A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(57)

He was unbuttoning his breeches. He bent her forward and entered her. Her legs went weak from the pleasure. His hand around her waist held her up or else she would have fallen to her knees.

Who would have imagined this? She could barely breathe. She tried to talk but all she could whisper was “Please, Soren, more.”

And he gave her what she wanted. He always did.

The moment was heightened by glimpses of their reflections in the small looking glass over the basin. Her face was flushed. His was a study of concentration as if he offered all.

They both almost collapsed at the completion.

When she could find her voice, she admitted, “You’ve turned me wanton.”

“I’m a blessed man.” He sounded as if he’d been running a great distance.

Facing him, her hand went to his hard, flat belly, and she lightly rubbed the skin beneath his shirt. He kissed her forehead, her nose.

“We’ll have differences, Cass. That is the way of things, but as long as I can reach for you and you reach for me, there is nothing we can’t weather together.”

She thought of the jewels she’d kept hidden, and the intrusion of his first wife.

Instantly, he sensed something was amiss. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She reached for her toothbrush to finish the task.

Soren didn’t move away from her. He buttoned his breeches. “What is it? Go on. Speak your mind. As I said yesterday, I’ve told you the truth of all.”

“Were you as honest with your first wife?”

He leaned against the wall. “No, I learned the importance of honesty from her. After she left, I realized that she had been turning her back on me for several months. I had thought it was the way of things between a man and a woman. I was busy. I traveled because I wanted my shipping company and trading post to be successful. Now, I realize that she was unhappy. Maybe even lonely. It wasn’t her way to complain. She was a proud woman.” He drew her close to him. “If I’m not doing what you need, tell me.”

Did that request sound like the statement of a man who had merely married her for money? Or were those the words of one who had called her “love” before he’d taken her hard and fast? Even now, if he touched her, she’d fall into his arms again. Did that mean she “loved” him in return? Certainly the word had come up in her thoughts.

Cass didn’t know the answers. She’d never seen passion between her father and Helen.

She’d read about it, as often as she could. There had been times when she’d stared at a sonnet or a poem trying to fully understand what was being said. She’d study the space between lines and wonder what was being left out.

Now she knew. She was also discovering that the knowledge of this mystery between the sexes didn’t add clarity.

“You dress,” he said. “I’ll be in the dining room, unless you need me?”

She shook her head.

“Shall I order food for you?”

“Yes, that will be nice. What time is it?” She poured fresh water into the bowl.

“Around half past nine. I sent a note to Winslow Forrester, a solicitor who has done work for my family. I asked if he could see me at eleven.” He ran an interested finger along the curve of her bare breast, as if he could not resist one last touch. Her skin tingled, hardening her nipple. With a regretful sigh, he drew his hand back and started for the door.

“Are we still traveling to Pentreath today?” she said.

“I would like to be on the road by early afternoon. That gives us five hours to reach the Rams Head, an inn I favor. Are you certain you don’t need my services as your abigail?”

“I’d never be dressed,” she answered.

He laughed his agreement. “I shouldn’t overwork you.” And then he did something that truly shocked her. He blew her a kiss. It was small gesture, a playful one, and yet it slipped past her guard.

Cassandra stared at the door after he had left. Why, a little over a week ago, she’d been wishing he would disappear.

And here was her confusion—she was still angry and she didn’t believe it was with him. But he made an excellent target.

Perhaps she and Mary had much in common.

It had been unfair of Mary not to tell Soren he had a son, but Cassandra could see how anger might convince a woman to keep secrets. After all, Cassandra had the garnets.

Cassandra gave herself a quick but very thorough cleaning with the milled soap from her valise and a linen cloth. The scrubbing gave her a sense of some control. She dressed and tried to do something with her hair. She had never been good at styling it herself. She ended up knotting it at the nape of her neck and holding it with the diamond pins. She should purchase sensible hairpins, but not just yet. She put her things back in her valise. She still wore the pearl around her neck.

The time was closing upon ten when she presented herself in the dining room. Soren’s nod of approval for her appearance was all she could have wished. He pulled her chair out for her. “You are lovely.”

“Thank you,” she murmured with a flush of shyness over the compliment. She looked around the room and realized that many eyes were focused on them. “Are you certain there isn’t anything wrong, though? Everyone is staring.”

“They are staring because you are tall and beautiful.”