A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(56)

Cass. His Cass, she wanted to whisper. Instead, she said, “I wonder who my father is.”

He shifted, bringing himself closer as if he could protect her. “There might be someone who knows in Cornwall. Who remembers from that time.”

“But what if it is something I don’t want to know?” She stared at the wall on the other side of the room. “Some lies have been good to me.”

“Until the truth interferes.”

She stirred to look over her shoulder at him. He watched her carefully. “Would I be happier to know that perhaps a great lord was my father? Or a groomsman? Or a traveling tinker?”

“Will it matter to your life right now?” He lifted a lock of her hair and smoothed it back.

“Nothing matters right now,” she confessed. “Except this.” She could feel he was aroused again.

He kissed her neck before whispering, “Another go?”

Of course.

Desire was a good foil for anger.

Her body was tender from the intensity of their last time. Consequently, she experienced even his slightest movement more keenly than ever, almost to the point of needle-sharp pain, and still her blood sang with the joy of being a part of him.

It was quick, forceful, and satisfying.

When they were done, she was finally exhausted. The anger might return on the morrow, but for now, she finally knew peace. It had been his gift to her.

At last she understood women like her stepmother who followed her husband around as if he was all-important in her life. She could even sympathize with Dame Hester, who had such an old husband.

Was Letty Bainhurst right to cuckold her lord?

Cassandra didn’t know. However, she could appreciate lovers in any situation.

She moved so she could study her sleeping husband in the dark’s shadows. She’d not told him about the garnets, nor would she.

The pearl he’d given her was still on its ribbon cord around her neck. She caught the gem in her hand. Its luster shone in the moonlight.

The truth, she realized, was whatever one could make others believe.

It was time she discovered her own.





Chapter 14




The next morning, Soren roused her by whipping the covers off the bed. Cold air hit her skin. She reached for the counterpane, not ready to leave the bed’s warmth.

She was usually an early riser but yesterday had been a day of too much emotion. She curled into a ball, her pillow scrunched in her arms, and tried to continue sleeping.

He wouldn’t let her. He bounced on the bed beside her. “Come along, love, the day is marching on.”

Love?

She opened one sleep-crusted eye in surprise. He was fully clothed, boots, jacket, and all. He even wore a dashingly knotted neck cloth.

He didn’t gaze at her how she’d imagined a lover would. This was not a moment of soul-wrenching fervor. No, he looked at her as if he was impatient for her to start moving, albeit with a smile on his face.

“I’m ready to eat,” he prodded, playfully walking the line of her shoulder with two fingers. She reacted to the tickle. “Wake up, Cass-an-dra,” he cooed. “The day is passing.”

She doubted his words and kept her eyes closed tight. In her dreams, when she received a declaration of love—a meaningful one, she corrected—she had always imagined herself in a lovely gown with rosettes and lace. She’d look absolutely perfect when he declared himself to her.

Instead, she smelled of her own body and of him and sex. Her hair probably looked as if she had been in a windstorm. It didn’t matter. She never appeared her best first thing in the morning, especially when she’d been sleeping hard.

He could not possibly find her attractive, and for that reason alone, it was best she stayed right where she was.

As if giving a lie to her thoughts, Soren whispered close to her ear, “You stay in that bed much longer looking as delectable as you are, you might be my breakfast.”

That brought her awake. She sat up, holding the sheet to cover her breasts and pushed the mass of her hair back. Why, there were grainy bits of sleep in her lashes. “Delectable?”

His smile turned knowing. “Deliciously so.”

“Soren, I look a fright.”

He raised himself up and kissed her. Whatever protests she might have offered evaporated. They knew how to kiss very well now. Their practice had perfected it.

And then he broke the kiss off. “You could use some tooth powder,” he murmured, the twinkle of jest in his eye.

Her response was to grab him by both ears and kiss him again. And he laughingly let her wrestle him to the bed, where their kisses began to take on heat.

“To the devil with breakfast,” he whispered in her ear, his hand going to her breast.

Cassandra derived great pleasure for picking that moment to hop out of the other side of the bed. “I’m so sorry. I must use tooth powder,” she said airily, going to the washbasin and picking out her brush. The tooth powder was already sitting there. She was happy that Soren was a man who valued cleanliness—

His hands cupped her breasts. His body pressed against her as he nibbled that spot just below her ear that always weakened her resolve. “Your teeth are fine.”

She put the brush in her mouth and made a garbled sound.

His lips curled into a smile against her skin. His hand dipped lower down her belly to more responsive places. “I don’t need you to talk, Cass. I just need this.” His fingers slid intimately between her thighs and she forgot about her teeth. She wiped her mouth with a linen towel.