repeated, mocking her with meekness. And why not? She was being unreasonable. “I used to call you Cass. You didn’t correct me then.”

“But I did not like it. I’ve already corrected you more than once this Season. Especially the evening when you referred to me as ‘Cassie.’ ”

She had.

Soren was unapologetic. “If you truly didn’t like my calling you Cass, why didn’t you say something in the beginning? Back when we were children?”

His logic appeared to stump her and then she said, “Because. Now will you leave?”

“ ‘Because’ is not an explanation,” he argued.

“It is all you are going to receive.” She edged away from him as she spoke, moving as if preparing to physically defend herself.

At last, the thought occurred to Soren that something was very wrong between them. He attempted diplomacy. “I’m not trying to intimidate you.”

“You have followed me into the ladies’ necessary room—”

“I wish a moment’s private conversation with you. Something I haven’t been able to have because you have been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

She didn’t deny the accusation. Instead, she announced, “I will not marry you. I have no desire to have anything to do with you.”

Her bluntness annoyed him. “I’ve received that message,” he assured her. “What I don’t understand is what I did to set you off. Put the whole idea of marriage aside—” He’d have to work on that issue later. “We were friends once, Cass.” Almost too late he remembered to use her full name. “—andra,” he added.

“Until you betrayed that friendship.”

Now there was an accusation that surprised him.

“Betrayed our friendship? What are you talking about?” He searched his memory. “You are the one who changed everything. You stopped speaking to me.”

“I gave you the cut direct,” she declared rather proudly. She referred to the social weapon of rudely ignoring an acquaintance. It was a fierce thing to do . . . if one paid attention to ridiculous etiquette. Soren did not.

“The cut direct?” The words didn’t even taste good in his mouth. “You were thirteen. Children don’t do the cut direct.”

“I did.”

“Ah, well, you have me there.” He shook his head. Back in those days she was always claiming the silliest of ideas, usually gleaned from books. “Of course, if I wasn’t aware that I’d received the cut direct, it loses its power, doesn’t it? It can’t truly be a cut direct, if I don’t know I’ve been cut. Or that you are being direct. Which you weren’t, by the way, because I didn’t know I’d received it.”