A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(32)

“When I am married, I will wear bold, bright colors,” she promised. That made her feel a bit better.

Soren was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, looking every inch the elegant gentleman. He’d shaved, and she liked the spicy scent of his shaving soap. She’d noticed it before, she realized, during those times when she’d attempted to avoid him.

He escorted her into the reception room. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I was just tired.” She didn’t want to think about the falling out with her father. She put on a brave face and plunged into the conversation and good humor of the esteemed company. Whereas the day before, the other guests had been rather dismissive of her, now everyone treated her as if she was one of them. Lady Melrose patted her on the hand and assured her, “You are making the best choice. A married lady lives a far better life than an unmarried one.”

During the meal, Cassandra noticed other details about Soren that she’d not noted before. Her eye watched the grace with which he touched his glass and raised it to his lips. His nails were clean, his fingers tapered. He had a swordsman’s hands. He’d killed men with them. He’d said as much to her.

Whenever she could, she covertly studied his lips. This morning’s kiss had been the first thing she’d thought about when she woke this evening . . . and how well her lips had fit with his.

They would fit together well in other areas as well. He was taller by a few inches; however, her hips and his were about exactly right.

This man would guide her in the mysteries of sex. A poet at one of her literary salons had spoken of “the passion flower of ecstasy” between a man and a woman. Cassandra dearly wanted to know what he had meant.

Later, after dinner, when the gentlemen finished their port and joined the ladies, Cassandra could not help but admire how fluid his movements were as he crossed the reception room to her. Some men stomped, others minced, and then there were the bounders. Soren was none of those. He walked as if he was confident of his place in the world.

And yet, he’d known setbacks. Life had not been easy.

She believed she could respect him—if she could trust him. He’s like his father, secretive and conniving.

The party started to disperse. Cassandra was surprised at how tired she was, even after her afternoon of sleep. She’d felt as if she was on a stage all evening.

“Let me escort you to your room,” Soren offered.

She barely murmured a response.

“I have the license,” he said as they walked up the stairs. “The rider returned shortly before dinner.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know why she was so nervous, but “oh” was the only word she could manage.

“Camberly has offered a special suite of rooms in the family wing for tomorrow night.”

“Hoooo.” This was “oh” spoken while one was blushing. Did he notice? He wasn’t looking at her. Perhaps he was a bit shy on the topic as well?

“Then I thought we would go to London.”

That was a relief.

They had reached her door. “I will call on your father when we are there.”

Cassandra found her voice. “He will not see you.”

“He will. We must discuss your inheritance.”

“Of course.” She felt strangely deflated. What had she expected his reason for calling on her father to be? To mend fences? That would have been a waste of effort.

Still, she found she wanted to hope.

He seemed to glean the direction of her thoughts. “I know this is not the way you would have chosen to marry. I’m sorry it is this way.”

“It is not your fault. Father is wrong to be bullheaded. How about your family? Will they be angered by this news?”

“Only my mother; however, she doesn’t like anything I do. I ceased worrying about her approval years ago.”

“So, we are both defying our families.”

His lips curved into a reluctant smile. “Apparently. But it will be a good marriage, Cass. I know it isn’t what you would have wanted, but we will make it work.”

“And how do you know what I wanted? I do like you, Soren. If our regard for each other can survive a dog drawn on a slate, well, then, we might be happy.”

“That is my hope.” He barely acknowledged her attempt at humor. Instead, his gaze had moved from the doorframe—and to her lips.

He hoped for something more, too. He wanted to kiss her, and yet he held back, something he hadn’t done that morning.

Just the thought of the kiss they had shared brought heat to her blood. Her breasts seemed to press against the light material of her dress—

Cassandra kissed Soren before he could kiss her. She sought to control the moment. She didn’t aim for his mouth but for his cheek. She kissed him the way one would a cousin. A quick buss and nothing like the morning’s kiss—because after an evening of knowing looks and talk of a “special suite,” she was overwhelmed.

Then, before he could respond, she opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it firmly behind her. She collapsed against the door. Her heart raced as if she’d taken a great dare.

Seconds turned into a minute and then two. He was still there on the other side of the solid wood. She could sense his presence.

She rested her ear on the cool wood. She could swear she heard him breathing. Was it her imagination or did she catch a whiff of his shaving soap?