INTOLERABLE

DARCY BURKE

ZEALOUS QUILL PRESS

Intolerable

Copyright © 2021 Darcy Burke

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781637260388

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Book design: © Darcy Burke.

Book Cover Design: © Erin Dameron-Hill at EDHProfessionals.

Editing: Lindsey Faber.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Intolerable

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Also by Darcy Burke

About the Author

INTOLERABLE

Society’s most exclusive invitation...

Welcome to the Phoenix Club, where London’s most audacious, disreputable, and intriguing ladies and gentlemen find scandal, redemption, and second chances.

Every three years, like clockwork, Ruark Hannigan, Earl of Wexford loses his heart. Alas, he promised his father he wouldn’t marry until the age of thirty so that he’d be certain in his choice. When his best friend’s sister needs him to pose as a potential suitor to garner attention on the Marriage Mart, he’s the perfect candidate—if only he hadn’t kissed her in secret.

Lady Cassandra Westbrook can’t forget the incident between her and Wexford, and she’s having a devil of a time focusing on finding a husband. The fact that her father intimidates every gentleman has made her quest intolerable, and her two brothers who could help are proving completely worthless. But if she doesn’t settle on someone, her father will arrange an “acceptable” marriage by the end of the Season.

Finally, Cassandra has a chance at courtship, but, frustratingly, it’s not with the impulsive and irresistible Irishman her father detests and she desires. However, when Ruark sees the woman he passionately wants—despite his better judgment—swept into the arms of another man, the prospect of losing her becomes intolerable.

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CHAPTER 1

London, April 1815

A t 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. Only almost because 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 that incident of… 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? That is 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.

When he said nothing, she gave his arm another slight pull. “Well?”

“Well what?” He looked bemused, and she wished she could kick him in the shin.

“Why does Lucien think I need protection from you?”

Wexford looked past her head for a flash of a second then threw his free hand up. “How should I know? As I said, brothers tend to act overprotectively when it comes to their sisters. I should like to know why you’re trying to prick his ire by asking me to dance with you.”

“I’m not trying to antagonize him. He’s not even here, if that makes you feel better.” Not that it mattered to her. She would have asked Wexford to dance anyway. Prudence’s idea had taken over her mind. “In any case, he will learn of my plan soon enough.”

“May we continue our promenade?” Wexford asked politely before adding in a whisper, “People are looking in our direction.”

Cassandra inclined her head, and they resumed their stroll.

Wexford guided them around a group of people who seemed oblivious to their approach or that they were blocking the unmarked promenade area. “Since you asked for my help, this plan involves me, I take it.”

“It does. I believe you are aware of my father’s edict that I wed this Season.” The duke had been lenient in allowing her to delay her Season for a few years, but now that she had made her debut, he expected her to marry by the Season’s end. Which was precisely why she’d asked for the delay in the first place. It was of the utmost importance to him that his only daughter have a very successful first Season, meaning she must be popular and marry.

“I am.”

“I have had precisely one caller. My father is disappointed to say the least.” He railed almost daily now as to how she could be such a failure. She was beautiful, the daughter of a duke, and not at all “empty-headed.” In his eyes, she should have been betrothed by now. What he failed to realize was that he intimidated nearly everyone in Society, and there was an unfortunate dearth of gentlemen on the Marriage Mart who possessed the nerve to court the Duke of Evesham’s daughter.

“How can I possibly help?” Wexford sounded quite skeptical.

“You can dance with me tonight and pay me a call on Monday. In addition, you can encourage others to do the same. No one—including you—needs to officially court me or actively pursue my hand. I just need my father to see that I am popular and that there may be competition. This will soothe his ire, and perhaps he’ll leave me alone for a spell.” She hated how disgruntled she sounded, but that was, unfortunately, how she felt at the moment. Thanks to her father.

“I must ask why you aren’t making this request of your brother. Lucien is the one who is known for granting favors.” As owner of the Phoenix Club, an exclusive organization that sought members who were often on the social periphery or in some way rejected, either mildly or emphatically, from Society, Lucien had gained a reputation for helping people in need, whether that be with employment, connection, or something of a more personal nature.

Cassandra tossed the earl a sly glance. “He can’t exactly pay me a call, can he?”

Wexford grinned, and Cassandra was powerless to stop the absurd thrill that tripped through her chest. “I suppose not. How will you keep him from tearing my limbs from me when he learns we not only danced, but that I paid a call on you?”

“I’ll handle him.” Cassandra wasn’t going to let any of the annoying men in her family, not her father or either of her brothers, meddle in her plans. She’d marry when she was bloody good and ready and not a moment sooner. She’d marry when she wanted to, not when Society—or her father—dictated. So far, she hadn’t even come close.

Wexford turned his arresting, twinkling eyes on her. “That I would like to see.”

“If he wants to meddle, he’ll have to tell me exactly why he doesn’t want me dancing with you.”

Chuckling, Wexford steered them toward the dance floor since the set had ended and the next was about to begin. “You may be disappointed to learn there isn’t anything nefarious behind your brother’s…brotherliness. Trust me, we just don’t like to think of our sisters as romantically, er, involved.”

“That’s silly. I have no trouble thinking of my brothers in that way. I want them to be romantically happy.” Especially her brother Constantine, whose two-year marriage had seemed incredibly unhappy until very recently. She was thrilled that he and his wife, Sabrina, whom Cassandra adored, had seemed to have finally fallen in love. It gave Cassandra hope.

“It’s good that you aren’t bothered by it since Lucien makes such behavior look as regular as breathing,” Wexford quipped.

“Which makes him an absolute hypocrite.”

Leading her onto the dance floor, Wexford moved them into position as others gathered around them. “I’d argue that his affairs are less romantic and more, ah, never mind.” He glanced about, as if to silently tell her they should change the subject since others would overhear them.

The music started and their conversation became far more mundane as others joined. Throughout the set, they periodically touched, and Cassandra tried to pretend the awareness that jolted through her meant nothing, that she felt the same thing—to a lesser extent—when she touched the other gentleman in their square. It would be far easier to ignore Wexford if he wasn’t so deuced attractive.

And if the incident hadn’t happened.

She would not think of that. Instead, she considered her options for a husband and pondered whether she’d want to wed someone by the end of the Season. After watching Constantine and Sabrina find their way, Cassandra was willing to entertain the notion of not being in love with her husband at the time of the wedding, but she would choose someone with whom she would hope there would be love someday.

What if there wasn’t?

She wouldn’t think of that either. At least not tonight. She was taking one day of the Season—rather, one event—at a time. For now, she was just thrilled to have her best friend back in town. She’d felt so lonely in her frustration the past three weeks while Fiona had traveled to Gretna Green for her wedding to the Earl of Overton. But as of tonight, Fiona was back and Cassandra would once again have a partner in her misery.

Except she wouldn’t really. Fiona wasn’t suffering through a Season in which she was expected to marry. She had been, when she and Cassandra had first met back in February. But since then, Fiona had fallen in love with her guardian, of all people, and now they were happily wed.

Wexford took Cassandra’s hand for the dance, and his eyes met hers. It vaulted the touch to an entirely new level as the connection stretched and held. She knew in her bones he was thinking of the incident. A flash of heat suffused her, and it had nothing to do with the cloying temperature of the overstuffed ballroom or the exertion of the dance.

Jerking her attention to the other young lady in their square, Cassandra asked an inane question about her gown. Anything to keep her mind from straying where it could not go.

When at last the set was finished, Cassandra wished she could walk back to Prudence on her own, but that would be gauche. So she took Wexford’s arm and left the dance floor.

“What time would you like me to call on Monday?” he asked. “Shall I bring flowers?”

“You’ll help me?” She hadn’t been sure, despite the fact that he’d pledged to assist her in any way he could.

“Even though it puts me at considerable risk from Lucien’s wrath, yes.”

“I’ll explain the matter to him,” Cassandra said, eager to deliver her brother a setdown when it came to his attempts to manage her. “Please call whenever is convenient for you. Flowers are not necessary, but they would be a nice touch.”

They’d arrived back at Prudence. Pale with eyes the color of moss, Prudence possessed an ethereal quality that was completely at odds with her no-nonsense attitude. If she’d been born to a higher station, she would almost certainly have been the Incomparable of her debut Season.

“Thank you for the dance, my lord.” Cassandra took her hand from Wexford’s arm.

“It was my pleasure, Lady Cassandra. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I shall look forward to seeing you soon.” He bowed before leaving them. As he walked away, Cassandra watched his muscles ripple beneath the black superfine before tearing her gaze from him and turning toward Prudence.

“Is he going to help?” Prudence asked without preamble.

“He’s going to call on Monday. But he is certain Lucien will become angry. I should try to speak with him tomorrow.” Particularly since she’d told Wexford that she would. Also, because she really wanted to know why Lucien was being so obnoxious about Wexford of all people. They were friends, after all.

Prudence glanced toward the dance floor. “What about Lord Glastonbury?”

The Viscount Glastonbury was the single gentleman who’d called on her. They’d also danced a handful of times over the past fortnight. She’d seen him briefly this evening, but he hadn’t asked her to dance again. “He doesn’t seem to be interested in a courtship.”

Which was too bad. He was one of the only gentlemen she’d met who didn’t set her teeth on edge. He possessed both charm and wit and wasn’t completely intimidated by her father. That alone put him in a class by himself.

“You’re sure His Grace didn’t scare him off after he called?”

“I don’t think so.” Cassandra had arrived in the drawing room to find her father speaking with Glastonbury. The conversation hadn’t seemed tense, and Glastonbury hadn’t left before the requisite quarter hour. During that time, he’d been relaxed and amusing, just as he was when they danced. She realized they’d only danced once since then. Perhaps her father had said something. No, surely not. He’d commented that Glastonbury was a good candidate, and the earl wouldn’t have asked her to dance after that if he’d been warned off.

Eager to change the topic from who may or may not court her, Cassandra scanned the ballroom. “Where did Fiona go?” She and her new husband had been with Prudence when Cassandra had left to promenade with Wexford, as had her brother Constantine and his wife Sabrina.

“She and Overton went to make the rounds. They are the talk of the ball. Again,” Prudence added.

Three weeks earlier, their elopement had been the on-dit of the Season, but Overton’s mother, the dowager countess, had quashed any mention of wrongdoing. She’d declared them a love match, all but putting an end to speculation about what might have happened between Overton and his ward. Did it matter since they were lawfully and happily wed?

It did to many in Society. The ton was rapacious in its hunger for notoriety and scandal.

“Hopefully in a good way,” Cassandra said. She would hate for her friend to be subject to harassment or rudeness. “We can’t catch up properly tonight, but perhaps we’ll have time tomorrow.”

Or not. Fiona was a newlywed, and Cassandra would have to share her with Overton now. At least she still had Prudence, who’d been Fiona’s companion before the elopement. Cassandra had been thrilled when her father had hired Prudence to be her companion, particularly since her sponsor was her careless Aunt Christina. Cassandra was fond of her, but she was always abandoning Cassandra at events. Tonight was no exception since she’d arrived with Cassandra and Prudence earlier, and they hadn’t seen her since. Why Cassandra’s exacting father allowed his sister to continue in the role was beyond her, especially since Sabrina had offered to act as sponsor and had done so rather wonderfully for a short time. Until the duke had become angry with Constantine and punished him by removing Sabrina from the position.

That Cassandra couldn’t even choose her own sponsor was another point of irritation. In some ways, she was eager to marry just to get away from her controlling father. She didn’t understand his behavior this Season. He’d always been gruff and even cool, particularly after her mother had died when she was seven. But he’d also indulged her. Until this year. Now he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

Had she done something wrong?

Well, yes, she had, but no one knew about that. No one but Wexford.

And no one else ever would.

“Glastonbury is coming this way,” Prudence whispered.

Cassandra straightened her shoulders and pushed away the nagging thoughts of her father and of Wexford. Smiling brightly, she dipped a slight curtsey as the earl arrived.

“Good evening, Lady Cassandra.” He took her hand and bowed. “The ball is far more exciting with your presence.”

Where Wexford was dark with a hint of danger and wickedness, Glastonbury was golden and elegant. He looked the consummate London gentleman. His blond hair waved artfully over his forehead while his pale, blue-green eyes sparkled like the sea. His easy smile ensnared every female in its captivating web, for he had a way of making one feel as if she were the only woman in the room. Aunt Christina had made that observation. Now, as Cassandra basked in the warmth of his smile, she tried to grasp that sensation.

She just didn’t feel it—they were in a crowded ballroom. It was impossible to think she was the only woman present. Perhaps she just wasn’t romantically inclined.

“It’s lovely to see you, Lord Glastonbury,” Cassandra said as he released her hand.

“I was hoping we might dance the set after the break. I understand it’s a waltz.” His golden brows arched briefly as he gave her a flirtatious look.

They’d waltzed once before, and he was an incredibly accomplished dancer, probably the best she’d partnered with. Cassandra smiled demurely. “That would be lovely.”

“I shall look forward to it. In the meantime, I must make a quick circuit. I’ll find you back here?”

She wondered why he didn’t ask her to promenade but then didn’t care since she saw Fiona was returning toward them. “Brilliant,” she said, flashing him a brief smile and hoping he would immediately take his leave so she could have a few minutes alone with her friend. And with Prudence of course.

“See you soon then.” He departed, and Cassandra realized she and Fiona had enough time to visit the retiring room before she was due to dance with Glastonbury.

Fiona arrived, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. “My face hurts from smiling.”

Cassandra laughed lightly. “Welcome to being a countess.”

“Tobias whispered nearly the very same thing in my ear not a quarter hour ago.” She shook her head with a faint smile. “He’s off to the gaming room for a bit, so I’m quite happy for the respite.”

“Excellent, I thought we would go to the retiring room,” Cassandra said.

Fiona’s warm brown eyes lit. “This reminds me of the first time we met when you swept me away to the retiring room so we could become acquainted.” She turned to Prudence. “Not just me, of course. How are you, Pru?”

