Page 76 of Intolerable
Mort nodded. “I’d go with you, but I’ve another lad coming in. Don’t worry—we’ll find a replacement.”
“I appreciate your support,” Ruark said earnestly. “In everything.”
After cleaning up and changing his clothes, Ruark made his way to Fred’s office in the back corner of the club. Thoughts of Cassandra still scraped at his mind, and he had no answers. He only knew that he loved her—or at least thought he did. And that the thought of breaking his vow to marry her made him want to run and hide.
The door to Fred’s office was closed, so Ruark lifted his hand to knock.
“I need more!” The exclamation, low and urgent, carried through the door.
Ruark’s hand froze.
“We already have an agreement. You can’t change it now.” That was Fred speaking.
“What if I withdraw?” the other man asked, his tone angry.
Ruark didn’t recognize the voice but wondered if it was Glastonbury.
“I’ll just move Wexford into your slot then,” Fred sounded smug. “A viscount is good, but an earl in the premier bout is better. I don’t need you the way you need me.”
Definitely Glastonbury. What were they haggling about? Why did Glastonbury need him?
“You can’t do that. This entire scheme was my idea.” Glastonbury nearly growled the last couple of words.
“It’s my club. I can do what I like. The deal stays as it is. You’ll get thirty percent and not a shilling more.”
Thirty? When Ruark was gettingfour.
“Then give me more of the wagers. Twenty instead of fifteen.”
He was getting a portion of the wagers that would be made? Was Glastonbury in need of funds? Suddenly his interest in marrying Cassandra took on a rather different cast. Ruark had been jealous of the man before, but now he was angry. She deserved a husband who cared forher, not her dowry. He supposed there was a chance Glastonbury wanted both, but he needed to find out.
Wait, did it even matter when Cassandra had no intention of accepting his proposal?
Ruark realized he’d gotten so lost in his thoughts that he’d missed whatever was said next. Suddenly, the door flew open, and the viscount stalked out. Hat in hand, he stopped abruptly upon seeing Ruark.
Glastonbury blinked then seemed to struggle to summon a pleasant expression. “Afternoon, Wexford. How was your practice? Or are you just arriving?”
“Finished, actually. It was…average.”
“Ah, well, I have those days too. Once in a rare while.” Glastonbury inclined his head then slapped his hat on and strode past Ruark.
Looking over his shoulder, Ruark watched him leave the club. When he turned his attention to the office, he could see Fred sitting inside. He motioned for Ruark to come in.
“What do you need?”
“I came to speak with you about the prizefight.” Ruark considered telling him he’d overheard their conversation. He wanted to know why Glastonbury had concocted this scheme but doubted Fred would tell him.
In the end, Ruark decided not to mention it. Not yet anyway. “I’m afraid I need to withdraw. I haven’t been fighting at my best, and Mort is certain I’ll be destroyed.” With each word, Fred’s frown seemed to deepen. “I won’t leave you without a fighter, however. Mort is working to find a replacement.”
Fred narrowed his eyes. “The fight’s in two bloody days. I’ve already said the Irish Menace is fighting. Is he going to find me an Irishman? Preferably a peer who will draw a crowd?”
Ruark didn’t bother pointing out that Fred hadn’t asked him to begin with, that he’d been prodded to do so. “Perhaps MacNair will do it, and you can just call him the Scottish Menace. He’s the brother of an earl. Surely that would please your spectators. He’s also an incredibly skilled pugilist.”
Grunting in response, Fred tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I’ll think about it.”
“MacNair?” Ruark wasn’t entirely sure if that was what he meant.
“And whether I’ll let you withdraw.”
