Cassandra placed her hand on the door handle and then stopped, hearing male voices in the hallway. She cracked the door.
The Duke of Camberly and Soren stood in front of his room. Both were dressed for the day. The duke handed Soren a sword. Soren removed it from its scabbard and tested the weight. He made a few experimental parries. Cassandra remembered he had seen military service in Canada. Watching the ease with which he used the weapon, she certainly believed the stories true.
“Good, eh?” Camberly said.
“Excellent.” Soren held the blade up to the light. “A dueling blade is different than what I am used to but this is nice.” He balanced the sword between two fingers as if testing its weight and then threw it up to catch it by the hilt. He thrust forward and smiled.
“It will cut though silk. My valet spent an hour sharpening both of the swords. I gave the other to Bainhurst’s second so he could test it.”
“Your man did a fine job,” Soren answered. He slipped the sword back into its scabbard. “Are we ready?”
“I should also tell you, Bainhurst again wishes you to accept his apology. He believes there is no reason to duel.”
Duel? The word alarmed Cassandra.
“Miss Holwell’s reputation is reason enough. You turned him down?”
“Of course.”
Soren’s response was a chilling smile of satisfaction. This was not the acquaintance of her childhood but a man unafraid to kill. “Let us go.”
Cassandra took action. She threw open the door and planted herself in their path.
“You will not duel on my account,” she declared.
The duke was startled but Soren behaved as if he’d expected her to jump out and make a statement. Level gray eyes met hers. His gaze dropped to take in her forest green robe. Her hair must certainly be a mess. The once meticulous braid was loose from a night of tossing, turning, and running through the halls.
“Good morning, Miss Holwell.”
He sounded calm.
As for herself? She had a disquieting mental image of his naked back. She quashed it from her mind. “Good morning,” she returned, barely civil because of the errant direction of her thoughts. “What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. You just told me not to do it.”
Such reasonableness was annoying.
“And I meant those words. I will not allow a duel to be fought on my behalf. Dueling is barbaric.”
“Cass, return to your bed.” He started forward.
“I’m not some child you can order about. And my name is Cassandra. Cass-an-dra.”
Soren gave a small salute acknowledging his error, and then he and the duke walked right around her, one on either side, and continued down the hall. She took a step after them, and then realized she couldn’t go anywhere in her current state of undress. They turned the corner and went out of sight.
Her temper exploded. A rage the likes of which she’d never known gripped her. How dare he patronize her? Did her desires, her wishes account for anything? If there was any “defending” to be done, she would defend herself. Modern men—rational, intelligent men—did not resolve differences by carving pieces off each other, especially in her name.
Meanwhile, she was being shuttled off to the country to be a nobody. And Soren believed he was doing her favor?
He was wrong.
Nor would she leave it be. At this point, her reputation was in tatters. Her convictions were all she had and they were worth the fight.
She rushed into her room, tore off her nightclothes, and scrambled into the dress hanging there. She didn’t even bother to fuss with her hair. She was going to stop a duel. Artful curls were unnecessary to such an endeavor.
Chapter 7
Of course Cassandra had ambushed him in the hall.
Soren had almost expected it.
He’d also known they needed to hash out what had happened last night. He was not put off by her anger this morning. That seemed to be the way she was most comfortable communicating with him . . . and he didn’t believe it was because of some childish insult.
No, there was something else between him and Cass—
“Miss Holwell is certainly fetching en déshabillé,” Camberly observed. “Perhaps I should rethink this idea of marrying an heiress.”
They were going down the stairs heading toward the front door. He spoke half in jest, but the stab of jealousy Soren experienced brought him to halt. “Cass Holwell is not for you.”
“Cassandra,” Camberly corrected. “Like the seer warning the Trojans.”
“You are full of nonsense,” Soren shot back, sorely conscious that Cass would have known what he was talking about. Soren hadn’t been one to pay attention in school.
He marched down the remaining stairs uncaring of whether the duke followed him or not, although he knew he would.
“You are quite testy this morning,” Camberly said. “One would sense you are angry with me. And for what? I’ve been up all night in your service.”
Was he truly that obtuse? “If you wish to play fast and loose with women, that is your choice. However, you will leave Miss Holwell alone.”
“I don’t play fast and loose with women.”
Soren gave him a look of disgust.
“I don’t,” Camberly insisted. “You are talking about Letty, aren’t you? Soren, I worship her. She is my goddess. I’m not interested in your Miss Holwell.”
Soren liked hearing those words. He walked on. A footman opened the front door for them.
Once outside, the duke continued, “The problem is that Letty is married to the wrong man. Bainhurst cares more for his pride than his wife.”
“Funny how pride is all a man has when his wife is cuckolding him,” Soren said under his breath, but he was heard anyway.
“Is it cuckolding if one has found love?”
“Do you hear yourself? How would you feel if you were in Bainhurst’s boots?”