“Very well, my lady.”

“No, don’t do that.” Fiona laughed as she vigorously shook her head. “I am still Fiona to you.”

As they made their way to the retiring room, Fiona told them about their trip to Scotland. It was obvious she was blissfully happy. Cassandra was thrilled for her friend but felt a pang of envy too. One of the things they’d had in common was the fact that they were relatively alone. Both of Fiona’s parents were dead, and she’d only had her family’s long-time maid, who’d come to London with Fiona as her chaperone. Cassandra had a father and her brothers, but she still felt alone, probably because she was the only female in the family. Or because she missed her mother, especially this year, as she’d embarked on her first Season.

When they were settled in a corner of the retiring room, Fiona asked about Cassandra’s Season. “I know you aren’t betrothed yet, but are there any prospects?”

“Just Glastonbury at the moment.”

“What about Wexford? I saw you dancing with him again.” Fiona had been present at the Phoenix Club assembly when Cassandra had danced with him before. That had been the night before she and Overton had eloped.

“That was merely a ploy to provoke other parties.” Cassandra flicked an amused glance toward Prudence. “Thank our Pru for the brilliant idea of having Wexford pretend to show interest. He’s going to pay a call on Monday. Hopefully, that will calm my father into leaving me alone for a while.”

Fiona grimaced. “His pressure regarding your marriage has increased that much?”

“Daily.” Cassandra leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the arm. “He’s insisting I marry by the end of the Season. If I don’t select a husband, he’ll choose one for me.”

“How horrid.” Fiona gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to provide support, but I am glad you’ve had Prudence.” She smiled at her former companion.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do without her.” Cassandra sent Prudence a grateful glance.

“So you must wed,” Fiona said matter-of-factly. “We will find you an acceptable husband. No, not acceptable, we will find someone who will sweep you off your feet and with whom you will fall madly in love.”

“I’d prefer he fell madly in love with me first.” Then Cassandra would know things would work out, that her marriage wouldn’t be cold and lonely. She absolutely didn’t want to be in a position of unrequited love.

“How could he not?” Fiona grinned.

“Because he’s terrified of my father.” Cassandra let out a rather indelicate snort. “That seems to be the reason for my lack of suitors. They’re all completely cowed by him. It’s not that they have to work up their courage for a single interview with him, they must have the internal fortitude to suffer him for a lifetime.”

“They’re all ridiculous,” Prudence said crossly, surprising them. “If they’re not bold enough to even give you a chance, they aren’t worthy of your attention. Glastonbury may be the perfect match. You like him, don’t you?”

“I do. He’s an excellent dancer.”

“I shall hope there is more you like about him than that,” Fiona said.

What could she say? Their conversations had been shallow thus far. She hardly knew him. Still, he did possess the bravery others did not. For that, she would give him many extra points. “I am still getting to know him. So far, he’s quite pleasant.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Fiona lowered her voice and leaned slightly toward Cassandra. “Does he spark a…magnetism?”

Cassandra had used that word to describe sexual attraction to Fiona after she’d arrived in London. Fiona had been horribly unaware of such matters, not that Cassandra was an expert. “Not as yet. But he is very handsome.”

The word magnetism made her think of one man and one man only: Wexford. Ever since the incident, she felt a pull toward him. But given what had happened, that was only normal. It didn’t mean she felt anything for him or wanted to repeat their encounter.

“Well, that’s a promising start,” Fiona said. “We’ll sort this all out and by the end of the Season, I project you’ll be quite happily wed like me.”

That sear of envy returned, burning across Cassandra’s chest. She wanted that but doubted it would come to pass.

CHAPTER 2

Ruark Hannigan, Earl of Wexford, whistled as he strode into Grosvenor Square. The day was overcast, but it didn’t smell like rain. Not yet anyway.

Inhaling, he tried to determine the scent of the tulips he carried but decided they didn’t have a particularly floral fragrance. Ah well, they were available and pretty, and the yellow ones reminded him of the gown Cassandra had worn at the ball the other night.

Lady Cassandra is how he ought to think of her. But that was rather impossible given the incident that had occurred between them several weeks ago now. The incident he was supposed to forget but couldn’t manage to—not entirely anyway.

And he had tried. There were a handful of courtesans who could attest to that fact. Frowning, he suddenly realized they had been, to a one, blond and pale, as unlike Cassandra as one could get with her lush, dark hair and sultry, sherry-colored eyes. Had he done that on purpose?

Probably. She wasn’t the first woman Ruark had needed to work to forget.

The Duke of Evesham’s residence came into view. The house was one of the largest in the square, a model of opulence and wealth. It was a far cry from Ruark’s rambling medieval pile in Gloucestershire, where his mother, stepfather, and half sisters lived, and much larger than his house over on George Street. And there was simply no comparing it to his estate in Ireland, an old, ramshackle farm that would horrify every single member of the ton.

The butler answered the door, and Ruark presented his card. Smiling, he raised the flowers to chest height. “I’m here to call on Lady Cassandra.”

“Very well, come in.” The butler was perhaps twice Ruark’s twenty-seven years. Thick around the middle with a head of wiry, gray hair, he possessed a thoroughly stoic air. Very London butleresque.

“Thank you,” Ruark said cheerily as he stepped into the gleaming marble entry hall.

“The footman will show you to the drawing room. His Grace will meet you shortly.”

“Lady Cassandra too, I hope.” Ruark gave the man a wink before turning his attention to the footman who’d come forward.

Immaculately garbed in sharp livery of dark gray, the footman led Ruark into the wood-paneled stair hall and up the stairs at a maddeningly sedate pace. At this rate, he might arrive by tomorrow. He supposed the snaillike progress was designed to allow the duke and Lady Cassandra time to join him. If he made it to the drawing room.

On the journey—for it felt as long as the time required to travel from London across Wales and over the Irish Sea to his home on the west coast of Ireland—Ruark studied the portraits lining the wall above the staircase. He recognized one of his friend, Lucien, and his older brother, Constantine. They were young boys, perhaps five and seven, and even then, one could see that Constantine possessed the more serious nature, while Lucien was clearly full of mischief.

At last, they reached the top of the stairs, and the footman slightly increased his pace. When they reached the drawing room, Ruark felt as if he’d accomplished something monumental. “I think I may need to sit,” he joked.

The footman, a blank-faced man who was probably the same age as Ruark, merely stared at him. Apparently, the duke’s household was as humorless as he was. Not that Ruark knew him terribly well. He’d met him several times, of course, as Lucien’s friend. But this would be an entirely different social encounter.

“A maid will arrive shortly to take the flowers,” he said crisply.

“I hope not until Lady Cassandra has a chance to see them.” Did any of these people know how calls worked? But then Cassandra hadn’t received many callers. That, in itself, was a crime, as was the demeanor of the footman and butler. Ruark dared to hope the maid might crack a small smile.

He was to be disappointed.

As soon as the footman departed, the maid arrived. Approximately ten years older than Ruark, she regarded him with a hawklike intensity that reminded him of his nursemaid. “May I take the flowers and put them in water for her ladyship?”

“I’d prefer to wait until she can see them first. If they aren’t here when she comes in, I fear the effect of my bringing them will be ruined.” He gave her what was typically his most disarming smile, but she didn’t even blink.

Fortunately, they were interrupted by the arrival of another party. Unfortunately, it was the duke, not Cassandra.

Ruark bowed, flourishing the flowers as he presented his leg. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Lowell, take those flowers,” the duke barked.

“Are those for me?” Cassandra sailed into the room, looking fresh and lovely in a sprigged gown, the small, stitched coral and blue flowers a pleasing contrast to the white background. Her companion, Miss Lancaster, followed.

“Indeed, they are.” He presented the bouquet of yellow, purple, and red tulips to her and effected an even courtlier bow.

She took the flowers with a smile then turned to the maid. “Lowell, if you would place these in a vase, I’d be grateful. Please take them to my sitting room so I may enjoy them.”

The maid received the tulips then dipped a curtsey before leaving. Miss Lancaster went to sit near the windows.

“Shall we sit?” Cassandra suggested, moving to a settee in the center of the large room. The invitation for him to park himself beside her was silent but clear.

Ruark glanced toward her father, whose dark eyes were fixed in a peevish glower. When they were seated together on the settee, the duke took a chair opposite, his frame stiff and his features unyielding.

“What a delightful surprise to see you, Lord Wexford,” Cassandra said, nearly provoking a smirk from Ruark.

“Why are you here?” The duke gripped the arm of his chair with his right hand. The left looked as if it were about to do the same.

“I am paying a call on your lovely daughter,” Ruark said pleasantly. He knew to expect the duke’s irritation on the best of days.

The duke frowned. “You can’t mean to court her.”

“Is she already betrothed?” Ruark looked toward Cassandra in faux shock.

“No, I am not,” Cassandra answered quickly before casting a perturbed look at her father. “Please be nice to the earl.”

“He’s an Irishman.” As if that perfectly explained why he could never be nice, let alone polite.

“I’m a Protestant,” Ruark responded affably. “Surely that improves my standing.”

“Barely. Your mother was a Catholic, was she not?”

“She converted when she married my father.” That Ruark’s extended family on his mother’s side was still Catholic had proven troublesome from time to time, particularly during the rebellion some fifteen years ago. “She is quite happily Protestant now—and living in Gloucestershire.” Where Ruark had spent much of his life since his mother had remarried.

“Your father, the Earl of Wexford. Not the man your mother is married to now.”

“That’s correct. My father was also Sir Joseph Hannigan of Lechlade, an English baronetcy that dates back to the fifteenth century.” Ruark hadn’t expected to have to work quite this hard. This wasn’t even a real social call.

“He was still an Irishman.”

“With some English blood too. Some of my family from Gloucestershire settled in Ireland in the sixteenth century on the Ulster plantation. They later moved south.”

Cassandra shot her father a glare. “You needn’t badger the earl. This is my social call, after all.” She glanced toward her companion. “Prudence can chaperone. I’m sure you have plenty of things that require your attention.”

“It is my responsibility to interrogate anyone who thinks they can earn your hand.”

Ruark assumed the man had dogs. He’d certainly perfected a manner of speech that was akin to growling. “It’s all right, Lady Cassandra. I’m happy to answer your father’s questions about my ancestry.”

The duke persisted with his inquiry. “Your mother’s current husband is entirely Irish, is he not?”

“Now, that is not my ancestry and not at all germane to our conversation.” Ruark stretched his arm along the back of the settee so that his hand was behind Cassandra’s head. It was an audacious and probably inadvisable move, but he was nearing his limit.

“Your mother is, however, and she married an Irish steward.” Her father said the last as if he were discussing cow shit he’d tracked into the house.

Ruark kept a tight rein on his temper. “Would an English one have been more acceptable?”

The duke muttered something under his breath that was almost certainly not appropriate for mixed company before adding, “You are not acceptable.”

“Father!” Cassandra fisted her hands on her lap. Her brows slashed low over her golden brown eyes. “There is no call to be rude. Furthermore, I will choose who is acceptable, and I find Lord Wexford more than satisfies my requirements for a husband.”

He did? No, this was all pretend. For a moment there, Ruark’s chest tightened, and he struggled to draw a shallow breath.

“Don’t try me, Cassandra.” The duke and his daughter glared at each other. Ruark was almost enchanted by the sizzling fury racing between them. It was like watching a boxing match between two well-matched fighters. Who would emerge the victor?

The duke rose, pulling his waistcoat down to his thick waistline. “I prefer Glastonbury. I hope you haven’t frightened him off.”

Cassandra shot to her feet. “Me?” She sent another look toward her companion, and Ruark could see she was absolutely flabbergasted. “I am not the one intimidating anyone. That is entirely you. That only Glastonbury and now Wexford have called is entirely your fault. Now Wexford will go and tell everyone what a horrid beast you are, and that will probably drive Glastonbury away.”

Was Glastonbury courting her? Ruark knew him from the Black Boar, his boxing club.

“Wexford won’t do that. He’s a friend of Lucien’s, isn’t he?” It was as if Ruark wasn’t even there. Then the duke seemed to remember he was as he turned his icy stare on Ruark. “You won’t discuss this interview.”

Ruark stared at him as if he’d sprouted a third eye. “Why on earth would I?”

Her father pressed his lips together. Ruark expected steam might come pouring out his nose and ears next. “You also won’t call on my daughter again. Or ask her to dance.”

“You don’t get to dictate that,” Cassandra said in a low tone that showed she too had mastered the art of the near growl. Perhaps it was a family trait. Ruark would ask Lucien if he could do it too.

Redirecting his attention to the disaster of a social call, Ruark pulled a thin, fleeting smile. “I must admit the prospect of you as a father-in-law is rather daunting. I imagine I’m not alone in that estimation. With respect, you may want to reconsider your tactics, Your Grace.” He stood before the duke decided to throw him out then bowed to Cassandra. “As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to our next encounter.”

He shouldn’t have said the last, but he wasn’t one to back down, even if this entire call was a charade. What he hadn’t intended was for his statement to provoke a flare of heat in Cassandra’s eyes that brought to mind the incident they’d agreed to forget. He was beginning to think that would be impossible. Or that they should do it again and prove, once and for all, that it was not worth remembering.

Pulling himself from the grip of her sensuous gaze, Ruark inclined his head toward the duke. “Good afternoon.”

Then he beat a hasty retreat to the foyer that was about ten times faster than his earlier progression from that very spot. A footman opened the door, and Ruark eagerly left the ducal residence.

As he walked into the square, he ran smack into Lucien whose eyes immediately narrowed.

“Wex, what were you doing at my father’s house?”

Ruark considered saying he was looking for Lucien, but he’d see right through that. Lucien spent the majority of his time at the Phoenix Club or at his smart terrace near St. James, and Ruark knew that. He’d never go in search of him at his father’s house. “I was paying a call on your sister.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed further, and it was clear Cassandra hadn’t told him of her scheme. “What in the bloody hell are you playing at?”

