Page 97 of Intolerable
True to Mort’s prediction, Glastonbury threw his fist toward Ruark’s shoulder.
Ruark danced easily to the side, avoiding the blow. “I’m curious, Glastonbury, why are you fighting? I understand you need funds, but surely there’s a better way. Sell something, perhaps?”
“How did you…?” Glastonbury’s eyes were dark, his face flushed. He took another shot, but Ruark moved before it could land.
“You’re broke, or close to, from what I hear. What happened?”
“Fuck off.” Glastonbury’s typical charm was completely absent. Indeed, he seemed agitated to a level that bordered on frightening. Was he this worked up over the fight? Ruark supposed he needed to win in order to gain the purse.
Glastonbury lunged forward, driving Ruark back. At this rate, Ruark wouldn’t have to do anything. Glastonbury would wear himself out.
“Bit sensitive this evening?” Ruark taunted. “I won’t let you marry Cassandra. She deserves more than a feckless wastrel like you.”
“It wasyou.” Snarling, Glastonbury lashed out, squarely catching Ruark’s gut. “I’ll marry her with or without anyone’s permission.” He continued his assault, cornering Ruark against the rope and landing several punches, the last of which hit Ruark in the center of his chest with enough force that he staggered back.
What had Glastonbury meant? What had Ruark done?
Distracted, Ruark slipped and went down. The bell rang, signaling the end of the round because Ruark had hit the ground.
Jumping up, Ruark went back to his corner and nearly fell down again. Standing next to Mort was Cassandra.
Ruark rushed forward. “What the devil are you doing here?” The urge to gather her in his arms was overwhelming, but he had thirty seconds before the next round would start. Less than that now.
“I got your note,” she said simply. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I was otherwise committed today. But I want you to know this is my last fight, much to Mort’s disappointment.” He darted a look toward his coach who looked rather aggrieved.
Mort touched his arm. “You need to get back. Whatever you’re doing to prick Glastonbury’s ire, stop. Just wear him out. You can outlast him.”
“Yes, do that,” Cassandra said. “Please don’t get hurt. I love you just as you are.”
“I won’t bleed—I can’t bear to do that to you.” He thought of what Glastonbury had said a minute ago. “Did Glastonbury propose?”
She shook her head. “My father found out he’s only after my dowry and sent him a note too.”
Ruark took her hand as relief spilled through him. “I love you. Marry me? Not in three years or at the end of the Season. Tomorrow. Please.”
Mort shoved at Ruark. “You need to go!”
She beamed at him, her eyes glowing in the light of hundreds of lanterns. “Yes.”
Grinning, he turned and leapt back to the scratch just as the bell rang. Filled with joy and the knowledge that he was about to start the rest of his life with the woman he loved, he led Glastonbury on a merry chase, never allowing him too close.
“Who is that in the corner?” Glastonbury asked, his gaze moving in Cass’s direction for long enough that Ruark took the opening. He dashed forward and caught Glastonbury in the belly with two quick punches.
Glastonbury grunted. He staggered to the side, which took him closer to Cassandra.
Ruark went on the offensive and drove him away from that corner. He landed a hit on Glastonbury’s arm.
Glastonbury recovered, dancing backward then moving toward Ruark.
Maneuvering Ruark back to his corner, Glastonbury slashed another glance in Cassandra’s direction. This time his eyes widened. “Is that Cassandra? You meddling blackguard.”
Ruark could have taken the opportunity to pummel the man, but he didn’t. He regretted that a second later, when Glastonbury let out a nasty cry and came after Ruark with his most terrifying assault yet.
Arms up, Ruark deflected and skipped. Still, several blows landed. He could feel the fury and frustration emanating from his opponent.
Determined not to lose—or to bleed—he ignored Mort’s advice and fought back with everything he had. Without anger to drive him, Ruark’s actions were more measured, his moves more calculated. He connected with Glastonbury more than Glastonbury did with him, and in a desperate move to end it, Ruark sent an upper cut to Glastonbury’s chin, knocking his head back and sending him sprawling to the ground.
