Page 1 of Intolerable
Chapter 1
London, April 1815
At last, Lady Cassandra Westbrook had her best friend back. She was only sorry their reunion had to take place at this ball in Portman Square rather than a private sitting room where Cassandra could ask a dozen questions about Fiona’s elopement. It was all very romantic and fantastical and completely outside Cassandra’s ability to comprehend. But then she’d never been in love, and the notion of dashing off to Scotland to wed seemed like something from a novel.
Unfortunately, she could not pelt Fiona with questions, but she had hugged her tightly, drawing stares and likely disdain from the other guests who’d happened to see their delighted embrace or hear their excited squeals.
Fiona’s new husband, Lord Overton, was there too, of course, exchanging pleasantries with Cassandra’s eldest brother, Constantine. Then he introduced Fiona to Constantine’s lovely wife, Sabrina.
Though she’d resolved not to interrogate Fiona, Cassandra couldn’t contain her glee. She grabbed Fiona’s hand and squeezed. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re back. The last few weeks have been quite trying. There is so much to tell you. And, of course, I must hear all about your trip. You’re a countess now!” Cassandra still couldn’t quite believe it.
Laughing, Fiona squeezed her hand in return. “Yes. It’s rather bizarre.” She edged a bit closer to Cassandra. “You didn’t become betrothed while I was away, did you?”
“No, but it’s not for my father’s lack of pressure on the matter. If I don’t wed by June, he’s threatened to marry me off to some indeterminate gentleman.” Cassandra looked at her sister-in-law. Sabrina was well aware of the duke’s obnoxiousness regarding Cassandra’s marital prospects. “Isn’t that right?”
“So he said.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “I’ve decided I’m going to marry the next man I encounter. I hope he’s especially roguish. Father will hate that.”
At that precise moment, the Earl of Wexford arrived, greeting Fiona’s husband in his delicious brogue. Delicious? No, she must not think of him like that.
Prudence Lancaster, Cassandra’s wonderful companion and trusted friend, leaned close. “You should ask him to help you. Perhaps if he pays you attention, it will draw other suitors out.”
Cassandra blinked at her in keen admiration. “Brilliant,” she murmured. Turning to Wexford, she announced, “My lord, I think you should dance with me.”
Overton addressed her, his brow furrowed. “Ah, perhaps you’d like to dance with me instead?”
Cassandra didn’t understand why he appeared concerned but gave him a reassuring smile. “Thank you, but I think it must be Wexford.” She turned to the Irish earl. “In the meantime, let us take a turn, shall we?”
His answer was to offer her his arm. Cassandra placed her hand on his sleeve and regarded him from the corner of her eye. Tall and fit with ink-dark hair and riveting blue eyes, Wexford was almost tooth-achingly attractive. Onlyalmostbecause there was the flaw of his crooked nose, broken in a boxing bout, or so Cassandra’s brother Lucien, who was one of the earl’s closest friends, had told her. In truth, Cassandra found the bend in his nose only added to his roguish charm.
Roguish.Precisely the type of gentleman her father would loathe. Which made Wexford incredibly appealing since Cassandra was sick of her father’s domineering behavior.
“You are very forward to ask me to dance,” Wexford said with a charming smirk, his gaze flicking toward hers as they began a circuit around the ballroom while they waited for the current set to finish. “But then, we both know you’ve a tendency for brazenness.”
“You’re not supposed to mention that. We have an agreement.” Cassandra kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. She didn’t allow herself to think about thatincidentof… brazenness. To do so was madness. Plus, they’d made a pact to forget the entire thing.
“I didn’t say anything specific.” His tone was light and innocent, but somehow his Irish lilt slathered everything he said in sin. He lowered his voice. “Am I to ignore everything I know about you, my lady?”
Cassandra ignored the delicious shiver that raced up her spine. “Do try.”
He exhaled. “Why did you ask me to dance then?”
“I require your assistance, and you did offer your support should I ever need it.” In fact, he’d come to her aid a few weeks before at a Phoenix Club assembly when an inebriated gentleman had become too bold with his hands.
“How may I be of service? Keeping in mind that the last time I helped you, your brother nearly thrashed me.”
Cassandra frowned. “I still don’t understand his behavior.” Her brother Lucien, the middle child, while Constantine was the eldest, was a jovial, generous person with an excess of charm. However, when he’d found out that Cassandra had danced with his friend Wexford at the Phoenix Club assembly, he’d angrily instructed them both that it was not to be repeated. When Cassandra had demanded to know why, Lucien had only said that she should listen to her older brother.
“Nor do I understand your behavior,” she added, peering up at Wexford briefly as they strolled near the open ballroom doors that led out to the garden. “Why would you let Lucien dictate with whom you dance?”
“I don’t, typically. But Lucien is one of my dearest friends, and you are his baby sister. Since I have four younger sisters of my own, I understand an older brother’s penchant for protection.”
Bristling at the word “baby,” Cassandra pursed her lips. “I will be twenty-two shortly. Why would I need protection from you?Thatis what I would like to know.” She stopped abruptly, tugging on his arm to force him to halt.
Around them, the ball swirled with vibrance and sound—sparkling candlelight, beautiful people, music, and laughter. There was also heat, but it was more tolerable here near the open doors.
Wexford was, of course, one of the most beautiful people in attendance. His coat of crisp black superfine sheathed his muscular shoulders to perfection, and the brilliant blue of his waistcoat made his eyes even more captivating. The nearly blinding white of his shirt and cravat, gleaming against the black of his hair and his coat elevated his entire appearance to that of an extremely fashionable—and dashingly attractive—gentleman.