Yes, in fact, Lucien could growl. “Why doesn’t the Evesham crest have a wolf?” Ruark asked.

Blinking, Lucien looked at him is if he’d gone daft in the span of five seconds. “What are you nattering about?”

“I’ve noticed you all growl, even Cassandra. Actually, I can’t attest to Aldington’s skill in that area, but I’d wager he can.”

Lucien advanced on him until they were nearly nose to nose. “How in the hell do you know whether Cassandra can growl? And why are you referring to my sister by her first name.”

Shit. “I witnessed her growling at your father a short while ago. I’ve known her for years, Lucien. It’s hard to think of her as Lady Cassandra. In fact, I’m sure she asked me to call her Cassandra at some point.” He wasn’t sure of that at all, but it wasn’t outside possible. She was a friendly young woman.

Sneering, Lucien didn’t back away. “Did you call on her?”

“As a favor, yes.” Ruark held his ground. He wasn’t going to retreat either. “She was supposed to speak with you. I told her you’d be angry.”

Scowling, Lucien took a step backward. “What favor?”

“She’s hoping my paying a call will show others that they needn’t be afraid of your father. I plan to tell everyone it went well, that the duke was surprisingly charming.”

“You’re going to lie.”

“Of course.”

Lucien gave his head a shake. “You’re a good man to help her like that. Why did she ask you?”

“We’re friends, Lucien—because she’s your sister. Just as I danced with her at that Phoenix Club assembly to save her from whatever-his-name-was, I am helping her with her current problem. She can’t get any decent interest, and your father is completely unaware of his negative impact.”

“I’m not sure he is. I think he doesn’t care.” Lucien snorted. “Actually, I think he likes intimidating everyone, especially her suitors. He’ll want a son-in-law he can manage.”

“Your sister isn’t going to marry anyone like that.”

Some of Lucien’s earlier anger flared in his dark eyes. “You think you know her so well?”

“I think I know you, and the two of you seem more alike than not, especially when it comes to listening to your father.”

“I suppose that’s true. Our father doesn’t make it easy. Not even Constantine is following his lead any longer. You should have heard the setdown he delivered the duke.” Lucien smiled broadly. “It was a lovely thing to witness. Anyway, back to this ridiculous scheme of Cass’s. You’re going to spread it around that my father isn’t the domineering ass everyone thinks him to be? I don’t know if people will believe you.”

“Then perhaps you and Aldington should lend your assistance. Since you said he’s not following your father’s lead anymore, he would surely be willing to help his sister in this matter. The two of you need to say the same thing and encourage some gentlemen to come forward.”

“That’s just it. We don’t know any. I can’t think of any that would interest Cass.”

“Is that true, or is there no one you think is good enough?” Ruark arched a brow at his friend. “I know you think I’m not.”

“That’s not the issue, and you know it.” The growl had crept back into Lucien’s voice. How had Ruark not noticed that before? Because he hadn’t heard three immediate family members make the same sound within an hour before today. “You’ve promised not to wed until you’re thirty, remember?”

How could Ruark ever forget the vow he’d made to his father when he’d been just six years old? His father had been wounded and ill and would in fact die just a few days following the promise Ruark had given him.

“Swear to me you won’t wed until you’re mature enough to know your mind and your heart. Don’t do as I did and surrender to lust thinking it was love.”

Ruark hadn’t understood what lust meant, but he heard and saw his father’s earnestness in delivering this message. It was of the utmost importance that Ruark listen, understand, and pledge to do as his father said. Since he’d been so ill, Ruark would have promised him anything.

“When will I know, Da?” Ruark had asked.

“If you think you’re in love, know that it won’t last. Not for you and not for her. This may happen a number of times. Mayhap one will be lasting true love, but you won’t be able to tell until you’ve lived and learned. I was just twenty-one when I wed your mother. Far too young to know my mind, let alone my heart.”

“So I should wait until I’m twenty-eight, like you are now, Da?”

“Say thirty, just to be safe. Promise me you won’t wed until then, Ro.”

His father had always called him Ro. “I promise.” Ruark had crossed his fingers over his heart and clutched his father’s hand.

“Just so,” Ruark said, in response to Lucien’s query. “I’ve three years until I can wed, and I may not even do it then.” It had been an arbitrary number, representative of a time when he might know his mind and heart. So far, his father’s counsel had been both prognosticative and helpful. Ruark would likely have married the first woman who’d captured his heart at the ignorant age of eighteen. Or he would have created an absolute scandal by trying to wed his mistress three years later. That alone proved Ruark was a blockheaded romantic who had no business getting married for quite some time. All he knew for certain was that he wouldn’t wed until he was at least thirty. No matter what.

“In the meantime, I will help your sister if I can.” Ruark continued benignly. “Shouldn’t you want that? And not just because she’s your sister, but because you’ve rather made an occupation out of helping people.”

Lucien actually winced, surprising Ruark. “I may take a hiatus from that work. It seems I’ve overstepped recently.”

“You’ve also done a lot of good.” Ruark was probably only aware of a fraction of the people he’d helped find employment or aided with a difficult situation, but it was enough to know that Lucien had one of the kindest and most generous hearts he’d ever known. The Phoenix Club in itself was a thoughtful and benevolent endeavor, an exclusive place where some who would never be accepted anywhere else were warmly invited and included. As an Irishman, Ruark was well aware of prejudice and what it felt like to be on the outside—something Cassandra’s father had just reminded him.

“I appreciate that.” Lucien glanced toward his father’s house. “I suppose I should pay the visit I’d intended. I’ll speak with Cassandra about her plan.”

Ruark nodded. “See you later at the club?” He was a founding member of the Phoenix Club and even sat on the secret membership committee, which was now known—rather infamously—as the Star Chamber.

“Yes.” Lucien moved past him then said, “Just promise me you aren’t actually courting my sister and won’t.”

Ruark turned to see his friend watching him expectantly. “If you’re concerned that your sister has found her way under my skin and that I’ve developed a tendre for her, I have not. See you later.”

Pivoting on his heel, Ruark strode away. He may not have a tendre for Cassandra, but thanks to a chance encounter in a cupboard, she was most certainly under his skin.

CHAPTER 3

C assandra and Prudence arrived at Overton House on Brook Street for the first time since Fiona had become mistress of the house. The butler showed them into the drawing room where Fiona awaited them.

“Fiona, you suddenly appear quite matronly, and I mean that in the most complimentary sense. Marriage agrees with you,” Cassandra said as she removed her gloves and took a seat on the settee in the center of the room.

Fiona perched on a chair next to the settee, and Prudence sat on another settee opposite Cassandra.

“Thank you,” Fiona said with a light laugh. “I don’t feel matronly. I don’t feel all that different, truth be told.”

Cassandra gave her a skeptical look. “That can’t be. You’re married now. Surely many things have changed.”

Fiona blushed. “Some things, yes,” she murmured. “Oh! I am officially a member of the Phoenix Club now. That’s new.”

Envy slashed through Cassandra, but it was silly to be upset over something she couldn’t control. As an unmarried young lady, Cassandra wasn’t eligible to receive an invitation. She summoned a smile and spoke the truth. “I’m so thrilled for you! Now you can go to all the assemblies. And even visit the men’s side of the club on Tuesdays.”

The Phoenix Club was a singular organization, and it was owned by Cassandra’s brother Lucien. The membership was rather unusual, with not a duke among them. Though, Cassandra believed there were a few heirs to dukedoms, including her brother Constantine. What made the membership so unusual was that it included women. An exclusive club with men and women simply didn’t exist in Society. They were kept separate, however, with a ladies’ side and a men’s side. Ladies were permitted entry into the men’s side on Tuesday evenings, whilst the men were never allowed in the ladies’ side, save when the ballroom that spanned both sides was open for an assembly. And even then, they weren’t permitted to leave the ballroom except to go outside to the ladies’ garden.

The club held assemblies every Friday during the Season starting in March. Young, unmarried ladies with sponsors or relatives who were members were allowed to attend, which was how Cassandra had gone to her one and only assembly a few weeks ago.

“We plan to go tonight,” Fiona said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It won’t be the same without you, however.”

Cassandra and Fiona had disguised themselves as Phoenix Club maids several weeks earlier and stolen into the club, certain they would never have an opportunity to see the inside. During their visit, they’d infiltrated the men’s side, getting so far as the first floor before nearly being caught, which had separated them for a while.

“At least this time, you won’t be in danger of discovery. You’ve every right to be there.” Another pang of envy shot through Cassandra. Perhaps after she was married, she’d receive an invitation. She supposed it depended on whether her husband was a member. Although, there were some members whose spouses were not members. In fact, her sister-in-law Sabrina had received an invitation before Cassandra’s brother, Constantine. But then Con hadn’t wanted to be a member, not until his wife was one. Cassandra, on the other hand, was desperate to receive an invitation.

Why was that?

Because she’d always felt lonely, and the idea of having a place to go on any given day where she would find camaraderie was irresistible.

“I suppose so,” Fiona said. “I shall hope you will marry soon so that you can become a member, and we can go together.”

“I doubt that will happen. Wexford made his faux call yesterday, and it was not well met.” Cassandra grimaced.

Fiona frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“My father was as obnoxious as ever. You should have heard him interrogating Wexford about his ancestry. He was quite horrid.” Cassandra recalled the conversation, in particular Wexford’s reaction and response. “The earl held his own, however.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I was. Most men would have genuflected or fled. Wexford indicated he would continue his pursuit—fake as it may be—despite my father saying he would not approve of his courtship.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Wexford doesn’t strike me as the sort to cower or be managed. Not that I know him very well, but that is my impression.” Fiona cocked her head. “Why doesn’t your father approve?”

“Because he’s Irish, and his mother used to be Catholic. But mostly because his mother married the Irish steward of their estate after Wexford’s father died.” Cassandra leaned forward and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Total scandal.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Ridiculous. I can only imagine what he thinks of me, a country nobody marrying an earl—my guardian, no less.”

“If he has a negative opinion about that, he’s keeping it to himself.”

“I should hope so since we are close friends.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t stop him. After all, Wexford is one of Lucien’s dearest friends. He won’t comment on you because the dowager countess has given you her seal of approval. That sort of endorsement goes a long way with my father.” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The dowager countess was Fiona’s grandmother-in-law. She’d arrived the day before the elopement and had crushed every rumor or negative piece of gossip with the force of a hurricane. A very prim and controlled hurricane, but she possessed the strength of a storm, nonetheless.

“So, Wexford will continue his faux courtship?” Fiona asked.

“I think so. We haven’t spoken since he left yesterday. I will look for him tomorrow evening at the Farrowsby rout and discuss our plans.” Cassandra wasn’t certain the ruse would even work. No one wanted to court her because her father was so bloody intimidating. His behavior with Wexford was exactly what everyone feared.

“Tell her the truth.” Prudence spoke for the first time. It was not unusual for her to say nothing when they were out, as she was a woman of few words. However, in this instance, she was well acquainted with both Cassandra and Fiona and likely felt comfortable. As comfortable as Prudence ever was. Cassandra wasn’t sure that her companion was ever truly at ease. She was perhaps the most guarded person Cassandra had ever met. Despite that, she was wonderfully supportive and an excellent confidante.

“What truth is that?” Cassandra asked in mock ignorance.

Prudence narrowed her eyes playfully before turning her attention to Fiona. “Cassandra remains rather ambivalent about the whole prospect of marriage.”

“That’s not surprising,” Fiona said. “I’m sure I would be too, if I hadn’t fallen in love with Tobias.”

Cassandra and Fiona had been united in their desire to avoid marriage, at least in the short term, while they enjoyed their first Season. But both were being pressed to wed—Fiona because her former guardian wished to get her off his hands and Cassandra because it was “past time” according to her father. She knew he would consider it a personal failure if his only daughter didn’t wed during her first Season.

Fiona looked at her with sympathy. “Is there any chance of simply telling your father you’d like to postpone getting married until next year?”

“I’m not sure I want to do that. I think I’d like to get away from him, actually.” It was becoming stressful to deal with his near daily lectures about duty. “If I can just find a gentleman who isn’t completely intimidated by my father and who could love me, I’ll be satisfied.”

Fiona’s brow furrowed. “Satisfied doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“Said the woman who just eloped to Gretna Green with the man she loves.” Cassandra laughed. “We can’t all live a fairy tale, Fi. I’ll be happy to settle for someone with whom I share an affinity and the hope that we will fall in love.” That wasn’t her preference of course, but it was becoming apparent that settling might be required.

“I will still hope that love comes first.”

Cassandra would hope for that too, but would also strive to be optimistic, difficult as that may be sometimes. “My brother didn’t fall in love first. Con married Sabrina because it was arranged, and now look at them. Well, you may not know, but they are entirely devoted to one another. It’s quite wonderful.”

“That’s one example then.” Fiona looked as though she was also trying to be optimistic, but that mayhap she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“My mother told me once that while my father swept her off her feet at the start, it wasn’t until after they were wed that they fell in love.” Cassandra spoke softly, tentatively. Both Fiona and Prudence were staring at her. And both tried to mask their surprise. Because Cassandra rarely spoke of her mother.

“I didn’t know that.” Fiona smiled. “What a nice memory. I’m so glad you shared it with us.”

“I wish I knew more than that,” Cassandra admitted. “But my father refuses to talk about her, and since she died when I was seven, I don’t have a great many recollections.” That one had stuck with her, though. Probably because in the years since, she’d clung to the idea that her parents had loved each other. Her father certainly didn’t discuss it, nor did he use the word love with regard to his children. Not even Constantine, whom he clearly adored.

“I learned something rather shocking just before I left with Tobias,” Fiona said quietly, her gaze on her lap. She lifted her head to look at Prudence and Cassandra. “This is just between us, of course. My father and Tobias’s were lovers. That’s how I came to be Tobias’s father’s ward after my mother died. Then when the Earl of Overton died, I became Tobias’s ward. It explains a great deal as to why my mother often seemed sad.”