Camberly did not answer. Instead, he changed the subject by catching Soren’s arm. “The park is this way,” he said. The side path led them to an expanse of green lawn. Fog drifted like dragon’s breath through the clearing.
Under the branches of a spreading oak, Bainhurst and his second waited along with a few men interested enough in the contest to disturb their sleep.
Soren began mentally preparing himself for the coming venture, only to be interrupted by the duke’s weak logic. “She would be better off without him.”
“We all would. That doesn’t mean you ignore the vows made before man and God.”
“Says the man who has challenged him to a duel.”
“He challenged me.” Soren stopped when they were some twenty feet from the other men. He faced Camberly. “And if I don’t do this, then all the world will believe I dishonored Cassandra Holwell. I’ll be damned if I let that happen.” He began tugging at the knot in his neck cloth.
“But didn’t I hear people say last night that you proposed marriage to her? And she turned you down?”
“As is her right.” He handed his neck cloth to Camberly. “Besides, she didn’t say no. She said she couldn’t. Her father is behind that decision.”
“She hasn’t acted all that interested in you when I’ve been around the two of you.”
That statement annoyed Soren. He removed his jacket and handed it to the duke. “Cass is an independent thinker. She has queer notions.”
“Such as?”
“She reads prodigiously.”
Camberly shrugged. “I believe everyone should read prodigiously.”
“You are not female. Cass will have an idea in her head and then she is hard to dissuade once she has reasoned her way into it.”
“Such as her distaste for dueling?”
“Exactly.”
“Then you had best be ready because here she comes now.”
Camberly was looking past Soren toward the house—and there she was, making her way toward them, her whole being bristling with i
ndignation. She had dressed hastily and had not appeared to have touched her hair. Her braid swung with her determination. Soren had no doubt she intended to the stop the duel.
Well, Cass-an-drrraaa was about to learn she could not always have her way. He reached for the hilt of the sword Camberly held in its scabbard and pulled it out. He hadn’t bothered removing his boots for this match. He didn’t expect the swordfight to last long.
The sharpened blade caught the first rays of the morning’s sun. “Come, Bainhurst,” he called. “Let’s do this.” In an aside to Camberly, he said, “Make certain she stays out the way.” He walked to the flat section of field in front to wait for his opponent.
Bainhurst was a surly soul on a good day. This morning, he appeared positively grim. Mayhap someone had mentioned that Soren was more fighter than gentleman. That would work in Soren’s favor.
“What is she doing here?” Bainhurst said by way of greeting, nodding in Cass’s direction.
“Observing,” Soren said. “Don’t worry. The duke will stop her.”
“I do not believe Camberly is a match against the energy of her nature,” Bainhurst rightly suggested.
Soren sliced the air a few times with his sword. “Then we’d best begin.”
A germ of an idea had begun to form in his mind, and he liked it. He had a trick of his own to play, one that would serve both Bainhurst and himself.
Cassandra knew Soren had seen her approaching. He’d looked right at her. He also knew what she was about. However, instead of waiting, he’d stepped out into the dueling field.
One of the things that had always annoyed her was how men, including her father, dismissed her very right concerns for the flimsiest of reasons. Her father’s favorite response was that she didn’t understand a man’s world and should keep her opinions and her questions to herself.
Well, she had every right to interfere now; when someone was fighting a duel using her name, then it was her concern.
The Duke of Camberly approached her. She held up a hand. “Do not come an inch closer, Your Grace. I will run over you.”
He did not obey. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t test me, Your Grace,” she answered without missing a step.
He spread his arms as if to block her way. “I implore you. This is no place for a lady.”
Cassandra came to a halt in front of him with a glare that could have scorched him to the ground.
Because of his amoral, dishonorable behavior, two men were about to face off, and one could lose his life. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Soren. It was suddenly that plain and clear to her. “Move out of my way.”
Camberly blinked as if astounded by her directness, and then he moved, chastened. “Good luck, Miss Holwell.”
“I’m not the one who will need luck, Your Grace.” She honed her sights on Soren.
He had his back to her. He held his sword up and ready, waiting for his opponent. He was aware of her. She knew that all the way to her bones. Bainhurst hadn’t even lifted his sword. He watched her with a wary eye.
“I wish to speak to you, Lord Dewsberry.” Her voice rang clear in the dawn’s air.
He didn’t turn or lower his sword. “I’m busy defending your honor, Miss Holwell.”
She came to a halt. “You may stop doing anything on my behalf this instant.”
He sounded almost bored as, without bothering to turn, he answered, “I’m sorry, Miss Holwell. Your insistent innocence about how the world works has made this duel a necessity.”
Her temper snapped. “What swill.”
“Should I leave the two of your alone?” Lord Bainhurst suggested.
“No,” Soren said, even as Cassandra replied, “Yes.”
