Page 23 of Intolerable
Grimacing, Lucien briefly massaged his forehead. “I feel terrible. I’ve been so focused on others and even meddling in my brother’s marriage that I completely failed to see that my poor dear sister is in need.” He sat up straight in the chair. “Shit, her birthday is next week. I should plan a party.”
Ruark was glad to see Lucien suffering some remorse. “Will the duke permit that?”
“We’ll have it at Con’s. I’ll invite Deane and Fiona.” Deane was now the Earl of Overton and one of the other friends in the bacchanalia painting. By habit, they all still called him by his courtesy title, and Deane preferred it. Fiona was his new wife and Cassandra’s closest friend. Ruark realized they hadn’t known each other long either—just this Season because Fiona had only come to London in February. Who had been Cassandra’s comrades and confidantes before?
Ruark wasn’t sure he’d been a friend to her, but he wanted to be. Which would be damned hard since he’d pledged to stay away from her.
He was suddenly back in the garden with her tonight, but instead of taking his hand from her waist, he steered her behind the shrub she’d pointed out. Once there, he pulled her against him. She tipped her head up, her eyes slitting in an enticingly provocative manner. As if he needed encouragement. He’d wanted her in the bloody dark, when he’d been unable to see her, could only smell her rose and lavender scent and hear the sultry tone of her voice—which he now realized he should have recognized. But why would he have ever expected his best friend’s sister to be hiding in a cupboard pretending to be a maid?
Back in the garden—in his mind—since she was a saucy minx, she would ask if he was going to kiss her. And because he was a rake and she’d so thoroughly captivated him, he would smile at her as he lifted his hand to her cheek so he could drag his thumb along her lip. “I am,” he would have responded just before he claimed her mouth.
“You are what?” Lucien asked, destroying the reverie playing in Ruark’s mind. Hell, he was half-aroused sitting here with the brother of the woman he was fantasticating about. He was worse than a beast.
He swallowed the rest of his whisky. “I’m ready to gamble.”
“I’ll come with you.”
They stood, and Lucien clasped Ruark’s upper arm. “Thank you for your counsel. I’ll go and see Cass tomorrow. Her birthday is next Monday. I expect you to come—she’ll want all her friends there.”
Lucien strode past him. As Ruark followed, he contemplated the wisdom of not only attending Cassandra’s party but cultivating a friendship. The trouble was he’d never been particularly wise when it came to women.
The tulips from Wexford were still vivid and lovely, sitting in a place of prominence on the round table in her sitting room where Cassandra broke her fast. She stared at them now, distracted from her book, as she had been since sitting down a half hour earlier.
In her mind, Ruark steered her behind the shrubbery in the Farrowsbys’ garden the other night at the rout. Instead of behaving properly, they surrendered to passion and did what he’d suggested—kissed once more in order to banish the incident from their minds.
Before she could imagine if their ploy was successful, or relish the memory of his lips on hers, her father walked in, jolting her to the present.
“Good afternoon, my dear,” he said rather pleasantly. “It’s such a fine day that we’re going for a ride in the park. Meet me downstairs presently.”
A ride in the park sounded wonderful, but with her father? She supposed she could manage his company. She only hoped he didn’t do anything to embarrass her. Standing, she set her book on the table. “I will need to change, and Prudence may also, but we won’t take long.”
“Yes, be quick. We don’t want to miss the fashionable hour.” He turned and departed the sitting room.
Cassandra went to her chamber and summoned her maid just as Prudence came inside. “Did I hear the duke?” she asked.
“Yes. We’re going for a ride in the park. I’m going to change into a walking costume. Quickly. Can you do the same?”
“You want me to come?”
“Of course. How can I venture onto the battlefield without my aide-de-camp?” she asked with a smile.
“The park is at war now?” Prudence asked with mischief dancing in her eyes.
“When I have to go forth with my father, yes. Because of that, we really must hurry.”
They met the duke downstairs in less than a quarter hour and were soon on their way to Hyde Park. They would arrive just before five. One couldn’t get more fashionable than that.
“I think I should start attending more events with you,” the duke said as the barouche made its way through Grosvenor Gate.
Cassandra should have expected this given her aunt’s behavior the other night. “Is this because Aunt Christina didn’t accompany me to the rout?”
“In part. It serves to illustrate that I should be more involved. I can’t expect my sister to be at your beck and call.”
Confounded and more than slightly irritated, Cassandra stared at him. It wasn’t a sponsor’s duty to be at one’s beck and call, nor did Cassandra expect or require that. It was, however, Christina’s duty to accompany her charge to events.
“Please promise me you will not scowl at anyone or otherwise intimidate potential suitors.” The thought of facing the duke had perhaps been enough to deter gentlemen from courting her, but seeing him in person, at Cassandra’s side, may very well ensure no one even looked at her the rest of the Season.
“I don’t scowl.”