Cassandra reached toward Fiona and took her hand, giving her a squeeze. “I didn’t realize your mother was sad. I suppose I’ve avoided talking about our mothers.” She sniffed then let Fiona go.

“I have too, somewhat. I loved my mother, but there was a part of her I never knew.” Fiona looked toward Prudence. “What of your mother, Pru? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned any of your family.”

Prudence, who was already quite fair, appeared to lose a shade of color. “My family is, ah, gone. My mother passed two years ago. We were very close. I miss her a great deal.” Her voice was small and thin, and Cassandra resisted the urge to leap over and hug her. Prudence did not seem to be a demonstrative sort of person.

“I’m so sorry, Pru,” Cassandra said with great warmth. If she couldn’t hug her physically, she would at least try to convey her emotional support.

“I am too,” Fiona said. “If you’d like to tell us about her, I’d love to hear.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement. “Yes, please.”

Prudence’s mouth turned up slightly, but it wasn’t really a smile. “Thank you. There isn’t much to tell, but I appreciate your sympathy. Should we return to the discussion regarding your faux courtship with Wexford?”

Since Prudence clearly didn’t want to discuss her mother, Cassandra wouldn’t press. She was not an insensitive beast like her father. “I’ll speak with Wexford tomorrow evening and come up with a plan. Hopefully he’ll agree to continue asking me to dance from time to time and perhaps take me for the occasional promenade. I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince him to call on me again,” she added wryly. “He may not be interested in doing any of this at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is eager to be done helping me, despite holding his own in front of my father yesterday.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Fiona said. “But I suppose you’ll find out tomorrow.”

Yes, she would, even as an annoying voice at the back of her mind said it was foolish to continue this association with him. She was having a devil of a time forgetting about the incident and given their mentions of it the other night at the ball, he seemed to be too. Or perhaps that was just her wishful thinking.

She looked at her friend and her companion, both of whom would keep any secret she revealed. Even so, she couldn’t tell them about the incident. She and Wexford had sworn they would keep it between them.

They’d also promised to forget it ever happened. So far, that wasn’t working out so well.

Six weeks earlier…

“Shh. Did you hear that?” Cassandra whispered, looking toward a closed pair of doors leading from the Phoenix Club ballroom. She’d heard voices coming from the other side.

Dressed as maids, complete with copies of the club’s livery of gray gowns, green aprons, and white caps, she and Fiona had stolen into the club to see the interior. And she was not about to allow them to be caught.

Cassandra grasped Fiona’s hand and pulled her toward a wide archway cloaked with a thick curtain. She released Fiona and slowly opened the drape. “Stair hall.” Inclining her head for Fiona to follow, she held the curtain until Fiona passed through.

Standing in the stair hall, they could see directly into the entry where a footman stood near the door. He didn’t see them, but if he pivoted, he would. Damn, Cassandra had so wanted to see the massive portrait featuring Pan that Lucien had commissioned.

“Upstairs!” she whispered urgently, dashing for the stairs. Fiona followed, and as they climbed, Cassandra couldn’t help muttering, “So close to seeing the bacchanalia portrait.”

At the top of the stairs, they arrived at a landing. Another voice sounded from the right, heightening Cassandra’s apprehension.

She couldn’t get caught. Not in her brother’s club. She dashed across the landing to a closed door and slipped inside, holding it open for Fiona.

Only Fiona didn’t follow. Peering out of the large cupboard, Cassandra saw her dart to the left—toward the voice! What on earth was she doing?

Then there were more voices, and Cassandra hurriedly closed the door with a soft snick. Cloaked in darkness, she pressed back against the shelves, her breath shallow as her pulse raced.

The sounds of people moving in front of the door were unmistakable. Where was Fiona? Had she been caught?

Panic rose in Cassandra’s throat, and she threw herself to the other side of the cupboard, which was perhaps four feet wide. She preferred to be on the backside of the door in case someone opened it. Hopefully, she’d be able to remain hidden.

Worry over Fiona warred with fear of being caught. Then she heard footfalls on the stairs and the voices began to grow quieter. It seemed she was safe…

Exhaling, she let the tension flow out of her and leaned back. Something crashed to the floor, spiking her fear once more. She stepped forward and froze, holding her breath.

While she prayed no one had heard the noise, she swore she heard a step outside the closet. The door creaked inward. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping.

“Is there someone in here? Everything all right?”

Oh God, she knew that voice. The silken Irish lilt was absolutely unmistakable.

“I can hear you breathing,” he said.

Cassandra held her breath again, tightening her hand over her mouth. She also closed her eyes, which was ridiculous. How would that keep her from being discovered?

“Why are you here in the dark?” he asked. “Are you hiding? Should I tell someone you’re here?”

Surrendering to the panic, Cassandra reached out and pushed at the door, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. “No!” The word came out as an urgent, plaintive whisper.

The door clicked shut, and she realized he was now inside with her.

“I knew there was someone in here.” He sounded like he was smiling. “Are you all right? I heard a crash.”

“I’m fine. You can go.” Please go.

“Why are you hiding in the dark?”

Cassandra’s mind scrambled. She worked to deepen her voice so that he wouldn’t recognize her as she’d recognized him. “I’m a new maid. I’m, er, taking a moment to rest.” She spoke in a near-whisper.

“Ah, don’t want to get caught slacking off.” He chuckled. “I can understand that. Welcome to the Phoenix Club. I didn’t realize Lucien—Lord Lucien—had hired anyone recently.”

Would Wexford know of such things? Was he a member of the secret membership committee?

“It’s my first day.” As if that explained anything. “I just needed a respite. I should get back to work.”

“I will let you get to it.”

Oh no, he was going to open the door and escort her out, probably. Which meant he’d see her. And recognize her. She couldn’t have that.

“You go first, my lord. I wouldn’t want to be seen leaving this cupboard with you.”

There was a beat of silence, and the air in the small space seemed to shift. “Do you know who I am?” he asked softly. When she didn’t respond, he said, “You sound familiar, and if I’m honest, not at all like a maid.”

Hell. “Please go,” she pleaded. “Before you get me into trouble.”

“I have a feeling you’re already in trouble.” He sounded far too amused. Cassandra wanted to kick him in the shin.

“Are you really a maid?” He’d moved closer. She could feel his proximity even if she couldn’t see him.

“I am.” She reached out and found his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and of course neither was she because maids didn’t wear gloves. She took his hand and put it on her waist. “Can you feel my apron? I’m also wearing a cap.”

He gently gripped her waist then fingered the fabric. “Hmm, I suppose it feels like an apron.” He skimmed his hand up and encountered her breast, provoking her to gasp. He pulled his hand away. “That wasn’t well done of me. I was only trying to determine if you were actually wearing an apron. This seems a risky endeavor.”

The touch of his hand against her breast had brought back the sense of panic from earlier. No, not panic, but a similar sensation in which she couldn’t breathe properly, and a forbidden excitement unfurled inside her. She’d spoken to Fiona about magnetism—the attraction one could feel toward someone—and Cassandra suspected that was what was she was experiencing.

“You know what two people who are trapped alone together in a dark space typically do, don’t you?” His query was dark and husky, and it slid over her skin like a luxurious silk.

“No.” Her response was a croak, as if she’d swallowed a frog. Frogs always made her think of kissing. Oh! She thought she knew the answer now.

“They kiss,” he said, affirming her guess. “But I can’t kiss a maid. That wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m not a maid,” she blurted.

“What about your apron?” His hand found her head, and he tugged gently on her cap. “And this. And the fact that you insisted you are. You certainly seem to be a maid.”

“Are you going to kiss me or not? If not, you need to go.” Why was she inviting his attention? This was madness. Coming here disguised as a maid had been madness. She ought to demand he leave and pray she could still escape without him discovering her identity. Or without being caught by someone else.

And what had happened to poor Fiona?

“I should go,” he whispered. “But you are rather commanding, and I like it.” Suddenly, he pulled her against him, and his mouth grazed her cheek. Then, as he apparently found his bearing, his lips moved over hers and all the thoughts running around in Cassandra’s brain fled to the perimeter. She was overcome with heat and sensation.

She put her hands on his shoulders, anchoring herself as her world tipped sideways. His arms tightened around her, one circling her waist and the other cupping her head, as his lips and tongue danced merrily against her mouth.

As far as first kisses went, she had to think this one was rather spectacular, but how would she know?

Because she knew. Her insides had somehow turned to a molten pool of desire, bringing to mind cravings she’d read about but hadn’t experienced herself. As his tongue slid along her lower lip, she gasped softly, opening her mouth.

He pulled back. “Who are you?”

In response, she curled her hands behind his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again. She wasn’t finished. Who knew when she would ever experience anything like this again? Or if she would.

Copying what he’d done, she licked his lip. His mouth opened and then his tongue met hers. The kiss transformed then, intensifying every sensation, making her toes curl and her skin tingle. Heat gathered in the most private part of herself, a part her governess had once told her she must ignore until she was wed.

She couldn’t ignore it now, nor did she want to. It throbbed with desire, a need to be touched. Wexford pulled her hips against him, sending a flash of longing straight through her. This was spectacular. And it couldn’t continue.

It seemed he’d come to the same conclusion, for they pulled away from each other at the same moment. She pressed back against the shelves, and he stepped away from her. At least, she thought he did because she could no longer feel his closeness, his intoxicating heat.

“I really need to go now. I sincerely hope you aren’t a maid. I’m not in the habit of making advances or taking liberties.”

“I invited you.” Like some sort of wanton. “Don’t blame yourself. Just pretend this never happened.”

“That will be very hard to do. And anyway, even if you aren’t a maid, I shouldn’t have been so bold—invitation or not.” He only sounded a tiny bit regretful, which made her happy since she felt no remorse whatsoever.

She heard the humor in his voice and was glad for it. “Go now.”

The air shifted as he moved again and then the door opened, allowing light into the cupboard. Still tucked behind the door, Cassandra turned her head toward the corner in case he looked back.

“Cassandra?”

She should have pressed herself into the corner and bowed her head. Instead, she heard her name and reacted without thinking.

Turning her head, she met his eyes and watched in dismay as they rounded in recognition.

“Bloody hell.”

CHAPTER 4

Ruark closed the door and stared into the darkness toward his best friend’s sister. Who he’d just thoroughly kissed. Twice. And who he was considering kissing a third time.

Which he could not.

“You’re worse than a maid,” he ground out.

“How can that be?”

“Do I really have to explain?” Her silence was his answer. “You’re the daughter of a bloody duke—and a rather frightening one at that. You’re the sister of my best friend who would skewer me on a pike if he found out about this. You’re an unwed young lady who has now been compromised.” Oh shit, he was going to have to marry her. Cold sweat broke out along his neck and forehead.

“I haven’t either. No one saw us, and no one, especially Lucien, need ever know this happened. I’m not even supposed to be here!” She spoke in an agitated whisper.

No, she wasn’t supposed to be here. This was a private club, of which she was not a member. “Are you really dressed as a maid?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see the inside of the club. I disguised myself as a maid so I could look around.”

He couldn’t speak for a brief moment past the incredulity clogging his throat. “Are you actually wearing a green apron?” In his shock, he hadn’t even registered what she was wearing before closing the door and plunging them into darkness once more.

“I am.” She sounded proud, and he had to admit a certain sense of admiration for her commitment to accuracy. “However, I was not aware that it should also have the club’s symbol.”

“That would have been hard to duplicate, unless you stole one of the club’s aprons.” Why was he standing here in a dark cupboard discussing this with her? She needed to leave! “You chose a particularly awful day for your brazen scheme. There are meetings going on with several people from Society present. The chances of you being seen are far greater than on any other day.”

“Bloody perfect,” she muttered. “What am I to do?”

“I need to get to the ballroom. It’s likely I’ve already been missed, so I’ll need to come up with an excuse for my tardiness. Everyone will be there for at least a quarter hour, I should think. Now would be the best time for you to go. Can you find your way out?”

She hesitated. “I don’t think so. I came through the ballroom. Clearly I can’t return that way.”

“No, you absolutely cannot. When you leave the cupboard, go to the left. Find the door to the terrace and then make your way down to the garden. There’s a door hidden in the wall to the left. That will take you out to Bury Street.” And then what? She’d just hail a hack? He couldn’t send the Duke of Evesham’s daughter out into London by herself. “Hell, are you alone?”

“Yes.” There was a slight delay in her response that made him think she was lying. But he was running out of time and wouldn’t press the issue. “I should just take you home. I’ll tell Lucien I forgot an appointment.”

“I got here on my own, and I’ll leave on my own,” she said with a haughtiness he would expect from Evesham’s daughter. “You need to be on your way.”

For some reason, he was rooted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I wouldn’t have if I’d known who you were.” Even so, regret was not an emotion he felt at the moment.

“As I said before, let us pretend this never happened.”

“Yes.” That’s precisely what they needed to do. “We’ll never speak of it. Not to anyone else and not to each other.”

“Agreed.”

“I hope you get away without incident.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” she said wryly.

Ruark couldn’t help chuckling. He’d always liked Cassandra. She possessed a superior wit and intelligence. “I hope you escape without further incident. Keep your head down and move quickly.”

“I will as soon as you leave.”

“I’m leaving now. Please be careful. Lucien will never forgive me if something happens to you.” Lucien would never forgive him if he found out what had just happened.

She made a sound low in her throat. “He’ll be furious if he catches me.” That was certainly true.

“Make haste, Cassandra,” Ruark said just before he slipped from the cupboard.

The landing was empty, and he hurried toward the ballroom. His body still thrummed with a smoldering passion stirred by Cassandra’s kisses.

Cassandra.

Lucien’s sister.

Ruark had to forget it had ever occurred. Finally, when he reached the ballroom, regret surfaced in his mind. Unfortunately, it was because he hadn’t kissed her a third time.

