A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(19)

Slowly, the knowledge that his wife was not in the room sank into Lord Bainhurst’s thick skull. He looked back and forth between her and Soren and then glanced at the man on his right. “You said—?” He broke off as if just now noticing with alarm the crowd in the hallway.

The man, a weaselly sort, lowered his voice. “I tried to tell you this wasn’t the room.”

“You did not,” was the swift rebuttal. “I wouldn’t have crashed into Dewsberry’s room if I’d heard you. You should have stopped me.”

Before there was answer, a new voice joined the hullabaloo.

“Cassandra?” Her father spoke as if he could scarce believe his eyes. He pushed his way through the crowd toward her.



Before Cass had run into his room, Soren had been in a sound slumber, and he had needed the sleep. The worry over his family’s debts and the doubts that he’d struggled to keep at bay had come up against the knowledge that he would not be winning the heiress. Cass believed herself too good for him, and she was right. She could do better than him.

It was a humbling admission.

He could find another heiress to marry, except he found his heart wasn’t in it. First, he didn’t know if that was possible. Heiresses were not plentiful this Season.

Secondly, Cass’s rejection had hit him surprisingly hard. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. He’d discovered he actually wanted her for a wife.

He didn’t know why. They barely knew each other. A childhood friendship was not a good basis for determining a wife. He’d known Mary for a year before he’d married her and it had soured in a blink. They had turned out to be two completely different people. Then again, he had apparently been wrong about her character. When he’d asked her to marry him, he could never have imagined Mary would leave him, taking with her the knowledge that she carried his son.

She’d kept Logan from him and it was only upon her death that he’d learned he had fathered a child.

Now, that was a betrayal.

At least he and Cass had cleared the air between them, something he and Mary had never been able to do.

Either way, the truth was that, this night, he was damn tired of fighting to keep his birthright. He was ready to turn his future over to Fate. If he lost Pentreath to the moneylenders, well, he’d manage. He must. His son was counting on him. He’d not be the first landless lord and probably not the last.

His final thought before falling into asleep was perhaps, in the morning, he’d find his will to fight again . . .

And then Cassandra woke him and he found himself involved in Bainhurst’s insane accusations that were the certain ruin of Cassandra’s standing in Society. Soren also knew that Bainhurst was entitled to his jealousy. Camberly was a fool in love with the wrong woman.

Now Cassandra’s father was involved.

God help him.

MP Holwell pushed his way through the guests ogling Soren and Cass’s state of undress. He took it all in himself, his scowl deepening. His mousy wife stood right behind him. Like Cass, she was in her dressing robe and a lace night cap. Many of the other ladies gathered around them wore the same. However, it was Cass they damned.

All color had drained from Cassandra’s face. To Soren’s surprise, she took an instinctive step toward him. “Father, it isn’t what you think.”

“It is what I see,” Holwell declared. “You’ve shamed me, girl. You’ve shamed all of us—”

“Now wait a minute—” Soren started.

Her father cut him off. “I’ll hear nothing from you, Dewsberry. Everyone knows you would like nothing better than to destroy my reputation. Well, you’ve done it. You’ve made a mockery of my family name.”

“Father, listen to me, please. It isn’t what you think—”

He grabbed her roughly by the arm and shoved her toward her stepmother. “Enough,” he barked.

Soren lost all reason. A parent should stand up for a child. Not join in her humiliation. He towered over the shorter man. “I wish to marry your daughter.”

Soren didn’t know who was more shocked with his statement, Holwell, everyone in the hall, or himself. The moment the words were out, he had a fleeting desire to call them back, but wouldn’t.

Cass would never recover from this night’s business. Marriageable young women risked everything if they were caught in a man’s room. Even if he and Cass could explain that this was all a misunderstanding, chattering minds would dismiss the truth.

Soren, too, would pay. He would be branded the rascal she’d been dallying with, but all the world adored a rake. His name would be relatively unscathed. While hers would be unsalvageable, save for marriage to him. It was the only honorable option.

His declaration was met with a collective gasp of appreciation from their avid audience. The one thing Society adored better than a scandal was a grand romance.

Lady Haddingdon, decked out in a purple robe and night cap, clapped her hands gleefully. “I knew something was afoot when I caught them in the necessary room together over dinner.”

“The necessary room during dinner?” a man standing behind Bainhurst repeated, his tone putting a lewd twist to the words.

Soren dismissed all of them. His focus was on Cass, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her like a penitent, her head lowered in humiliation. Stand tall, he wanted to tell her. There is no reason for shame.