About the Book
A Match Made in Bed
by Cathy Maxwell
The Spinster Heiresses Series
Adult Historical Romance
April 17, 2018
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I really loved the first half of the this book but then, a little over halfway through, Soren and Cass both suddenly started irritating the heck out of me. All of a sudden he was being an inconsiderate, insensitive jerk, and she was being a spoiled, entitled, whiny brat. What. On. Earth. It was so bad I put the book down several times to read something else, then would pick it back up again and read a bit more before putting it down again, annoyed. Thankfully, I kept picking it back up because the last 30% of the book was even better than the first half. It’s like they both clicked back from being annoying buttholes to characters I sympathized with and was rooting for. (Someone else who’s read this, tell me if this little blip was just me and something to do with my mood, or if the book actually took a turn for the worse for a few chapters.)
The first half of this book is so fun to read as Cassandra and Soren spar. They’re both such strong, independent characters, and I do love a witty nerd-girl. Some of the hijinks they get up to at the Duke of Camberly’s house party are downright hilarious and had my laughing out loud. The mood shifts dramatically in the last third of the book, settling down and becoming very loving and homey. I love the developing relationships between Soren, Cass, and Logan, as well as Cass’s ability to realize some hard truths about herself and find a new dream. Logan is adorable and I hope somewhere down the road Cathy Maxwell does a spin-off series with him as a male lead.
This is the second book in the Spinster Heiresses series, but can be read as a stand alone. I’m actually stalled out halfway through the first book, If Ever I Should Love You, and can assure you that A Match Made in Bed can be read with no spoilers for the first book, and without any pieces missing from the story of the second book. It does end with some hints and leads into the third book, which is about the third woman in their little spinster trio, Willa, titled The Duke That I Marry.
He’s here. I know he is,” Cassandra whispered in the ear of her friend Willa, lest she be overheard by either Lady Bainhurst sitting on the settee with them or the very handsome, highly desirable Duke of Camberly. He stood by Lady Bainhurst but Cassandra felt he gave her and Willa most of his attention.
“Who? Dewsberry?” Willa managed around the smile spread across her face for the duke’s benefit. She was far more interested in him than Cassandra’s sudden premonition that Soren York was close at hand.
Willa was as petite as Cassandra was tall and perfectly formed in every way. Her hair was raven black, and the two were dear friends—well, except when it came to their competition to earn the attention of the Duke of Camberly.
They’d even made a flirting game of it, attaching points for different actions of courtship—a point for an introduction, three points for each dance, five points if he called upon them. When a woman had been on the Marriage Mart as long as they had, she needed a bit of competition to sharpen her skills . . . not that either of them required the edge of a game when it came to Camberly.
He was young and amazingly handsome. He had broad shoulders, a lean jaw, and dark hair that emphasized the jewel blue of his eyes. What woman wouldn’t want to become his duchess?
Cassandra was actually ahead in the game by one point. She’d been wondering how many points being invited to this weekend would earn her when Willa had made her appearance in the reception room. They had not known the other was coming.
And now here was Camberly, ignoring his other guests and spending his time focusing on both of them.
Everyone knew he needed to marry money. She and Willa were the only two marriageable women invited to the dowager’s house party as far as Cassandra could see. Did this mean the duke intended to decide between the two of them? Perhaps even this very week?
The thought made her giddy. She wanted Camberly. He was “the one.” The very embodiment of all her romantic dreams. No other could match him. And she was not going to let Soren York ruin this country party and her one chance for marital happiness with his presence.
Willa proved what a good friend she was by momentarily turning her attention from hanging on to the duke’s every word to murmur, “I don’t see Dewsberry.”
“He’s here,” Cassandra insisted. She sat up straighter so that she could unobtrusively gain a better look around the room.
There had been someone lurking in the hall leading to the dining room. That was when she’d first experienced the suspicion that things weren’t completely right. However, she’d been so distracted with Willa’s presence and what it meant to her chances with the duke, she’d not been interested in concentrating on her inner sense.
Then again, the duke had come from that direction, making an appearance that had surprised everyone in the room by his lack of fanfare. Still . . . Soren was here.
The tingling of the hairs at the nape of her neck had never failed her, especially since she’d been exercising it more than she wished for the past month. Soren seemed to be everywhere she went in spite of her best efforts to avoid him because she knew what he wanted—marriage.
Dewsberry might be an old and respected title but the earldom was done up. Ruined by generations of poor decisions and unwise gambling. Soren was hunting her because of the money she would inherit upon marriage and because her father’s lands abutted his. He was that obvious. However, she thought herself safe here. Why would Camberly, who also needed a rich wife, invite a competitor?
Unless the duke thought to hand off whichever heiress he didn’t want to Dewsberry?
The walls in the room seemed to close in around her.
She would not marry Dewsberry. She couldn’t. Her father would never allow it. The Yorks were his enemies. They looked down on the Holwells, and neither she nor her father would subject themselves to their high-handed treatment.
But also, Soren had betrayed her. She could recall perfectly the pain of what he’d done to her. It had been close to eleven years ago, and the hurt, the disappointment was still surprisingly raw.
About Cathy Maxwell