A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(42)

“There are things I wonder about.” She lay back down, her head on his pillow. “When I have questions, I can usually reason things out from what I’ve read in books.”

“Such as ‘the passion flower of ecstasy’?”

Her smile was quick. “I wasn’t exactly certain what that meant. I know now.”

“And here I was thinking I should read more poetry.”

Her eyes took on a delicious sparkle in the room’s thin light. “I will not argue that point with you, husband.” She said the title as if she liked the taste of it in her mouth. “But, Soren, what was he doing?”

The blood rushed through him. “Around her knees, eh?”

She nodded.

“I could write a poem for you . . . or I could show you.”

She didn’t wait a beat. “Show me, please.”

And show her he did. He spent the rest of the afternoon showing her and most of the night. Later, they would talk.

Right now was for pleasure.





Chapter 11




At last, the world began to make sense to Cassandra. The connection she felt with Soren was intense. He’d opened her to a whole new appreciation of her being. For the first time in her life, she felt valued, adored . . . beautiful.

In the wee hours of the morning, she woke to find her back against his chest, her buttocks cozied up to him. He slept with a protective arm around her, creating an intimate haven.

So, this was marriage.

Moonlight streamed in from a window and fell across the bed. She rolled over to study her husband in a way she never would when he was awake.

The stubble of his beard shadowed his jaw. She could trace with her finger the bump in his nose. However, she did not see these as flaws. She liked him exactly the way he was.

He had said she would come to know his body better than her own, and she already believed that to be true. His spicy masculinity, his heat seemed imprinted upon her forever.

She was his wife, and she was pleased.

No one had shown her the dignity and compassion he had. Her father never had. He thought such actions weak.

But Soren believed in kindness and it ennobled him to Cassandra. Nor did he chastise her when she asked for what she wanted or told him what she preferred. He acted as if he appreciated her speaking up.

“My father is wrong about you,” she told his sleeping form. “He said I shouldn’t trust you but I do, Soren. I trust you always to do the right thing. And you can trust me. I’ll always stand by your side. I promise you that.”

She burrowed into him and slept deeply. She woke the next morning to her husband making love to her. She has rolled back over on her side. His hands covered her breasts.

He knew she’d woken. “Shhh,” he warned against her ear. “My love is asleep.”

His love. Such wonderful words.

“Oh, no, she is not,” Cassandra countered, and began moving to give him everything he needed. When they were done, she flung her arms around him and said, “I pray we wake this way every morning.” And he laughingly promised her it could be done.

However, eventually, they had to join the world outside the bedroom. Soren was determined to return to London immediately to confront her father. If she’d had her way, they would avoid any meeting, but she knew he was right.

Cassandra chose an ivory day gown with a sprigged pattern, her pearls, and good walking shoes for the trip. She’d learned to be prepared for anything when she traveled.

Downstairs, they found more guests were leaving that morning. London was only three hours by coach.

Lord Bainhurst, who now proclaimed himself their matchmaker, offered to give them a ride to the city in his vehicle. Soren said yes—because they truly had no other way of traveling and this would save them from hiring a conveyance. Of course, that meant Cassandra would have to spend more time in Letty Bainhurst’s company. Caught up in her new understanding of the intimacy of marriage, Cassandra was puzzled that the woman would cuckold her husband.

Camberly was on hand as they were preparing to leave. Cassandra noted the lingering looks the duke was sending to his lover. However, to Cassandra’s surprise, Letty was decidedly cold.

When Cassandra had a chance for a private word with Soren, she said, “Apparently His Grace and Lady Bainhurst are no longer friends.”

“Good,” Soren said. “She is a man-eater. His grandmother and I both wanted him free of her.”

“But he looks so sad.”

He turned her to face him. “Do I need to call him out?” He sounded teasing, and yet was there an undertone of jealousy?

Cassandra had never believed herself capable of inspiring any such strong emotion. She laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the end of his nose, without regard to whoever was watching. “My eyes see no other man save the handsome one in front of me.”

“Ah, the newlywed,” Lord Bainhurst’s bored voice chimed in. He’d overheard her declaration. “In a year’s time, you will be like my lady and myself.”

Cassandra prayed his words would never come true. She wanted to feel the way she did now toward Soren every day of her life. She liked how he rested his hand on the small of her back to guide her. She adored leaning toward him, knowing if she should fall, he was right there. It felt good to be treated as if she mattered. Perhaps if Lord Bainhurst was more attentive to his wife—?