A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(61)

In this manner, they arrived at his favorite inn, the Rams Head.

Soren was greeted with a glad shout. The innkeeper, Mr. Piper, had seen service in Canada as well. He couldn’t bow and scrape enough to Soren and Cassandra. His wife took them to a private room for their meal. It was a simple repast of roasted capon and barley and vegetables, but it was tasty.

The cider served was Mrs. Piper’s pride and joy. “The recipe has been in my family since before my grandmother.”

“Sit and have a drink with us,” Soren invited.

“Oh, no, I can’t, my lord,” she said.

“Of course you can. Where’s Piper? I’ve been boring my lady with stories all afternoon. It is time she heard from a true storyteller.” Ignoring Mrs. Piper’s protests, Soren went and fetched her husband herself. The portly innkeeper didn’t have any hesitation at sitting and swapping stories with Soren, while his wife was so nervous, she barely touched her cider. However, she did look pleased to be in such company in spite of needing to excuse herself from time to time to the kitchen.

“You stay here,” she said to her husband, as if sensing this was a good thing for him.

Cassandra was fascinated by the camaraderie between her husband and Mr. Piper. She couldn’t imagine her father sitting with an innkeeper and his wife. He would have been too proud.

The stories they shared were different from the ones Soren had told her in the post chaise. As the evening progressed, and the cider was sipped, the two men talked of battles for new frontier. Occasionally, the story was left unfinished. She sensed they didn’t feel it necessary to trouble her.

The table candles sent flickering shadows across the wall behind Soren. He was leaning in the chair, his long legs crossed, a smile on his face over something Mr. Piper had just said. He looked the picture of a country lord at ease, and she was suddenly glad he was away from that frontier. Away from war.

And that he had brought his son to a land of peace.

She slipped her hand in Soren’s. He smiled at her before laughing over a quip from the innkeeper, and she found herself content.

The hour grew late. Mr. Piper stood. “I must help Carrie. I’ve left too much of the burden on her this night. Thank you, my lord, my lady. You honor the Rams Head with your presence. Is there anything I may fetch for you?”

“We’re fine, Piper. In fact, I believe we’ll be happy to be taken to our room,” Soren said.

“Come with me, my lord. I had the lad take your luggage up, and we have fresh hot water in the pitcher.”

Soren helped Cassandra stand. Rising, she realized how tired she actually was.

Their bedroom was well-appointed. There was nothing fancy about it, but the sheets were clean and the bed ropes tight. There was a desk and chairs, and she thought it far more to her liking than the Pulteney.

They didn’t waste time in seeking their bed. She thought she would fall asleep in a blink. Instead, she lay awake. Finally, she rolled toward him, wondering if he was asleep.

He wasn’t. His eyes reflected the moonlight from the window. “I can’t sleep, can you?” he asked.

“You’ve spoiled me,” she confessed. His smile widened and he reached for her.

The mood of their coupling was different from the other times. She began to understand that this act between them could be a primitive need, or a reassuring ritual, or a way to communicate what couldn’t be spoken.

Soren took great care this night with her. He savored her skin with his kisses. His touch was a caress. It was as if he wanted her to know he was sorry she was not completely happy with the choices they had been forced to make.

She blinked back tears because a part of her still resisted and always would. He kissed away those tears.

When they were done, she put her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. “It will be good,” he whispered.

She nodded, and realized that whether it was or it wasn’t, he was the only person in her life who cared what happened to her. Even if he didn’t understand her . . . or so she thought.

The next morning, when Cassandra prepared to climb into the post chaise, already weary of travel before the day had begun, she discovered a book sitting on her seat.





Chapter 16




Soren had been waiting for her to go to the coach. He was ridiculously pleased with himself for what he’d done.

Also a bit uneasy. It was a book; however, the topic . . .

Cassandra, looking delightfully charming with her hair curled over one shoulder beneath her bonnet, picked up the book and held it as if she had been given a bar of gold. She read the title, and then her brow lifted in confusion. “Practical Education?”

Soren winced. “I know it isn’t the most enticing subject. Someone left it at the inn. Piper doesn’t read, and once I told him the title, he was happy enough with ten shillings for it.” Books were expensive. Ten shillings was all Soren could reasonably afford. He’d been lucky. “You may not want it, either.”

She opened the cover to the first page. “The author is female. Maria Edgeworth. I’ve heard of her.”

“Truly?”

“Yes . . . she writes silly popular novels. They are romances, I think.”

“With a title like Practical Education?” He grinned. “If it is a romantic novel, what do you believe is being taught?” He let his voice take on heat so his intention was clear. “Hopefully something very ‘practical.’ ” Their driver, who waited at the head of the horses, guffawed his agreement.