A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(14)

“Three, and that is only because no one runs against him. They don’t have the money, even though they distrust him.”

She was more perceptive than he had imagined. “I’m certain you are admired,” he offered.

“And I’m certain you are mouthing meaningless flattery. How is that for plain speaking? There are few in Cornwall who have use for an outspoken, headstrong woman. And I return their feelings. When my father was first elected, I was happy to escape to London. It was freedom to finally be myself. I have a good life in the city. I shall not return to Cornwall. Ever.”

Well, that was that.

What was left to be said between them?

Honesty.

“I’m sorry for my rude drawing. You are right, it wasn’t kind of me. I can only say in my defense that I’d just learned Father was sending me away to Canada. He hadn’t paid my school fees. My education wasn’t as important to him as a good hour in a gaming den. Then, again, I wasn’t, either. It didn’t bother him that I’d been asked not to return, that his gambling had once again humiliated me.” Now he was the one to take a step away. “That day, I was angry at everyone and unfortunately acted out in an unsuitable manner.”

She frowned at the top of the washbasin as if digesting what he’d said. He wished he could read her thoughts. She seemed so distant—and so much like the lonely girl who had first caught his interest.

And then she looked up. “Thank you for your apology.”

“Then we are fine with each other?”

“I won’t marry you,” she answered.

“I haven’t asked you.”

Annoyance flashed in her eyes.

“I won’t lie, my father left nothing in his estate,” he admitted. “However, even worse would be having a wife who doesn’t want me.”

He’d already learned that lesson. Marriage was tricky business.

She nodded as if agreeing he was right—she didn’t want him.

A keen stab of disappointment shot through him . . . but he would survive. He always survived.

She moved toward the door. This time, he didn’t stop her.

However, instead of leaving, she paused, her hand on the door handle. She glanced back at him. For a moment, she had the appearance of an exquisite porcelain model of a true English Rose with her blond curls and her blue eyes dark and considering.

Oh, there was depth to Cassandra Holwell. There always had been.

“It is not that I don’t believe you wouldn’t be a good husband,” she said.

“Are you going to give me that Holwell and York nonsense again?”

She had the good grace to blush.

“Then what is it?” he prodded. She had opened the topic. Let her finish it.

“I want greater things for my life, Soren.”

“Such as being a duchess?” There was that touch of jealousy again. It shamed him.

If she noticed, she did not give an indication. Instead, she said, “I want the power to do something important. Something that matters. I can’t do that in Cornwall.”

You are wrong, he wanted to tell her, but then her mind was set.

“Ah, Cass, you just want a poet for a husband.” He kept his voice light.

It was the right touch. Her eyes lit with humor. “It is the bookworm in me. Or perhaps I just want poems written in my honor.”

“I can write poetry.”

“I can’t imagine it, Soren.”

“If I can draw a dog, I can certainly write a poem. Let’s see . . . I called you a dog because I’m as dull as a log,” he recited. “But you are actually very pretty, and now I’m trying to be flirty.”

His poor attempt startled a laugh out of her, and he was charmed. He’d forgotten how special her laughter was. She was usually too cautious and conscientious to be completely herself—until she laughed.

What he was thinking must have shown on his face, because she sobered, but she did not run . . .

Perhaps there could be something between them—?

The turning of the handle beneath her palm broke the spell between them. The door opened on Cass. She stepped back just as Lady Haddingdon attempted to enter the room.

The first person Her Ladyship laid eyes on was Soren.

“Why, Lord Dewsberry? Am I in the wrong room?” She looked up to squint at the hand-printed sign on the door and Cass used the moment to slip past her.

“Excuse me, my lady,” she murmured, and made her escape.

“I’m not in the wrong room,” Lady Haddingdon said. “I believe you are, my lord.”

“I am indeed,” Soren agreed with a short bow. “With your leave?” He didn’t wait for an answer but moved past the woman to chase after Cass.

And what would he do if he caught her? She’d made up her mind.

Nor was she in the hallway. He walked back into the dining room. They were on the beef course. He moved to his place at the table, expecting Cass to be there.

She wasn’t.

Her seat was empty.

Nor did she return.

Down the table from him, Soren saw MP Holwell smile his satisfaction.



Of course, Cassandra could not return to the dining room. If Soren’s purpose had been to rattle her, his confrontation in the necessary room had done the trick. She would not be able to sit beside him for the rest of the meal in peace.