Present day…

The blow hit Ruark square in the gut, doubling him back over and sending a wave of pain clear to his spine.

“Where’d you go?” Mort, his pugilism coach and sparring partner, asked as Ruark staggered backward.

“Nowhere. I’ve been right here the whole time, as evidenced by the hit you just landed.” He rubbed his bare hand over his bare abdomen.

“Not physically, you dolt. In your head.” Mort tapped his temple. “You weren’t engaged. Your mind was off somewhere.” Mort was too damn smart. That was one reason Ruark had hired him as his coach three years ago.

Ruark had been locked in the memory of Cassandra’s embrace, a frustratingly regular occurrence over the past several weeks. “I’m just tired. You’re making me work rather hard today.” He wiped his hand over his brow, which was dripping sweat.

“Bah, no harder than usual.” At fifty, Mortimer Dodd was in better shape than most men could ever hope to be. With shoulders as broad as a hundred-year-old oak and the ability to outrun men half his age—including Ruark—he was perfectly suited to train young pugilists hoping to find their fortune in the ring. He was also well-equipped to work with idle noblemen who enjoyed hitting people. No, it was more than that for Ruark. He appreciated the strategy of facing off against an opponent and of pushing himself to the limit.

“You’re distracted,” Mort persisted, his wide forehead and partially bald pate glistening with sweat. “I’ve noticed it the past fortnight at least.”

Ruark snorted as he moved out of the practice ring. “I doubt that. You’re confusing me with someone else probably.”

Mort followed him from the ring. “Keep telling yourself that, Wexford.” The older man’s laugh held an annoying confidence. But he was right. He would no sooner confuse Ruark with another than Ruark would find a new coach. Because Mort was much more than that. In some ways, he was the father Ruark wished he had.

“I might be a little distracted. I agreed to do a favor for a friend, and it’s not working out very well.” Because her father was an ass, and her brother was a pain in one.

Reaching for a towel hanging from a hook on the wall, Mort wiped his face. “What’s her name?”

Ruark pulled another towel from a neighboring hook. “It’s not a woman,” he lied.

“We met three years ago when you came here to my cousin’s club looking to forget something. Rather, someone, as I later learned. I still remember her name, do you?”

Of course he did. Ruark remembered all their names. And their faces. And a myriad of other details. Cassandra was different, however. Any attachment between him and her was purely fabricated for the purposes of encouraging other gentleman to court her. The incident between them was just…an incident. That would not be repeated.

Dammit, he never should have agreed to help her, not when he’d failed to put her, and more importantly, the incident, from his mind. However, the very next time he’d seen her after their encounter, he’d offered his help should she ever need it. Since then, he’d felt beholden.

Really? You hadn’t just wanted to help her? More accurately, you weren’t hoping for a reason to remain connected to her?

“Why are you scowling?” Mort asked, his mouth tilting into a lopsided smile.

Ruark schooled his features as he wiped the towel over the back of his neck. “Because you’re bringing up ancient history.”

“History that likes to repeat, if I remember correctly. Nuala wasn’t the first woman who drew your eye.”

“I obviously revealed too much of myself to you.”

“’Twasn’t me, but the gin.” He winked at Ruark, his grin wide and revealing the gap where one of his upper teeth beyond the canine had been knocked out in a bout. “A truthteller, that is.”

Ruark grunted. “I’m going to change clothes.” He turned and strode toward the dressing room.

“Do what you must to expel her from your mind before our next practice,” Mort called after him. “A good shag’d work things out, I wager.”

As if Ruark could just shag Cassandra and that would be the end of it. That would be the bloody beginning. Hell, he’d been afraid he would have to marry her. When a gentleman compromised a lady, that typically followed. But he hadn’t known she was a lady!

Not that the detail mattered. They hadn’t been seen, so she hadn’t technically been compromised. Besides, it was just a kiss. Two kisses. Plenty of young ladies kissed a beau once or twice. Didn’t they? Or had that just been his experience because he’d let things go a trifle too far with Freya and Nuala before severing their associations?

“Pardon me.”

Ruark stopped short. Blinking, he realized he’d been about to barrel straight into the Viscount Glastonbury. While Ruark didn’t know him intimately, they ran into each other here at the club since Glastonbury trained with the owner, Mort’s cousin Fred.

Glastonbury! Cassandra had said he’d called on her, and Ruark had seen her dancing with him at the ball the other night. A waltz, so perhaps he was truly interested in courting her. Ruark hoped so since it seemed Evesham approved of him.

“Sorry about that,” Ruark said with a smile. “I was thinking of my practice with Mort.” He glanced at the viscount’s attire, or rather, lack thereof, and determined he must be on his way to practice.

Glastonbury’s pale gaze fixed on Ruark’s chin. “I see he nailed you pretty good.”

Chuckling, Ruark rubbed his knuckles against his tender flesh. “Wasn’t fast enough today.”

“Hard to be fast with either of those Dodds, though I’ll put my money on Fred.” As the wirier of the two, Fred was a bit faster—on a good day.

“I’ll take Mort in the fight,” Ruark said. “He can knock down a tree.”

Glastonbury smiled. “He can indeed.”

“Say, didn’t I see you dancing with Lady Cassandra Westbrook the other night?” It was an inelegant transition, but Ruark didn’t see another way to broach the topic.

“Probably. I’ve danced with her a few times.” His fair brows pulled together. “Do you have some attachment to her?”

“Her brother, Lord Lucien, is a close friend.”

“Did he send you to warn me off on behalf of the duke?” Glastonbury frowned. “I thought I’d passed muster when I called on her.”

A pair of young bucks strolled toward them, their expressions eager. “Glastonbury, we’ve heard a rumor that Fred’s having a prizefight? What do you know of it?”

Glastonbury smiled. “You’ll need to speak with him. I haven’t heard this rumor.”

The lads exchanged disappointed looks then strode past.

Leaning toward Ruark, Glastonbury lowered his voice. “There is a prizefight, but you know how these things work.”

Secret until the last possible moment so it wouldn’t be stopped since such events weren’t legal. “How do you know about it?”

“Because I’m fighting in it.” Glastonbury’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

Absurdly, Ruark felt excluded. Why hadn’t he been asked to fight? He was one of the best in the club. And if that wasn’t the most obnoxious thing Ruark had ever thought, he’d eat his stockings. “How did that come about?”

“I’m doing it as a favor to Fred.”

“You could get seriously injured,” Ruark said, even as he felt a stab of envy. Fighting in front of a massive crowd would be something special.

Glastonbury lifted a shoulder. “Not likely. I’m pretty good, if I may say so. And I’m fast. Who wouldn’t want to do it?”

“I would’ve said yes too.” In fact, he had half a mind to angle for another spot. Mayhap he’d even fight Glastonbury.

“You should tell Mort or Fred. Or both. Perhaps there’s an opening in the earlier bout.”

“There’s more than one?” Ruark asked.

“Two, just in case one ends quickly, I suppose.”

“Glastonbury!” Fred Dodd bellowed from the cavernous main room. “Are you coming out here or not?”

“Coming!” Glastonbury responded before giving Ruark an apologetic smile. “See you, Wexford.” He moved past Ruark.

“See you.” Ruark continued into the dressing room.

As he washed up and changed his clothes, the thought of fighting in front of a crowd persisted. He’d never done that and had to admit the notion was thrilling.

The idea took root in his mind and did a fair job of pushing Cassandra aside. Right up until he left the dressing room and caught sight of Glastonbury in the ring sparring with Fred.

The viscount was fast. And nimble. He caught Fred’s shoulder and his stomach with two quick jabs, impressing Ruark. Depending on Glastonbury’s opponent, the prizefight might be very entertaining.

But Glastonbury reminded him of Cassandra, dammit. It sounded as if the viscount could court her—if he wished. Cassandra seemed amenable, and the duke had said he preferred the viscount to Ruark.

The duke would have preferred a gutter rat to Ruark.

Leaving the club, Ruark strode into Covent Garden where he hailed a hack to Mayfair. Mort’s words haunted his brain: History that likes to repeat, if I remember correctly.

He wasn’t wrong, as much as Ruark wanted to deny it. Which was why Ruark couldn’t let it repeat. Not this time. Not with Cassandra.

He needed to distance himself from her—and fast.

CHAPTER 5

When Cassandra reached the bottom of the staircase the following evening, she nearly tripped on the bottom step because her father was waiting for her. Arms clasped behind his back, his paunch sticking out, sable eyes fixed and expectant as they landed on her, he struck an imposing figure. Or he would to anyone else. To her, he was just her father standing between her and the coach that would deliver her from his meddling.

Summoning a smile that she hoped would take any potential sting from his coming lecture, she dipped a brief curtsey, knowing he would appreciate that. “Good evening, Papa. You can’t be coming with us to the rout.” He wasn’t dressed for it, thank goodness.

“Of course not, but perhaps I should.” He seemed to ponder her now regrettable comment.

“But Prudence and I are ready to leave,” Cassandra said serenely, glancing at her companion over her shoulder as Prudence descended the lower portion of the stairs.

“I wanted to see you before you go.” He swept his gaze over her with approval, and Cassandra exhaled in relief, both because she seemed to meet his expectations and that he wasn’t going to attend the rout with them. Glancing about, he frowned. “Where is my sister?”

“My sponsor said she would meet us at the rout.” Cassandra didn’t bother keeping the terseness from her voice. She didn’t mind him knowing that she was annoyed with her aunt’s behavior. In fact, she wished he’d reinstate her sister-in-law Sabrina as her sponsor.

“That isn’t acceptable,” he said with deep disapproval.

“Sabrina would be here,” Cassandra murmured, unable to help herself.

The duke scowled. “What reason did Christina give for not coming here to escort you?”

Cassandra leveled her gaze with his. “None.”

Muttering something under his breath, her father unclasped his hands and took a step toward her. “I’ll speak with my sister. In the meantime, if she is not awaiting you at the rout, you must return home immediately. Perhaps you shouldn’t even go.”

“What of my marital prospects?” she asked with faux distress, as if she cared half as much as he did about finding a husband this Season.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be saucy. Fine, you’ll go, but you’ll come right back if Christina isn’t waiting for you.” He turned his attention to Prudence. “Miss Lancaster, I’m counting on you to steer this situation.”

Prudence inclined her head. “You have my word, Your Grace.”

Since Cassandra would never endanger Prudence’s position, she wondered if they were about to embark on a folly in which they drove to the rout only to turn around and come home. An idea slipped into her mind, and she decided to take the opportunity to press a request that her father had so far belligerently refused her.

“Hopefully, she will be there,” Cassandra said smoothly. “If not, I’ll miss the chance to see if Wexford’s call the other day encouraged anyone else to come forward. In that instance, perhaps it would be prudent to allow me to attend the Phoenix Club assembly on Friday. It is well attended, and many young ladies are on the Marriage Mart there.”

Cassandra held her breath. He’d allowed her to go to the first one of the Season, after the club had changed its rules to allow family of members to attend the assemblies. This had encouraged a robust Marriage Mart at the club assemblies so far this Season. Since her brother was the owner—and now her other brother and his wife were members—Cassandra could easily attend.

“I can’t imagine the prospects are very good there,” her father said with a touch of derision. He did not support his son’s endeavor and seemed unaware of how popular the club had become or how sought after the invitations were.

“How would you know?” Cassandra kept her voice even. “What I mean is, you haven’t been, but Sabrina thinks it would be beneficial if I attended. Will you please at least consider it?” She brought forth another smile and added, “Please, Papa?”

His features softened. “I’ll consider it,” he said gruffly. “But I make no promises.”

Cassandra swept toward him and stood on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. We’ll come right home if Aunt Christina isn’t at the rout.” She looked back to Prudence and moved her eyes toward the door in silent communication that they leave immediately.

Prudence curtsied to the duke and followed Cassandra from the house.

Once they were settled in the ducal coach, Cassandra blew out a breath. “For a moment there, I thought he was going to make us stay home.”

“We may still end up back there,” Prudence said a bit darkly.

“True.” Because Aunt Christina was unreliable and self-absorbed. “I am afraid to hope that Papa might allow me to attend the Phoenix Club assembly on Friday.”

“That’s wise of you.”

“But if he does let me go, I think I’ll wear the coral silk.”

Prudence laughed softly. “I would tell you not to get ahead of yourself, but I know that is a losing battle.”

Cassandra grinned as the coach carried them to Berkeley Square for the rout. “I have to have something to look forward to.” It certainly wasn’t an impending marriage. Yet.

Her father would force the issue, or so he’d threatened. Come June, she may find herself forced to the altar. No, she wouldn’t allow that, nor would her father actually do that to her. Would he?

A tremor of unease shuddered along her spine. She pressed back against the squab and looked out the window as the coach moved through Mayfair.

“You have plenty to look forward to,” Prudence said.

Cassandra realized how insensitive she’d sounded. Everyone needed something to look forward to. “What do you look forward to, Pru?” she asked softly, turning her head toward Prudence beside her on the seat.

Prudence smiled. “The Phoenix Club assembly on Friday. Tonight’s rout. The same things you do.”

Cassandra wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t want Prudence to just like what she liked. Rather, she hoped Prudence wasn’t just saying something she thought Cassandra wanted to hear. But no, Cassandra thought she knew the other woman well enough to know that wasn’t true. “What about marriage?”

“For me?” Prudence tsked. “I have never considered it.”

“But you could marry.”

“I suppose. However, where would I meet that gentleman? No one at a rout would marry me.”

The coach entered the queue leading to the Farrowsbys’ house.

“Perhaps someone at the Phoenix Club would. Some of the members wouldn’t be welcomed in Society. The owner of Lucien’s favorite coffee shop is a member, and he would never be invited to the Farrowsby rout tonight.”

“That coffee shop owner is also sixty years old if memory serves,” Prudence said. “Unless you weren’t suggesting him as a potential husband.” Her tone was dry and tinged with humor.

