Page 29 of Intolerable
MacNair’s sable eyes came to life as he leaned toward Ruark at the cabinet. “There’s another Highland whisky over there?”
Ruark snorted as he finished his pour and went to join MacNair, depositing himself in a nearby chair. “Cheers.” He sipped the delicious Irish whisky. “I’ve just received word that my mother and two of my sisters are coming to town next week.”
“You don’t look pleased.”
“I suppose Iamgrimacing.” And why wouldn’t he? His mother would badger him about taking a wife, as she did at nearly every opportunity. She liked to point out that his father had already been married six years by Ruark’s age. Ruark never mentioned that he’d apparently regretted it. She’d never given any indication as to the happiness—or unhappiness—of their union. “My oldest sister will be participating in the Season, apparently. They only just decided. I want to persuade them to wait until next year but changing my mother’s mind is akin to getting the wind to blow another direction.”
Dougal grinned. “Your mother sounds charming. I look forward to meeting her, as well as your sisters.”
Suddenly Ruark understood Lucien’s agitation. The thought of MacNair or any of his friends courting one of his sisters made him feel a bit…perturbed.
Deane walked in, smiling as he seemed to be doing almost constantly since returning from his elopement. His gaze found Ruark and MacNair, and he moved toward them.
“Is he floating?” Ruark asked.
“I think so,” MacNair responded. “If he doesn’t stop smiling at some point, his face is going to freeze like that.”
“My mother always told me that but about frowning. I suppose it works both ways.”
MacNair studied him a moment. “I can’t see you frowning much. You’re always so jovial.”
“My mother couldn’t tolerate frowning, so I overcompensated by being offensively pleasant.”
“I would certainly agree with the offensive part.”
Deane looked from Ruark to MacNair. “What’s offensive?”
“Your unadulterated rapture.” MacNair lifted his glass in a toast. “Cheers.”
Ruark snickered as he also raised a toast before drinking.
“Make all the fun you want,” Deane said. “When you both wed, you’ll feel the same as I do. At least, I hope you do. I highly recommend falling in love. I can’t possibly communicate its wonders.” His smile was wide and genuine, and Ruark knew precisely how he felt. Or thought he did anyway. But then the entire point of waiting to marry until he was thirty was to ensure heknewwhat love felt like.
“Ifwe wed,” MacNair said, his ebony brows arching briefly. “Well, I suppose Wexford must—needing an heir and all that. I have no such requirement since my brother is now the Earl of Stirling.” Leaning back in his chair, he smiled in satisfaction. He enjoyed a life of frequent travel and indolent leisure.
“I’ll get there eventually.” Ruark sipped his whisky. He peered at MacNair over the rim of his glass. “Mayhap you’ll fall head over arse in love. Who’s to say?”
“Indeed, and I can personally attest to one’s plans not going the way we intend,” Deane noted. “Otherwise, I may be wed to Jessamine Goodfellow.”
“Perhaps Wexford’s plan to hold off until he’s thirty will fail.” MacNair sent a teasing glace toward Ruark. “Any chance of that?”
“None.” He’d only three more years to go.
MacNair fixed him with an inquisitive stare. “Whyareyou waiting until that specific time?”
Ruark hadn’t ever shared the promise he’d made to his father—not to Lucien, not to any of his close friends. And not to the women whose hearts he’d broken. He winced inwardly. It was better to have left them when he did instead of marrying them and living a lifetime of misery when he and his wife inevitably fell out of love.
“I think it’s best to know one’s mind before making such a commitment. I don’t take marriage lightly.”
“And thirty is the age you chose? Seems rather arbitrary.”
Shrugging, Ruark hoped they could change the topic soon. “I may not wed even then. It’s merely a minimum. Perhaps I won’t feel ready until I’m thirty-five.” Or mayhap he’d never feel ready. He shoved that dark thought to the recesses of his mind.
Tobias gave him a bemused look. “What if you fall in love before then?”
Ruark forced a laugh. “All this talk of love! I need more whisky.” He stood and went to refill his glass even though it wasn’t quite empty.
As he went back to his chair, Lucien stalked directly to the liquor cabinet where Ruark stood and poured the Irish whisky.
