Page 22 of Intolerable
“Are you offended? I might be, if I were you. You’re every bit as good a fighter as Glastonbury. Probably better, if I had to stake a wager.”
“Why, thank you.”
“If you want, I’ll put in a word with Fred. I take it you want that?” He said the last with a half smile.
“I wouldn’t mind. Don’t you want one of your best pupils to demonstrate what an effective and skilled trainer you are?”
He shook his head with that same sly smirk. “No need to flatter me.” His expression grew serious. “A prizefight isn’t the same as sparring. It’s long and exhausting, and it can be vicious. Some men have suffered terrible injuries. Some have never been the same.”
“Surely it wouldn’t be that bad, especially if I fought Glastonbury. I’d have to think we’d do our best to let the other walk away without suffering too badly.” Ruark caught sight of Lucien from the corner of his eye and got to his feet. “Excuse me, Mort. I must speak with Lord Lucien.”
Mort inclined his head, and Ruark cut through the den toward the entrance to intercept his friend.
Lucien’s dark eyes lit. “Wex, I’m glad to see you. Might I have a word?” He inclined his head toward the doorway, or probably toward the private meeting room beyond.
“Yes, please.” Ruark followed him out of the member’s den and into the sanctuary of the membership committee.
Furnished with a long table around which the members of the committee met, the room was decorated in rich greens, the signature color of the club. Lucien moved to the seating area situated near the hearth and poured himself a drink from the liquor cabinet in the corner.
“I regret to inform you that my father has specifically forbidden Cassandra from considering you as a suitor.”
“I’m deeply insulted,” Ruark replied in mock affront.
“It’s the Irishness,” Lucien explained, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t forget my formerly Catholic mother. And her inferior husband.”
“Yes, those too.” Lucien scowled at his brandy before taking a drink.
Ruark hadn’t forgotten his earlier irritation with his friend. “It’s not as if you hadn’t already forbidden me from even dancing with her.”
“You know why,” Lucien said, moving to lower himself into one of the chairs.
“You think there’s a good reason, but is there?”
“Let’s see, there was the girl at Oxford. And your first mistress. Also, the woman in Ireland. Those are just the ones I know about.”
There weren’t any others, at least not who’d caused him to lose his heart. Ruark became…enamored, he detached himself, he becameunenamored, and he moved on.
“Don’t think I’m not aware of this three-year curse,” Lucien continued. “Assuming those are the only ones. Perhaps it’s an annual curse. Regardless, I have every reason to pay close attention to you when it comes to Cassandra. I won’t let you hurt her the way you did the girl at Oxford—and I assume the one in Ireland.”
He was right, of course, but then Ruark didn’t doubt it, He’d anticipated it since he was six years old. “You needn’t worry about me and your sister.” Anymore. “I was only trying to help, and I’m finished with that endeavor.”
“Does she know that?”
“She does. Just as she knows I intended to speak with you about helping her. It seems you didn’t talk to her the other day after we met outside your house.”
Lucien swirled the brandy in his glass. “I didn’t have a chance. I had to meet with my father and by the time I finished, she’d gone for a walk with Miss Lancaster.”
“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion? Prioritize your sister. I don’t think you realize how alone she is.” Ruark had only just begun to glimpse that himself.
“She’s not alone. She has Miss Lancaster.”
Ruark cocked his head. “How long have they been acquainted?”
Lucien’s lips flattened into a thin line. “She’s had me and Con,” he said quietly and rather unconvincingly. He took a substantial drink of brandy. “I’ll speak with her as soon as possible. I promise.” He looked to Ruark in surprise. “You’ve been a good friend to her. I apologize for assuming the worst.”
Suppressing a grimace, Ruark sipped his whisky. Things could have been much worse than a few stolen kisses. “I hope you’ll tell your father to mind his own business and allow Lady Cassandra to choose her own husband, even if he’s Irish and has a formerly Catholic mother.” Lucien’s head snapped toward him, and Ruark laughed. “I’m joking.”