“I was not, actually.” Cassandra chuckled. “I’m merely saying, you could meet someone there. Perhaps you meet him on Saturday mornings,” she suggested with a sly smile. In the few weeks that Prudence had been part of their household, she spent her private time on Saturdays outside the house. Cassandra wondered where she went but also knew it was none of her affair.

Prudence briefly pursed her lips in silent response to Cassandra’s innuendo. Then she completely avoided it. “Do you think you’ve already met your husband?”

Cassandra exhaled. “Probably.” A parade of gentlemen flashed in her mind, chief among them Glastonbury and Wexford. Wexford lingered.

None of them eased the ache in her chest that bloomed when she thought of a potential husband. She longed to connect with someone, to discover that thing that would bind them together. More importantly, she feared she wouldn’t find it. Loneliness was terrible. At once, she wanted to escape it while at the same time she would do anything, put up any obstacle to protect herself from rejection and pain.

The coach pulled in front of the house. “Let us hope Aunt Christina is waiting in the foyer.”

“Shall I go ahead and see?” Prudence asked. “I really should.”

“Yes.” Cassandra didn’t bother hiding her frustration with her aunt’s behavior.

With a sympathetic nod, Prudence left the coach. She hurried up to the house, and a moment later, emerged to wave her hand in a beckoning motion.

Thank goodness. Cassandra stepped down from the vehicle and made her way inside where she joined Prudence. Aunt Christina greeted her with a wide smile.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Cassandra said.

Aunt Christina blinked at her with the same dark eyes as her brother. “I said I would be.”

“You say a great many things,” Cassandra muttered. “Fair warning, Papa wasn’t pleased that you didn’t come to the house to escort us. That can’t happen again.”

Nodding, Aunt Christina pivoted toward the staircase. “Of course. It was a special situation this evening. Come, let us go up to the drawing room.” She gestured for Cassandra to precede her.

“Do you plan to abandon me immediately, or will you linger in guilt since you didn’t arrive with us?” Cassandra asked.

Aunt Christina sighed rather dramatically. “I never abandon you. Can you honestly say you want me glued to your side at these events?”

Frustratingly, she had a point. However, was it so difficult to check in periodically? To ensure all was well? To perhaps encourage the attendance of suitors?

Not that Cassandra understood how that should happen exactly. Was Aunt Christina, as her sponsor, supposed to recruit potential suitors and send them in Cassandra’s direction? That’s what many mothers with daughters on the Marriage Mart did. Cassandra couldn’t help wondering, for the hundredth time, what her mother would do if she were here.

A familiar ache, not unlike the one she’d experienced in the coach spread across her ribs.

“Perhaps you might point me in the direction of a potential suitor or two?” Cassandra suggested as they arrived in the drawing room. Guests milled about perusing various pieces of art that the Farrowbys had on display for tonight’s rout.

“I’ll try.” Aunt Christina’s focus was already elsewhere, and Cassandra knew there would be little to no attempt made.

Cassandra briefly touched her aunt’s forearm. “I do hope you’ll be accompanying us back to Grosvenor Square. That would satisfy my father.” The implication was clear.

“Certainly! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Aunt Christina bustled away, leaving Cassandra and Prudence alone as usual.

“Shall we try to find Lady Aldington or perhaps Lady Overton?” Prudence asked.

“Fiona won’t like it that you’re calling her that.” Cassandra linked her arm through Prudence’s. “Yes, let us go on the hunt for welcome faces.”

As they started into the room, they nearly collided with a rather rotund gentleman. Cassandra recalled having been introduced to him earlier in the Season. Mr. Philip Trowley, a widower around forty years of age, bowed. His head glistened with perspiration and his nose was rather rosy.

“Good evening, Lady Cassandra. What a pleasure to see you here.” He didn’t so much as flick a glance toward Prudence, but his gaze did dip downward over Cassandra’s chest.

Cassandra clenched her teeth briefly. “Mr. Trowley, allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Lancaster.”

His eyes darted at Prudence. “Evening.” He returned his full attention to Cassandra, his lips parting in a jovial smile that revealed even, but stained teeth. His eyes, however, retained a leering quality that made Cassandra want to flee. Or perhaps kick him in the leg, particularly if he focused on her breasts again. “Would you care to promenade with me, Lady Cassandra?”

Cassandra sent Prudence a desperate glance that silently but clearly screamed help. Prudence leaned close and whispered, “Just tell him you’ve already arranged to meet with someone, but you’d be delighted to see him later.”

“Brilliant,” Cassandra murmured as she scanned the drawing in room in the hope of finding that “someone.”

Her gaze fell on Wexford, and her pulse quickened while a shiver danced across her shoulders. She gave Trowley a dazzling smile. “I’m afraid I’m already engaged for the moment. Perhaps I will see you later.”

Disappointment flashed across his features, but he masked it quickly. “I will look forward to it.” He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “I thought I might discuss paying a call on you later in the week. I believe we have much in common.”

Cassandra couldn’t imagine what. “Well, that sounds…fascinating. Good evening, Mr. Trowley.”

She and Prudence moved past him, and Cassandra couldn’t see Wexford anymore. Turning her head, she searched for his black hair, but it was as if he’d vanished.

“Looking for someone?” The Viscount Glastonbury asked with a smile in his voice.

“You.” Cassandra smiled through the fib.

“I’m flattered.” He looked to Prudence. “Good evening, Miss Lancaster.” His gaze darted behind them. “I saw Trowley approach you and thought you might require rescuing. However, you seem to have rescued yourself.” His blue-green eyes shone with approval.

“How gallant of you. Yes, Trowley asked to promenade and I’m afraid I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“He’s on the hunt for a mother for his brood. But I suspect you know that. You likely have a chart of eligible bachelors at home detailing their information.” He winked at her.

“I don’t, but I’m sure other young ladies do.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or, more accurately, their mothers do.”

Again, she thought of her mother and what she would be doing now. How Cassandra wished she were here. Instead, she had a father who was good at ignoring her until he demanded she marry, two brothers who’d always been involved in their own lives, and a vain, distracted aunt. At least she had a caring companion. Cassandra hoped Prudence truly liked her despite being paid to do so.

“That is probably correct,” he said with a laugh. “No managing mama for you, however. That alone ought to make you the most popular young lady this Season. Being the daughter of a duke doesn’t hurt.”

In her case, it did. “My father doesn’t intimidate you?”

Glastonbury lifted a well-muscled shoulder. “Not particularly, but I have more relatives than I can count on both hands, so I’ve learned to be amenable to everyone.”

Cassandra didn’t know anything about his family, other than his father was dead since Glastonbury now held the primary title. “Is your family here in town?”

His eyes widened briefly in alarm. “Thankfully, no. That would be most distracting. They prefer Wiltshire, fortunately.”

He sounded relieved, but Cassandra thought a large family sounded rather nice. “I imagine it isn’t dull,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about them some time.”

“That will bore you beyond measure. When next we dance, I’ll tell you about my great-aunt Flora and her pursuit of drying plants and flowers. Yes, she took her name most seriously as a young girl.”

Cassandra laughed. “That doesn’t sound tedious at all. She sounds charming.”

“Oh, yes, quite. Right up until you find flowers drying underneath your mattress and in nearly every book in the library. And not interesting or unique specimens, mind you, but hundreds of ordinary violets.”

“I’m afraid I’m still charmed.”

Now, he let out a short laugh. Then his gaze settled on hers. “There is more to you than one expects, I think,” he said softly.

Cassandra wasn’t sure how to take that. “What does one expect?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse me. I see someone I must speak with and then it’s on to the next engagement, I’m afraid. Perhaps I’ll see you in the park this week since the weather is so pleasant?” He bowed and was on his way before Cassandra could respond.

“That was a bit odd,” Cassandra remarked as she looked toward where he’d gone. He was now in conversation with an older gentleman.

“The way he left so quickly?” Prudence asked.

“And his comment about what one might expect from me.” Cassandra turned her head toward Prudence. “What could that mean? Is there some rumor about me?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“Perhaps you should try to find out.” Cassandra frowned. If there was some rumor affecting her reputation, that may be the reason why she had no suitors. Here she’d thought it was her father’s fault.

What could it be? She’d behaved appropriately all Season—except for the day she and Fiona had stolen into the Phoenix Club. But no one knew about that. No one except Mrs. Renshaw, one of the club’s patronesses who’d helped them escape without being seen. And of course Wexford.

He reappeared as soon as she thought his name, his dark head visible above most others in the room. Perhaps he might be able to determine if there was a rumor about her.

“Let us go speak with Wexford,” she said to Prudence before starting in his direction.

Seeming to feel her approach, he turned his head and made eye contact. Then he walked toward them, intercepting them near the doorway.

He presented an elegant leg. “Good evening Lady Cassandra, Miss Lancaster.”

“Good evening, Lord Wexford. I’m pleased to run into you this evening. We’ve matters to discuss.”

He arched a brow. “Do we?”

She moved closer to him, keeping her voice low. “The call you paid me the other day?”

“Ah yes, that scintillating occasion when your father insulted me repeatedly.” He said this with a smile, but there was an edge to his tone that told her he had been insulted. And why wouldn’t he have been? Her father had treated him awfully.

“Shall we promenade?” she asked.

“I understand there is more art displayed in the garden since it’s such a fine, warm evening. Let us investigate.” He offered her his arm.

Cassandra looked to Prudence. “Do you want to come along or wait here?”

“I’ll walk downstairs with you, but I’ll remain inside.”

Curling her hand around Wexford’s sleeve, Cassandra ignored the flash of heat that spread up her arm and through the rest of her body. “I do apologize for my father.”

“I appreciate that, though I understand you have no control over him. And rest assured, I have made it known—to the best of my ability—that it was a lovely call, and I found the duke to be gruff, but welcoming.”

“Have you? You must be an accomplished liar.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I couldn’t very well say he was all smiles and warm conversation.”

Cassandra laughed as they left the drawing room and descended the staircase. Guests milled about throughout the ground floor as they made their way through the parlor to the doors that were open to the garden. Several people were also outside surveying the statues, a few paintings displayed on easels, and an array of knick-knacks arranged on a table.

“I don’t actually feel a pressing need to look at the artifacts,” Cassandra said. “May we just circuit the garden?”

“Certainly.” He led her to the right around a cluster of people staring at a rather bizarre painting of a gentleman’s grinning face in a bowl of fruit. “What the devil?” He shook his head with a laugh. “I think I’d be terrified if my bowl of fruit looked like that.”

“I would surely lose my appetite.” Cassandra clutched his arm more tightly, drawing his attention. Their eyes connected for a moment and as they moved to a part of the garden where there was less light since they were farther from the house, she was reminded of being in the dark with him and what could happen.

She realized in that moment that she’d been hoping it would happen again.

“Is there a rumor about me?” she blurted without preamble.

His brow knitted. “Not that I’ve heard. Something derogatory, you mean?”

“I don’t know. Glastonbury said there is more to me than one would expect. What would one expect? Is there an expectation about me?”

Wexford paused and turned toward her. “I suspect you’re overthinking this. Perhaps he was simply trying to say that there is more to you than meets the eye, meaning you are more than a duke’s beautiful daughter.”

She was caught in his gaze, and she didn’t want to be anywhere else. “Do you think that?”

“I do.”

Cassandra edged closer to him, her hand still around his sleeve. His scent enveloped her—fruit and spice, an alluring and pleasing fragrance she recalled from their time in the cupboard at the Phoenix Club.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that.” His voice was low and rough.

“I know. We have an agreement not to discuss it.”

“We aren’t discussing ‘it.’ Clearly, you are thinking about ‘it,’ however.”

“You aren’t?”

He muttered a curse. “Sometimes I think we should just kiss again to get this out of our systems. Perhaps then we can put the incident behind us.”

Oh, yes, she liked that idea very much. Her gaze slid past him before settling on him once more. “There’s a shrubbery perhaps five feet behind you.”

“Cassandra, if there isn’t gossip about you now, are you trying to ensure there will be?”

“I’m merely going along with your suggestion about kissing. It seems a reasonable idea.”

“Reasonable.” He clasped her waist with his free hand. “It’s bloody madness.”

CHAPTER 6

M adness, and yet here he was contemplating the silken feel of her lips beneath his. He pressed his palm more firmly against her side, his body winning the battle over his brain.

Just kiss her. Once. Then never again.

Hell. Cassandra was so firmly embedded beneath his skin he was going to have to surgically remove her. Nothing time and distance couldn’t fix. He’d done it before.

Releasing her waist and pulling his arm from her grip, he took a step back. “Forget my suggestion. It was neither reasonable nor real—it was meant as a jest.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as skepticism darkened her arresting gaze. Then, just as quickly, she buried whatever she was feeling behind a veneer of placidity. “Good. Now, about this potential rumor. Will you see what you can find out and let me know at your earliest convenience?”

He had no convenience when it came to her. She was the very definition of inconvenience. “I can’t help you.”

Her gaze turned wary. “At all? I was hoping you might continue to ask me to dance from time to time. Or that I could persuade you to call on me again in another week or so. Unless a suitor who isn’t afraid of my father miraculously falls from the sky.”

Ruark hated to disappoint her, particularly when he wanted nothing more than to gather her close, kiss her, and assure her that all would be well. He couldn’t let this happen again. Not with her. He had to end their association before they became too entangled.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

She pursed her lips and averted her gaze. “My father deterred you. I’m so sorry for the things he said to you. I can’t blame you for not wanting to prick his ire.”

Actually, that was the last thing from his mind. Her father could go to the devil as far as he was concerned. And yet, it was probably easier—and better—that she think that. He didn’t want to tell her that he had to stay away from her completely before he started doing something stupid like kissing her more or sending her poetry or falling in love with her.

They’d made an agreement to forget about the incident, and though they both seemed to be failing rather spectacularly, it didn’t mean they should go back on their word.

