Page 82 of Intolerable
Their mother folded her arms over her chest as the coach stopped in front of his house. “Ruark, you are being far too meddlesome. It is up to me, and Kathleen’s father, to ensure she’s settled.”
Ruark was fairly certain his stepfather would be pleased if Kat stayed in London—because it would make her happier than getting married.
“You should let her stay, Mama,” Iona said. “And I’m not saying that because she practically ruined my life along with her own.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.” Ruark hoped Iona wasn’t taking after their mother.
Iona fixed him with an angry stare. “You have no idea, so kindly refrain from opining on the matter.”
The door opened, and a footman helped their mother from the coach then Iona. Kat turned her head. “I appreciate your support, Ruark.”
“If Mother won’t let you stay here, perhaps she’d let you go to my estate in Ireland. Would that interest you?”
“My preference is to stay here, but I would take Ireland over having to wed.” She stepped out of the coach but Ruark didn’t follow her. Instead, he directed the coachman to take him to the Phoenix Club.
His banished thought from the pleasure garden returned to the front of his mind.Hadhis father pushed his fears onto him? That wasn’t really the question. He had most definitely done that. The real question was whether his inability to sustain romantic love came from that fear instead of a genuine incapability.
If Da had never demanded that promise, would Ruark have married Freya nine years ago? Perhaps, but he couldn’t imagine it. He certainly wouldn’t have married his mistress three years later, but that was because it wouldn’t have been acceptable.
He could have married Nuala, the pretty daughter of his neighbor in Ireland. But he’d stopped their association from progressing after a few stolen kisses. He certainly hadn’t allowed things to go on as long as they had with Cassandra.
The coach arrived at the Phoenix Club, and Ruark bounded out, eager to relax inside. If he could.
The moment he walked into the Member’s Den and Lucien stalked toward him, Ruark knew something was very wrong. Before he could ask, Lucien barked out a command, “Membership committee chamber. Now.” The distinctive Westbrook growl was on full display.
Ruark followed him out of the Member’s Den and into the membership committee’s meeting room. “I hope nothing is terribly wrong.”
“Something is very wrong. Withyou.” Lucien closed the door with more force than necessary, turned on his heel, and planted his fist in Ruark’s nose.
Stumbling backward, Ruark brought his hand to his face. “Ow! Are you trying to break my nose again?”
“You’re lucky I don’t break your legs.”
The door opened, and MacNair and Deane filed in, the latter closing it behind him.
“What the devil’s going on?” MacNair asked, his eyes narrowing at first Ruark and then Lucien. “Everyone can see your ire, and since it’s almost never on display, you can imagine how it looks.”
“I don’t give a damn how it looks,” Lucien seethed, surprising Ruark with the vehemence of his anger. “Wexford is banished from the Phoenix Club.”
Ruark dropped his hand from his face. He was so stupid—there was only one reason Lucien would behave like this. He somehow knew about Ruark and Cassandra.
“Banishment?” Deane stepped forward, almost between Lucien and Ruark. When Ruark glowered at him, he seemed to think better of advancing further. “We’ve never banished anyone. I thought that was for other clubs.”
“What Deane said,” MacNair put in, sending a concerned look toward Ruark. “We’re inclusive and once you’re in, you’re in.”
“It’s my bloody club, and he’s banished.”
“Nowyou have the final say,” Ruark muttered. “That’s deuced convenient.”
Lip curling, Lucien stepped toward him, his hand fisted. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”
“What is goingon?” Deane demanded, looking from Ruark to Lucien.
“The fiend has been carrying on with my sister for who-knows-how-long. It’s bad enough to risk her reputation, but when you have no intention of marrying her, it’s downright despicable.” Lucien spat the last word, and Ruark felt it like a knife in his gut.
Hewasdespicable. He’d tried to resist, and he’d failed. He could argue that Cassandra had tempted him, that she’d been unflinchingly persistent. But this was his fault. He’d continued with her despite the fact that he’d fallen out of love with every other woman for whom he’d felt a tendre. And expected to do the same with Cassandra, even though he hoped she would be different. That was where he’d gone totally wrong—he’d allowed hope to color his decisions and hurt Cassandra. There was simply no good excuse for his behavior.
Lucien put one hand on his hip as he continued to glare at Ruark. “See, he has nothing to say for himself.”
