Page 57 of Intolerable
He stared at her with a mix of amusement, incredulity, and complete understanding. “Of course you did.”
Henrietta Barnwick was a friend of his sisters’ who lived two miles from Warefield. He’d never met anyone who could talk faster and with more confidence despite not knowing much about whatever she was saying. “I would caution you not to take anything Hetty says as gospel.”
She scoffed. “Why do you think I had to conduct an experiment? I couldn’t just trust her description.”
“Do you promise not to conduct any more of them if I persuade Mother to let you stay here?”
“I promise. Please, Ruark?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said with a chuckle, thinking it would be nice to have her here. He was going to need a distraction if he meant to stay completely away from Cassandra. Which he had to do. “In the meantime, you need to go to the assembly tomorrow night. I’ll start working on Mother, but it’s going to take a bit of time to convince her.” He finished his coffee before looking toward her once more. “Do you ever want to wed?”
She shrugged again. “Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. I know I should have. Lord knows Mother prattles on about it enough.”
“I’ll talk with her. Wish me luck.” He winked at his sister as he stood.
“Right now? She’s still abed and likely will be until at least noon.”
He chuckled. “No, not now. I know not to disturb her when she’s sleeping.” Their mother was a fierce beast when awakened, and she did not enjoy the early morning hours. Early being ten o’clock in her opinion.
“Oh good. You would have regretted it for certain.” Kat returned her attention to her breakfast, and Ruark told her he was going to his study.
Once there, he went right back to wallowing in his Cassandra dilemma, though he was able to occasionally distract himself with thoughts of how he might persuade his mother to allow Kat to remain in London. Yes, distractions were good. Such as boxing. He wasn’t due at the club until tomorrow, but he could still exercise today.
Distractions wouldn’t remove the need to end things with her, however. He had to tell her they were finished, that she couldn’t love him. She needed to forget him and move on. Marry Glastonbury, probably.
Jealousy knifed through him, as it had yesterday in the park when he’d seen Glastonbury fawning all over her. How was he going to walk away from her when every part of him wanted to run straight into her arms?
“You’re better today,” Mort said as they took a break from sparring. “Did something happen?”
“Just keeping a clearer head.” Ruark went to a bench outside the ring where he picked up a towel and mopped the sweat from his brow and neck. He’d slept terribly, but he’d kept his focus on anything other than— He wouldn’t even think her name.
“Wexford!”
Ruark turned toward the sound of his name. Glastonbury was coming toward him. Suddenly, Ruark’s efforts to remain calm became much more difficult. Jealousy and irritation pricked through him.
“Afternoon, Glastonbury,” he said evenly, dropping the towel onto the bench.
“I caught the end of your practice with Mort.” Glastonbury glanced toward the trainer with a smile. “You’ve excellent form. How is it that we’ve never sparred?”
“I don’t know.” Ruark hoped he would suggest they should. The opportunity to fight Glastonbury was incredibly appealing.
Glastonbury eyed him speculatively. “Should we?”
“I think so.” Ruark couldn’t help smiling.
“You’ve been exercising nearly an hour,” Mort said with a slight frown. “The viscount has arrived fresh.”
“Are you saying I should go easy on him?” Glastonbury asked with a laugh. “I can do that.”
“Please don’t,” Ruark said, trying not to grit his teeth. “I’m sure I’m up to the challenge. I’m loose and ready, whereas you haven’t even broken a sweat.”
Glastonbury’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Very well.” He stepped into the ring, and Ruark followed. The viscount looked to Mort. “You’ll referee?”
Mort nodded but didn’t look pleased. He sent Ruark a headshake. Ruark ignored him.
“One round,” Mort said before starting the fight. “Or until I say so.”
Ruark noted that everyone in the club—a good dozen or so gentlemen and Fred, of course, had gathered around the ring to watch. He focused on his opponent, eager to plant his fist in the man’s face.