“Forgive me, Cassandra.” His mind yelled, Lady Cassandra, dammit! “I know I offered my help if you ever needed it, but I should not help you any further in this matter. Perhaps Lucien can provide assistance?” Ruark hadn’t spoken to him since running into him outside his father’s house the other day. Presumably, he’d talked to his sister about how to encourage more suitors as he’d said he would.

She made a sound of disgust. “He hasn’t yet. I think he’s too busy helping others.”

Ruark had a sudden urge to knock his best friend on his arse. “I’ll make sure he’s there for you.” He offered her his arm again, hating that he was abandoning her.

Hesitating a moment, she lightly placed her hand on his arm. It wasn’t the same as before—she barely touched him. “Let’s go back to the house.”

After returning her to Miss Lancaster, Ruark departed the rout as quickly as possible. He went directly to the Phoenix Club—both in search of Cassandra’s brother and to find solace in his favorite Irish whisky among friends.

As soon as he walked into the foyer, he exhaled as a familiar comfort swept over him. He glanced up at the huge painting of a bacchanalia featuring Pan. What no one realized was that when Lucien had commissioned the painting, he’d instructed the artist—an exceptionally talented Flemish woman—to include likenesses of himself and some of his friends. Ruark’s eye never failed to stray to the revelers in the left corner of the scene. There, one would find not only the club’s owner but his three closest friends, who were not only founding members of the club but served on its secret membership committee.

Ruark made his way up to the member’s den. He’d barely set foot inside when a footman presented him a glass of his favorite whisky, for which Ruark thanked him profusely. Taking a sip, Ruark closed his eyes briefly to savor the light, fruity sweetness that complemented the oak and barley. It was incredibly superior to the Scotch version, something he argued regularly with one of the other men in the painting.

Opening his eyes, he scanned the room for his Scottish friend, Dougal MacNair, but didn’t see him. Instead, his gaze connected with Mort. Ruark made his way to where the man sat near the hearth and took the chair opposite his.

“Evening, Mort.”

The burly man squinted at Ruark. “I was hoping I’d see you here tonight. Is that your first whisky?”

Ruark swallowed another sip. “It is. Why?”

“I’ll wait until after you’ve had another.” He took a long pull on his ale.

“When my tongue is looser perhaps?” Ruark chuckled. “What do you want to know.”

“Her name.” Mort stared at him in open curiosity, daring Ruark to reveal himself.

Instead, Ruark snorted. “There isn’t anyone.”

“Bollocks. I’ll keep asking until you tell me.”

“When did you become a mother hen? Stop asking because she isn’t an issue.”

“Meaning she was?”

“I’m not discussing her.” That meant thinking about her, and he was going to do his damnedest not to. After he found her brother and made her his problem. “What I am discussing is the prizefight Fred is planning. I understand Glastonbury is fighting. Why wasn’t I asked?”

Shrugging, Mort took another drink. “You’d have to ask my cousin.”

“I will.”

“Are you offended? I might be, if I were you. You’re every bit as good a fighter as Glastonbury. Probably better, if I had to stake a wager.”

“Why, thank you.”

“If you want, I’ll put in a word with Fred. I take it you want that?” He said the last with a half smile.

“I wouldn’t mind. Don’t you want one of your best pupils to demonstrate what an effective and skilled trainer you are?”

He shook his head with that same sly smirk. “No need to flatter me.” His expression grew serious. “A prizefight isn’t the same as sparring. It’s long and exhausting, and it can be vicious. Some men have suffered terrible injuries. Some have never been the same.”

“Surely it wouldn’t be that bad, especially if I fought Glastonbury. I’d have to think we’d do our best to let the other walk away without suffering too badly.” Ruark caught sight of Lucien from the corner of his eye and got to his feet. “Excuse me, Mort. I must speak with Lord Lucien.”

Mort inclined his head, and Ruark cut through the den toward the entrance to intercept his friend.

Lucien’s dark eyes lit. “Wex, I’m glad to see you. Might I have a word?” He inclined his head toward the doorway, or probably toward the private meeting room beyond.

“Yes, please.” Ruark followed him out of the member’s den and into the sanctuary of the membership committee.

Furnished with a long table around which the members of the committee met, the room was decorated in rich greens, the signature color of the club. Lucien moved to the seating area situated near the hearth and poured himself a drink from the liquor cabinet in the corner.

“I regret to inform you that my father has specifically forbidden Cassandra from considering you as a suitor.”

“I’m deeply insulted,” Ruark replied in mock affront.

“It’s the Irishness,” Lucien explained, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t forget my formerly Catholic mother. And her inferior husband.”

“Yes, those too.” Lucien scowled at his brandy before taking a drink.

Ruark hadn’t forgotten his earlier irritation with his friend. “It’s not as if you hadn’t already forbidden me from even dancing with her.”

“You know why,” Lucien said, moving to lower himself into one of the chairs.

“You think there’s a good reason, but is there?”

“Let’s see, there was the girl at Oxford. And your first mistress. Also, the woman in Ireland. Those are just the ones I know about.”

There weren’t any others, at least not who’d caused him to lose his heart. Ruark became…enamored, he detached himself, he became unenamored, and he moved on.

“Don’t think I’m not aware of this three-year curse,” Lucien continued. “Assuming those are the only ones. Perhaps it’s an annual curse. Regardless, I have every reason to pay close attention to you when it comes to Cassandra. I won’t let you hurt her the way you did the girl at Oxford—and I assume the one in Ireland.”

He was right, of course, but then Ruark didn’t doubt it, He’d anticipated it since he was six years old. “You needn’t worry about me and your sister.” Anymore. “I was only trying to help, and I’m finished with that endeavor.”

“Does she know that?”

“She does. Just as she knows I intended to speak with you about helping her. It seems you didn’t talk to her the other day after we met outside your house.”

Lucien swirled the brandy in his glass. “I didn’t have a chance. I had to meet with my father and by the time I finished, she’d gone for a walk with Miss Lancaster.”

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion? Prioritize your sister. I don’t think you realize how alone she is.” Ruark had only just begun to glimpse that himself.

“She’s not alone. She has Miss Lancaster.”

Ruark cocked his head. “How long have they been acquainted?”

Lucien’s lips flattened into a thin line. “She’s had me and Con,” he said quietly and rather unconvincingly. He took a substantial drink of brandy. “I’ll speak with her as soon as possible. I promise.” He looked to Ruark in surprise. “You’ve been a good friend to her. I apologize for assuming the worst.”

Suppressing a grimace, Ruark sipped his whisky. Things could have been much worse than a few stolen kisses. “I hope you’ll tell your father to mind his own business and allow Lady Cassandra to choose her own husband, even if he’s Irish and has a formerly Catholic mother.” Lucien’s head snapped toward him, and Ruark laughed. “I’m joking.”

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.”

Cassandra slid an exasperated look at Prudence who was sat opposite them in the rear facing seat. Her features were a perfect mask of impassivity. Cassandra did try to mimic her ability to remain cool and reserved at all times. Unfortunately, she usually failed.

“At least you agree that you can be intimidating,” Cassandra said, gently flicking a pink petal from her skirt that had just floated down on the breeze.

“I agreed to no such thing. If anyone finds me intimidating, they aren’t worthy of your hand.”

“Lord Wexford wasn’t intimidated, yet you found him wanting anyway.” She was prodding his ire, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He seemed utterly unaware of his effect on people.

“Speak of that devil,” the duke muttered, his gaze darting to the left.

Cassandra followed his line of sight and immediately saw Wexford standing in a small group. The others could have been trolls for all she noticed. Wexford was the only person she registered.

Dressed in a dark green coat and divinely cut breeches, he presented a most alluring portrait of manhood. “Do you really find him so loathsome?” she asked.

“He’s completely intolerable. For an excess of reasons.”

She wanted to argue, but what would be the point? It wasn’t as if he were an actual suitor.

“Ah, there is an acceptable suitor.” His gaze landed on Glastonbury, who was standing just off the track. The viscount made eye contact with them, inclining his head.

The duke instructed the driver to stop, and Glastonbury made his way to their side.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace, Lady Cassandra, Miss Lancaster. I was hoping I’d see you today.” He said the last directly to Cassandra.

“You did mention that the other night at the rout.” Before he’d left rather quickly.

“I did indeed. How fortuitous that the weather has remained pleasant.”

“What’s this I hear of you in a prizefight?” Cassandra’s father asked.

Surprise flashed in Glastonbury’s clear blue eyes. “You’ve heard of that? I’m participating in a bout as a favor to the owner of my boxing club. I’ve trained with him for years, and he wanted a ‘celebrity’ to fight.”

The duke leaned on the side of the barouche toward Glastonbury. “Are you any good?”

Glastonbury laughed. “How shall I answer that without sounding utterly insufferable?”

Cassandra hadn’t known Glastonbury was a pugilist. She didn’t care for the sport as it typically involved blood. Even thinking about blood made her queasy.

“Honestly, if you will,” the duke responded. “I must know where to lay my wager.” His mouth quirked into a near smile, and Cassandra nearly gaped.

“Then I must confess to being rather accomplished.” He winked at Cassandra, and she again had to keep herself from losing her jaw to the ground. That the viscount had the nerve to flirt like that in front of her father was beyond shocking.

She waited for her father to say something obnoxious. Instead, he laughed.

He laughed.

“I like you, Glastonbury. A man with confidence is a man who knows himself and his worth. I shall look forward to your fight. Don’t disappoint me, eh?”

“I would never.”

Cassandra felt as if she should speak but simply could not. Her father’s behavior was too startling.

“I do hope you plan to call soon,” her father said crisply. “Don’t dawdle too long or you’ll miss your chance. There are things to discuss.” He then told the driver to move on.

Glastonbury gave her a beautiful courtly bow. “I’ll call soon, my lady.”

Cassandra waited until they were out of Glastonbury’s earshot before turning toward her father. “What does that mean, ‘things to discuss?’ That sounded as if you wanted to negotiate terms.”

“I do. I meant what I said—he mustn’t dally. If he wants to wed you, he should make himself known.”

“We hardly know each other, Papa. I haven’t even decided if I want to marry him.”

“Then you’d best get to know him. Perhaps you should have gone for a promenade.”

Cassandra turned her head back to see if the viscount was still there, but he’d moved to a new location and was now speaking with another young lady. Blast.

Ah well, did she really want to match herself with someone who enjoyed fighting?

“I would ask that you not meddle so heavily in this,” she said sternly. “You promised me that I could choose my own husband.” And yet he’d already prevented that by saying she couldn’t wed Wexford. What if he was who she chose?

“So far, you haven’t made much progress. One afternoon outing to the park, and I’ve already effected more movement in your husband hunt than you have all Season.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration.”

“You’re scowling. And you told me not to scowl.” His tone was light and…cheerful. He was enjoying this.

“If you’d like to see ‘movement’ in my marital search, you should allow me to attend the Phoenix Club assembly on Friday.”

He cut his hand through the hair. “Bah. That won’t be necessary as it seems Glastonbury is nearly up to scratch.” He laughed again. “See what I did there? Bit of boxing humor.”

Cassandra stared at him as her agitation grew. “I don’t want you negotiating this for me. I want a husband who demonstrates…affection.” She wanted someone to love who would love her in return. And she didn’t yet know if Glastonbury was that man. “If you force me into a union as you did with Con, I’ll run away to Scotland. Or worse—Ireland. Why are you in such a hurry to marry me off anyway? There is plenty of time left in the Season.”

His dark eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, Cassandra called to the driver to stop. “Prudence and I are going for a promenade. We’ll meet you back near the track by the gate.”

The tiger leapt down from the back and opened the door so Cassandra and Prudence could descend.

“I look forward to hearing about the potential suitors you encounter, my dear.” The duke didn’t spare them a glance as the barouche continued on.

“You’re still scowling,” Prudence said softly.

Cassandra pressed her hands to her cheeks and forced her features to relax. “He is so vexing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh before.”

“It’s a rare occasion.” Cassandra linked her arm through Prudence’s, and they started back toward the gate. It would take them nearly as long to walk back as it would the barouche to return after traveling the Ring at a sedate pace.

“He really seems to like Glastonbury,” Prudence observed benignly.

“Yes. But does Glastonbury like me? He’s been superficial thus far.”

“Perhaps you need to spend more time with him. Dancing can be a difficult time to converse.” That was certainly true. “You could ask him to promenade as you did with Wexford the other day.”

“I asked Wexford to dance, actually, and suggested we promenade in the meantime.” He’d called her brazen for doing so. But he’d also been flirting with her. She was certain of it.

Cassandra looked about to see if she could find him amongst the throng. It was the nicest spring day yet, and the park was overflowing. It was impossible to pick him out.

“Are you looking for Wexford?” Prudence asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you often look for him. And don’t bother saying you don’t. I’m not stupid.”

“I would never think that,” Cassandra said, bringing her free hand over to give Prudence’s arm a squeeze. “You’re very observant. I daresay you’ve a great many tidbits stored in your admirable brain. You could probably pen a scandal column.” She snapped her head toward Prudence who sometimes wrote in the evenings. “In fact…do you?”

Prudence let out a rare laugh. “I’m not sure I possess knowledge that’s very interesting. I do notice other people’s behaviors, but anything I deduce is merely a supposition.”

“And what do you suppose about me and Wexford?” Cassandra was curious if her companion had accurately picked up the attraction between them.

Prudence hesitated before answering. “I’m not certain. You seem…interested in him, but I can’t tell if it’s romantic inclination.”

“My brother would be appalled.”

“As would the duke,” Prudence added wryly. “Perhaps you should choose him just to spite them.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to laugh. “You have the most wonderful sense of humor, Pru. Thank you, for I needed some levity.”

They walked in silence a moment before Prudence spoke again. “I hope you don’t think me too forward, but is love the most important requirement to you in a marriage? I think you must be honest about that—with yourself if no one else.”

