Page 32 of Intolerable
He arched a brow at her. “The Glastonbury Plan?”
“Yes.”
“I hope it finds success, my dear sister. Please let me know how I can further assist you.” He bussed her cheek, surprising her with the affectionate gesture. “I must mingle, but I’ll find you later to see how things are progressing. I’ll keep an eye out for when Glastonbury arrives.”
He departed, and Sabrina and Mrs. Renshaw also moved on. Cassandra darted a glance toward Wexford where he stood near the doors that were open to the garden. He was looking at her too, and a frisson of awareness skittered along her neck.
Dressed in black with a rich green waistcoat, Wexford looked impeccably handsome, both in his costume and his person, with his ink-black hair falling artfully across his forehead, and a small, secret smile teasing his mouth, as if they were sharing some sort of intimate moment across the very crowded room.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she had to stop pining for him. Her father didn’t approve of him, and Wexford hadn’t given the slightest indication that he wanted her for anything other than stolen kisses.
But stolen kisses are exciting and wonderful…
Then he was coming toward them, his gait purposeful and predatory, like a cat hunting a bird. Only, as the bird, Cassandra had no intention of flying away to safety. She much preferred the danger of his company.
“Good evening, ladies.” He bowed to the three of them before fixing his gaze on Cassandra. “I wondered if you might like to promenade, Lady Cassandra.”
She could hardly believe he was asking. He’d made it clear he would have no part in pretending to court her. “I would, thank you.”
Inclining her head toward Fiona and Prudence, both of whom looked at her with unveiled curiosity, Cassandra put her hand on Wexford’s arm. He guided her back the way he’d come, toward the garden.
“Are you part of Lucien’s plan to throw me together with Glastonbury?”
“Er, yes. But I don’t think Glastonbury’s arrived yet.”
“Then to what do I owe this promenade? You aren’t pretending to court me.”
“I’m helping. By occupying you now, I’m keeping you open for Glastonbury as soon as he arrives. You won’t be busy with someone else.”
“That seems a rather weak explanation.”
He looked at her askance, his features blank with innocence. “Does it? Would you prefer I leave you alone? That way you can meet other eligible gentlemen.”
“That was my goal in coming tonight—not just for Glastonbury. Dancing with him was my father’s edict.”
“Is the viscount truly a contender for your hand, or are you merely satisfying your father’s demands?”
“Both, I suppose. In truth, I scarcely know Glastonbury well enough to determine if we will suit. I can say that I don’t care for his boxing. Such a garish endeavor.”
Wexford steered them out to the garden with a chuckle. “Have you forgotten that I also partake in the sport? In fact, Glastonbury and I attend the same boxing club.”
They walked toward the oval pool, where dozens of candelabras around the perimeter flickered in the reflection of water. “I had forgotten, actually.”
“Why do you find it garish?” he asked, guiding her past the pool to a path that was less brightly lit.
“It’s so brutal. I don’t enjoy watching people hurt each other for fun.”
“Yes, it can be brutal, as evidenced by my once perfect nose.” He sighed. “One would think I would have quit after that, but I’m afraid I do rather enjoy hitting people. For fun.”
She stopped, pulling him off the path. Turning toward him, she looked up into his face and studied his nose. “Was it really perfect before?”
He laughed. “My mother said so.”
“Mothers can’t be trusted when it comes to their children. They are heavily biased. Everyone knows this.” Her own mother always told Cassandra she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
“You may be right. My nose was certainly straighter.”
She reached up and gently touched her fingertip between his eyes before skimming down to the slight crook. “So this ruined your face?” she asked softly, her gaze locking with his.