His Lordship stood as if undecided which one he should obey, and Cassandra considered that a win for herself.
Apparently, so did Soren. He lowered his sword and faced her. “Are you going to marry me?”
That suggestion surprised her. She could not hide her amazement. Her mind was going in one direction and his apparently in another.
“It is the only other option,” he informed her. “I either lop off both of Bainhurst’s ears, which I can do rather easily—”
“Here now,” Lord Bainhurst protested. “It will not be easy—”
With a lightning quickness, Soren raised his sword, flicked his wrist, and nicked His Lordship’s sleeve.
“Damn,” Lord Bainhurst swore with a twinge of admiration, and took a cautious step back.
“I didn’t scratch him,” Soren said to Cassandra. “Although I could have. I am very good at this.”
His offhand manner annoyed her. She crossed her arms. “Ah, so this isn’t your first duel?” She parodied his matter-of-fact tone so that he understood she found the situation reprehensible.
“In truth, it is. However, Bainhurst would not be the first man I’ve killed.”
That uncrossed her arms. How did one respond to such a statement? For the first time in her memory, Cassandra found herself speechless, while he watched with guileless eyes and an air of profound patience.
“You’ve killed men before?” she repeated, wanting him to deny it.
“Several. I was in the military, Miss Holwell. After that, well, a man set on making his fortune in the wilds of Upper Canada should know how to use a weapon. I have excellent tomahawk skills.”
Cassandra didn’t know what a tomahawk was, but it sounded dangerous. “You seem almost proud of that fact.”
“I am. We each have our talents. You read; I fight. Both serve a purpose.”
“But I don’t want you to fight for me.”
“Then stop making it so damn difficult.”
And she realized they weren’t talking about the duel.
As did Lord Bainhurst. “I will wait over there,” he said, indicating his group of friends, “while the two of you hash this out.”
Neither of them answered him. He could come or go as he pleased. They had something more important to discuss—themselves.
Soren took a step toward her. “I know you have been raised to believe every York is a wastrel but damn it all, Cassandra, I’ve worked hard to be a better man. I have businesses in Canada. Or, I had them. They were struggling when I was called home to take over the title and care for my mother. What with the war, I could be even more of a pauper than I am now. How is that for honesty? But you, too, are not without faults. For one, you are more pigheaded than your father.”
“Pigheaded—?”
“Yes, stubborn, obstinate, ridiculous even.”
“I know what pigheaded means—”
“Then stop fighting me. I’m not the one who made the rules but here they are—if you refuse to marry me and I don’t duel with Bainhurst, then there isn’t a soul in London who won’t think you a fool. They will pity you because you ruined yourself.”
He was right, both about what would happen to her, and her pigheadedness. She resisted accepting the truth even as he rationally laid it out to her. It was all unfair.
Soren sensed his advantage. “What choice will you make, Cassandra? Will you marry me and save Bainhurst’s miserable life? Or should I run him through?”
“It would be unwise to kill him. He is a powerful man.”
“I’m in a powerful mood. And he has lost all sense of judgment over that adulterous wife of his.”
“You know.” The information caught her off guard. She’d not told him what she’d witnessed the night before.
“That Letty Bainhurst is ready for a tumble in any man’s arms? Oh, yes. The person who doesn’t know is Camberly. He is besotted with her. But then, so is her husband.”
“Are your debts bad?” she asked. After all, she did have a practical mind.
“I could lose Pentreath,” he answered soberly. “I’m doing everything I can to save it. The castle isn’t just my birthright, but my son’s.”
His son. If she married him, she would be the mother of his
children. She would not be alone or the object of scorn and pity. “I don’t want to be the unmarried relation,” she murmured.
“I imagine it would be like being buried alive for a woman.”
He was right, and no matter what her parents said, that was the truth of it.
Lord Bainhurst called out, “Dewsberry, shall we move on with it?”
“No,” Cassandra called, even as Soren said, “Yes.”
She frowned at him. He shrugged his answer. “I am going to do what is honorable. One way or the other.”
“It doesn’t seem right that we should be forced to marry because of last night,” she insisted. “Nothing happened . . . except it might have helped if you had been dressed. I was shocked you don’t sleep in nightclothes.”
A wicked grin flashed across his face. He took another step toward her. They stood so close, she could feel his body heat. “There are other things I do that might shock you as well . . . at first. Does that make my offer more tempting? Or do you wish to spend the rest of your life playing safe?”
There it was, her choice. She could do what her father expected, which was safe. Or she could embrace what Fate had placed before her. Soren knew how to tempt her.
“In honesty, Cass, of all the heiresses in the world, I like you best.”
She rather liked him as well, when she wasn’t exasperated with him.
Still, for the sake of argument, she had to say, “You don’t know me, Soren. Not any longer. We are both very different than the children we were.”
“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.
A Match Made in Bed Page 8
