“Perhaps,” he agreed, then added, “Perhaps not...”
And then, before she knew what he was about, he kissed her.
He didn’t ask permission. There was no fanfare or fancy words. Just his lips on hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
In fact, he’d probably been two steps ahead of her from the moment she had confronted him. This had always been his objective.
Cassandra had been kissed before. At one of her literary salons, one of the poets, seeing they were momentarily alone, had seized upon the opportunity to plant a kiss on her mouth right there under her father’s roof.
It hadn’t been an easy kiss. Roger Edmonds had been far shorter than she. She’d been sitting in a chair, instructing him on what would happen at her salon when he’d taken advantage of the opportunity. It had been decidedly awkward. He kept bumping his mouth against hers as if she should be doing something.
When he was done and found her unmoved, Roger had insisted he could do better. He’d wanted to call on her the next day and spoke of “loving” her. She’d known better. He’d wanted her fortune.
Soren wanted her fortune as well—except he knew how to kiss.
He was also taller than she was. He didn’t need to sit her down.
And his lips must have had some sort of magnetized property because not only did the kiss pull her to him, their lips fit together very well. There was no sloppy wetness. No furtive probings. He kissed like a man who enjoyed the art of it—and how could any woman resist opening to him? It was as if he breathed her in.
The kiss broke too soon.
He was the one who ended it, and she found herself leaning against his chest, his sword arm around her waist.
Dazed, she looked in his eyes. They had gone very dark. She marveled at the laugh lines that shot off from them, small indicators of his character.
“I knew there was something between us,” he whispered. “We will do well together, Cassandra. All you need to do is say yes.”
“Yes.”
The word flowed out of her.Yes—to not being shuttled off to Cornwall.Yes—to having all life could offer.Yes—to what that kiss only hinted at.
Soren didn’t waste a beat. He took her hand and held it up, announcing to the gentlemen, “Miss Holwell has agreed to be my wife.”
The Duke of Camberly cheered while stifling a yawn. Lord Bainhurst called, “Are you satisfied? May we go to our breakfast now?”
Lacing his fingers with Cassandra’s, Soren walked toward Bainhurst and his friends. He offered the sword to the duke. “I am satisfied, my lord.”
“You didn’t have to prick my coat,” His Lordship complained. There was little heat in his voice.
“How else was the lady to know I was serious?” Soren countered.
Lord Bainhurst ignored him. Instead, he addressed Cassandra. “I am sorry that my rash actions ensnared you in all of this, Miss Holwell. Especially since you will be marrying this scoundrel. Oh, come now, I’m jesting. Dewsberry is a good man. Far better than his sire. We’ve all been worried about him. Make his rickety estate a home, give him babies, and may God’s grace shine on you.”
The truth struck her. She was going to marry. She would be a bride, a wife... someday, a mother. Her dream of a literary salon lingered a moment around her. Yes, it was something she wanted, but she had a sense that she was standing on the precipice of a bigger adventure, of grander dreams.
It was disconcerting to see the duke and Lord Bainhurst standing side by side. After Lord Bainhurst’s pretty speech, she felt sorry for him. And she was overjoyed she was not marrying Camberly. He was no longer “the one.”
In fact, after that kiss, she saw Soren with new eyes. And she had not forgotten his naked bum.
“You are wealthy now, Dewsberry,” the duke said. There was a note of jealousy in his voice.
“That isn’t what is important right now,” Soren countered. He tugged on Cassandra’s hand. “Come, let us find the breakfast room and we can make plans.”
He began leading her toward the house. The men fell into step around them. The experience of being included in their number was a heady one for Cassandra. She was very conscious that she was now under Soren’s protection.
The concept made her feel ladylike, vulnerable, and remarkably feminine. It was nice to be surrounded by men. She liked their energy.
Mayfield’s breakfast room overlooked the back garden. It was a cheery yellow room. The breakfast dishes had been set up here while most of the guests were eating in the dining room, where there was a longer table and more chairs.
