Page 83 of Intolerable
“This is true?” MacNair asked Ruark.
Ruark nodded. “I regret that it is. Lucien, I hold Cassandra in the highest regard. I have tried at every moment to keep her safe from harm—even from that caused by me.”
Lucien came toward him, stopping just within arm’s length. “First, don’t refer to her in such a casual fashionever. Second, how can you possibly hold her in the highest regard when you have nearly ruined her? Third, how can you try to keep her safe while continuing to carry on an illicit liaison.”
“It wasn’t that,” Ruark ground out. Except it had become that, hadn’t it? Even if they weren’t having sexual intercourse, they had engaged in activities that no young, unmarried daughter of a duke ever should. “We’re…friends.”
Lucien lifted his arm to hit him again, but Ruark was expecting it. He was also a trained pugilist, where Lucien was not.
Deflecting the blow, Ruark stepped to the side. “Don’t start something you can’t finish well.”
“You should let me beat you.” Lucien blew out a frustrated breath.
“He can’t do that,” MacNair said quietly. “Too well trained. But I could hold him for you.” He shook his head at Ruark in clear disappointment. “I won’t though.”
Ruark’s insides churned in turmoil. He wanted to ask how Lucien found out, not because it mattered to him personally, but because he was concerned about Cassandra. “Is Cassandra…ruined?” He was afraid of the answer.
“Not yet, but you were seen at the ball the other night. Rather, at the stables.” Lucien spoke with heavy disgust. “We must hope that my father’s coachman is the only person who saw you.”
The duke’s coachman? As if Cassandra’s father’s opinion of Ruark wasn’t bad enough. But then Ruark’s own opinion of himself had never been worse. “I will hope that is the case. It was never my intent to endanger your sister. I care for her very deeply.” He’d still behaved like an ass.
“But not deeply enough to wed her.” Lucien stared at him. “Why? Because of some stupid rule? I don’t believe that anymore. I don’t think you’re capable of love. All you do is leave a trail of broken hearts behind you. If you can’t marry for three more years, why even go to balls or dance with young ladies who are on the Marriage Mart?”
“Put like that, it’s a bit cruel—to yourself as much as them,” Deane said with a frown.
Yes, it was cruel. Why did he do that? Ruark could just as easily go back to Ireland and ride horses for the next three years. Except, he’d done that three years ago, and he’d still fallen for a woman. It seemed his heart had a mind of its own.
“There’s nothing left to say,” Lucien said flatly. “You should go, Wexford.”
Ruark took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. “There is something else. Glastonbury plans to propose to your sister. I learned he’s behind the prizefight at the club.” He looked toward MacNair who blinked in surprise. “He seems to need the money. It was his idea, and Fred’s giving him thirty percent of the admission, plus a portion of the wagers. I’m only getting four percent.”
“I didn’t know Glastonbury was short on funds,” Deane noted. “Or that you were fighting in a prizefight.” He looked surprised.
“I didn’t realize he was light in the purse either,” Ruark said. “I don’t think anyone knows, otherwise we’d have learned this when we were investigating him for membership, and that seems to be his preference.” He glanced toward Lucien, hating the fury still burning in his friend’s—formerfriend’s—gaze. “I thought you should know. I was going to try to find out why he was in need of funds, but I suppose that’s your job.”
“It sure as hell isn’t yours.” Lucien sneered at him before pivoting to allow Ruark a clear path to the door. “Time for you to go.”
Ruark took a step then stopped to look over at Lucien. “I do care about Lady Cassandra, no matter what you think. At least she knows that I do.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Ruark said. “After I told her all about your penchant for loving and leaving the women in your life, she was more than ready to forget you even exist.”
It was the final blow, and Ruark should have seen it coming. Of course Lucien would have told her all about his past. He should have done it himself. But he’d been too afraid that his father was right about him, that his father’s prognostication had been proven accurate by Ruark’s behavior. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever marry at all, at least not without being perfectly candid with his prospective bride. He might love her now, but he could almost guarantee the emotion wouldn’t last.
For the first time, he felt truly cursed.
Keeping his head high, Ruark left the membership committee chamber without looking at the other men whom he’d called friend just a short time ago. Then he left the Phoenix Club and didn’t look back.
Cassandra slept later than normal after being awake most of the night. She’d talked to her mother, rather the portrait of her that her brothers had given her. Was that just a week ago that she’d celebrated her birthday and kissed Ruark in another cupboard? It felt like an eternity.
Unfortunately, her mother couldn’t give her any advice. Should she marry Glastonbury? Should she retreat to the country for the rest of the Season? Should she join a convent?
Dressed in a simple morning gown, Cassandra went into the sitting room to break her fast. She’d barely sat down before her father came in.
The duke coughed, his gaze dropping to the roll on her plate and the pot of chocolate. “I’m interrupting your breakfast.”
“It’s all right. Is there something you need to speak with me about?” It was a silly question. He never came here without intent. Just stopping to visit with her was not something her father did.
“I came to ask about your plans for the day—and for the rest of the week. You were gone most of yesterday.” He sounded slightly annoyed, which was better than angry. “There were two callers for you.”
