Page 98 of Intolerable
The bell rang. Glastonbury didn’t get up.
Fred called out to him, urging him to stand. Ruark considered going to help him up, but he wasn’t supposed to. Fighters needed to get themselves to the scratch before the bell rang. He took deep breaths to calm his racing pulse and turned his head toward Cassandra. Her face was lined with worry. He knew in that moment that he’d never fight again. And he was perfectly fine with that.
Glastonbury lifted his head and pushed himself to his side. Taking a deep breath and then another, he got to his knees. Then he staggered upright.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hit you like that. You can have my purse,” Ruark said quietly so that only he could hear.
“I don’t want your charity.” Glastonbury spat red onto the ground.
Ruark glanced toward Cassandra and saw that she’d turned away. Another woman in a cloak with her face hidden by the hood stood beside her. Was that Prudence? He couldn’t tell but assumed so when she put her arm around Cassandra. He was glad she had someone to look after her.
“You can’t continue,” Ruark said to Glastonbury. “There’s no shame. It was a good fight.”
Glastonbury turned and struck out. There’d been shouting the entire time, but it changed. Glastonbury wasn’t allowed to do what he did.
The fight ended right then.
Ruark didn’t wait to see what Glastonbury might do next. He bolted to his corner and stepped out from the rope.
“You won!” Mort cried, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Not the way I would have liked.” He took a shirt from Mort and pulled it over his head. “Let’s get away from here.” He took Cassandra’s arm then looked to her companion. “Miss Lancaster?”
“Thank you, my lord. We’ve a room at the King’s Arms.”
Cassandra looked up at him as they strode away from the ring. “Where are you staying?”
“The Red Fox.”
Miss Lancaster looked past him to Cassandra. “You should go with him.”
“What about my brother’s men?” Cassandra whispered, her eyes darting to two men standing nearby. Ruark recognized them both as belonging to Lucien’s household. He’d been glad Cassandra had her companion to comfort her, but he was doubly glad Lucien had seen fit to send them to Croydon with protection.
A sly smile played about Miss Lancaster’s lips. “Perhaps if we swap cloaks and you keep your head down, they’ll think I’m the one scampering off.”
“How will we manage that?” Cassandra asked.
Ruark looked toward the men with determination. “Leave that to me. Be quick about it whilst I distract them.”
“A moment,” Miss Lancaster said, taking Cassandra’s hand. “You deserve a night alone together.”
Gratitude shone in Cassandra’s eyes. “Thank you. We’ll come fetch you in the morning.”
“Early—just after dawn,” Ruark said.
He went to the coachman and footman with a hearty greeting and engaged them in conversation about the fight. Several people came up to congratulate Ruark, and he used them to block the men’s sight of Cassandra and Miss Lancaster—but Ruark was careful to make sure he could still see them.
The women acted quickly, exchanging cloaks and pulling the hoods low over their faces as they cast their heads down.
“Let’s get Lady Cassandra and her companion to the coach, shall we?” Ruark moved to put his arm around Cassandra, now cloaked in dark blue instead of purple.
When they reached the coach, Ruark put a hand on the footman’s arm. “Miss Lancaster dropped something. I’ll escort her back inside—I need to fetch my things—and see her to the King’s Arms.”
The footman nodded before helping the real Miss Lancaster into the coach.
Ruark turned with Cassandra and went back toward the ring.
“Do you really need to go back?” she asked.