Cassandra took a long while to answer, not because she didn’t know but because Prudence had struck right at the heart of it. “I do want that. I want someone who will love me unconditionally, as my mother did.” Her voice softened as she said the last, as memories of her mother’s singular care and affection washed over her.

“I understand how you feel.” Prudence spoke gently. “My mother loved me the same way. I fear a mother’s love is unparalleled. While we might experience love from others, it will never be the same. It will never…fill the void of what we have lost.”

Cassandra’s throat tightened. “You do understand.”

They avoided talking with anyone as they continued in silence to where her father waited in the barouche. As she climbed inside and sat beside him once more, she tried to imagine the man with whom her mother had fallen in love. That was difficult, but she could conjure the Papa who’d given Cassandra her very first dance lesson as Mama had watched with glee. The memory was the clearest she possessed of the three of them together, a happy family.

She smiled at him. “I hope I will find a husband who suits us both, Papa.”

He coughed. “Yes, well, I’ve decided to allow you to attend that assembly on Friday.” It was just like him to avoid saying Lucien’s “infernal” club’s name.

Joy surged in her chest. “Thank you.”

“There is one caveat.” Of course there was. She braced herself for what that could be. “You must dance with Glastonbury and ensure he will call on you soon.”

Bloody hell, she didn’t think Glastonbury was even a member. She was about to say so when her gaze connected with Prudence who gave an infinitesimal shake of her head to indicate she shouldn’t say anything.

Cassandra pressed her lips together. She would talk to Lucien. Perhaps he could extend the viscount an invitation before…tomorrow.

That was impossible.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, hoping her father wouldn’t find out Glastonbury wasn’t a member or that she’d known he wasn’t.

Even if he did, what was the worst that could happen?

“If you go and don’t dance with Glastonbury, there will be no more assemblies at that place, nor will you even ask. Furthermore, I will attend every ball with you for the rest of the Season and ensure you have a gaggle of gentlemen warring for your affection.”

A gaggle? Having to suffer her father’s personal matchmaking skills whilst he compared her suitors to geese was enough to strike fear into her heart.

She needed to speak with Lucien immediately.

CHAPTER 7

“ Oh good, you came.” Cassandra strode into the drawing room upon hearing that Lucien had arrived. Dressed in elegant evening attire, he was obviously on his way somewhere. She, on the other hand, was spending the evening at home, which she didn’t mind. The social whirlwind could be dizzying. “I won’t keep you long.”

“It’s fine. Your note was rather distressing in its brevity.”

Upon returning from the park earlier, she’d immediately dispatched a short missive to her brother stating simply, You must come to see me. Now.

She arched a brow at him. “And yet it still took you over an hour to get here.” She spoke sardonically, and he knew it.

“I was out when your note arrived, and I admit I dressed to go to the club and planned to stop here on my way. It was barely over an hour, if you want to be specific.”

Since she said she’d be brief, she indicated he should take a chair near the hearth then moved to sit opposite him. “I need your help.”

The words had hardly escaped her lips before he responded, “Anything.”

“You say that, but you haven’t heard my request.” She appreciated his willingness to assist her, even without knowing what she wanted.

He sat forward in his chair, his body taut with energy. Or perhaps nervousness, which was odd for him. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do everything in my power to see it done.” He held her gaze as his lips twisted into a slight frown. “I must apologize for not being available to you. I get so caught up in helping others—or meddling, as Con puts it—that I fail to see when my own sister requires my support. I’m sorry, Cass.”

She hadn’t expected any of that, and it took her a moment to respond. “Thank you. Why does Con say you meddle?”

“Because I do from time to time. I’m afraid I, ah, meddled a bit in his marriage. In my defense, he and Sabrina needed help in the worst way. Still, I overstepped and should not have.”

“This sounds like a story I want to hear when you have more time. I am never included in the good stuff.” Such were the pitfalls of being a much younger sister. Lucien was seven years older than her, and Constantine was nine.

“It’s a story you’ll have to pry from Con, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “I did enough damage.” Cassandra was more curious than ever. “Please tell me how I can help you, and I promise I won’t overstep.”

“As you know, Papa is insistent I wed, and he’s begun involving himself in the process. He made me go to the park with him today.”

Lucien flinched. “You have my deepest sympathies. Was it awful?”

“If you can overlook his disparagement of Wexford, not entirely.”

“Why were you discussing Wex?”

“We saw him, and Papa couldn’t resist telling me how intolerable he would be as a husband. He doesn’t realize Wexford’s call was an act, but even if it wasn’t, I can hardly think the earl would want to marry me after Papa’s behavior.”

“I understand he was quite obnoxious.”

“In every way you can imagine. He is the opposite with Glastonbury. In fact, I daresay he’d escort us to Gretna Green himself.” It would serve him right if she did elope with whomever she chose. She’d keep that in mind.

Chuckling, Lucien leaned back into the chair and crossed his legs. “If he doesn’t, I will. Just say the word.”

“You can’t be gone from London for so long. What about your club? In fact, Papa has decided to allow me to attend the assembly tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be damned.” Lucien clucked his tongue. “How did you get him to change his mind?”

“He made me promise that I’d dance with Glastonbury and obtain his assurance that he would call on me soon.”

Uncrossing his legs, Lucien grasped the arms of the chair as his brow furrowed. “Glastonbury is not a member.”

“I know.” She leveled him with an expectant stare. “That is why I need a favor.”

“Hell, Cass, it can’t be done. Not on such short notice. The assembly is tomorrow night.”

“I’m aware it’s a challenging request, but it’s your club. Surely you can get him an invitation before then.”

“While it’s my club, I do not make the membership decisions on my own. There’s a…process in place.”

“If it’s your club, you can skip the process.”

He exhaled, his features creasing into a deep frown. “It’s not that simple. I can’t go into details, I’m sorry.”

“Won’t you at least try? If I don’t dance with him, Papa has forbidden me to attend any other assemblies for the rest of the Season and will accompany me to every ball.” She pitched forward. “Only imagine what that will be like.”

He swept his hand across his forehead. “I can.” Muttering something indiscernible, he turned his head toward the windows and stared off into the middle distance for a moment. His gaze found hers, but there was reluctance in their depths. “I’ll try.”

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic. Or optimistic.”

“I’ll do my best but know that it’s a nearly impossible task. What if I speak to Father and explain that Glastonbury isn’t a member?”

“Then he’ll just say I can’t go to the assembly.” She could see in Lucien’s eyes that he wondered if that wasn’t the better course of action. “I haven’t been successful on the Marriage Mart thus far, and the crop of gentlemen at the Phoenix Club is different than everywhere else.”

“That’s true,” he said hesitantly. “But there is overlap. Many of the gentlemen you see at balls and soirees will also be at the assembly.”

“Yes, and perhaps you can take the opportunity to make it known to them that they needn’t be intimidated by our father.”

Lucien winced again. “I should have been doing that all along. I’d intended to and…well, I have no good excuse for being a terrible brother this Season.”

This Season. Not for years. Not for all the time since their mother had died.

That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t a terrible brother, just not a very present one.

And he was trying now, which she appreciated. “Let me know if you can’t invite Glastonbury. I’ll stay home. It’s not as if I’d find a husband tomorrow night anyway.” Probably.

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Cass? Do you really hope to find a husband, or are you just trying to appease Father?”

It was both. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” he said quietly. “Are you truly interested in Glastonbury?”

“I like him. But I don’t know him well enough yet. I need to do that before Papa forces his hand. Then it will be too late for me to go in another direction.”

“You want a husband you will care about.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he was seeking confirmation.

“At a minimum,” she said firmly. “I don’t want something that’s arranged without my input. Like what happened with Con.”

“Things have worked out quite well for him.”

“Because you meddled, apparently.”

Lucien laughed. “They might’ve gotten there on their own. Eventually. If you want me to meddle in your marriage, I could probably be persuaded.”

“I should hope you would afford me the same support you do Con.” She said this with more disdain than she’d intended. Actually, she hadn’t intended any, but the long-buried envy she had for her older brothers and their camaraderie, even when they seemed at odds, seemed to be greater than she realized.

“I absolutely will. You have my word.” He stood. “I should get to work on this task. What if you decide you and Glastonbury don’t suit?”

“Are you worried I will have saddled your club with a member you don’t really want?”

“That hadn’t entered my mind, but someone else on the membership committee will certainly bring that up.”

“Would that be Wexford or Mrs. Renshaw? Don’t bother denying their presence on the committee. I pay attention.” She didn’t actually know if they were on the committee for certain, but it made sense that they were.

“I have always said you are too smart for your own good. I will not confirm anything.”

“You’re not denying it either.”

“Keep that to yourself.” He shook his head, smiling.

She rose and he took her hand, surprising her with the gesture. “I promise I’ll do my best, Cass. Just prepare as if you’re going tomorrow night.”

“Now you sound confident,” she said. “Dare I get my hopes up?”

“I think they already are, or you wouldn’t have summoned me.” He grinned and squeezed her hand before letting go. “More than this specific task, you can count on me. If you don’t want to get married this Season, don’t. Con and I will step in with Father.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that very much. Now go and do whatever you do to convince people to follow you.”

“I’m just myself, Cass.” With a shrug, he left.

This was a great deal of effort just so she could attend an assembly that couldn’t guarantee her any success on the Marriage Mart. What it could do was remind her of a certain incident as well as a dance when she’d been rescued from unwanted attention.

She was hoping to see Wexford. And perhaps, if she was very lucky, they’d end up in a dark cupboard.

Ruark strolled into the men’s library at the Phoenix Club. Guests were beginning to arrive for the assembly, but they wouldn’t start coming in earnest for another hour or so. There was plenty of time for a drink with his friends first.

Dougal MacNair sat in a chair near the windows overlooking Ryder Street below, his long legs stretched out before him as he sipped a glass of what had to be Scotch whisky. As a Highlander, MacNair rarely drank anything else.

“I’m pouring a superior whisky if you’d care to trade that piss you’re drinking,” Ruark offered magnanimously as he went to the liquor cabinet near MacNair’s chair.

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 I am grimacing.” 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 he knew what love felt like.

“If we 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. “Why are you 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.

With a genuine laugh, Ruark inclined his head toward Lucien’s glass. “You’re drinking Irish, you know.”

“Am I?” His gaze seemed harried as he took a long drink before throwing himself in the last open chair in their seating area.

“Did you find success?” MacNair asked, undoubtedly referring to what had occupied Lucien all day—and last night.

“I did, thank God. The invitation was delivered to Glastonbury an hour ago.”

They all served on the secret membership committee of the club, which Lucien had convened late last night to discuss extending an invitation to the Viscount Glastonbury. When Evie Renshaw, one of the patronesses of the ladies’ side and Lucien’s de facto assistant in managing the club, had asked for the reason, Lucien had hesitated. They typically invited people who possessed a kind or generous nature or who were often excluded from Society or other clubs but who had much to offer in terms of amiability and camaraderie. In this instance, however, Lucien had bluntly stated that he was inviting Glastonbury as a matchmaking scheme for his sister. He’d added that Glastonbury was an affable sort.

Evie had frowned, saying that wasn’t a strong enough recommendation. The other woman present, Ada Treadway who handled the club’s accounts, had agreed.

The standing rule to extend an invitation was that membership votes had to be unanimously in favor. That included votes from two members who did not attend the meetings and whose identity was secret even from the others on the committee. Except to Lucien.

In the past, the committee met, they voted, and if those present all voted for the potential member to be invited, Lucien took the proposal to the two secret members. Thus far, they’d voted with the rest of the committee on nearly every occasion.

After Evie and Ada expressed their doubt, Lucien had worked to extol Glastonbury’s virtues, which had only exposed that he didn’t know the man well enough. He’d agreed to find out more about the viscount, and they’d planned to reconvene this morning. Then, Lucien had asked his three friends, who were seated here now, to help him build the case for admitting Glastonbury as a member.

Ruark and MacNair had gone to the Black Boar, where Glastonbury was also a member, and spoken to as many people as possible. To a person, they’d said he was charming and witty—and an excellent pugilist—but no one could provide anything deeper, such as what his family thought of him or how he treated others beyond being, well, charming and witty.

Deane had used his new position in the House of Lords to see what he could learn. Unfortunately, Glastonbury was almost as new as Deane, having inherited his seat the previous summer. He didn’t attend meetings as regularly as some, but he was better than others. He didn’t chair any committees, nor did he seem to have any particular passions as far as what he cared about with regard to governance.

Overall, they couldn’t find anything bad about him, nor had they discovered anything exceptional. It was enough, however, for Evie and Ada to vote in favor of his membership that morning. Then Lucien had needed to find the other two members and convince them. One had agreed immediately and the other had held out until, apparently, an hour ago.

“I bloody well hope he accepted after all that,” MacNair said with a smirk.

Ruark couldn’t help hoping he hadn’t. But that was completely selfish and horrible of him. It was as if he wanted Cassandra for himself. He was simply going to have to get over his jealousy.

“He did, thankfully,” Lucien responded. “And he plans to come later, so my sister can appease our father and dance with him.”

“All that effort for a dance.” Deane shook his head. “Do you think they will suit?”

“I can’t say. It’s entirely up to Cassandra, and so far she is undecided. She wishes to know him better, but after the last day of trying to learn about him, I wonder if anyone knows him.”

Ruark frowned. “That doesn’t recommend him.”

“Or he’s simply the kind of person who doesn’t let people get very close,” Lucien said. “My brother is a bit like that.”

“More than a bit,” Deane muttered.

“You’re right,” Lucien admitted. “However, underneath that façade of imperiousness, Con possesses a depth of feeling and concern that sets him apart.”

“Then we shall hope Glastonbury is of a similar nature. As you said, it’s up to your sister, anyhow. We are merely providing her with an opportunity.”

“Yes, and to that end, if you could all do what you can to help steer the two of them together, I would be grateful. You may not have a chance, but if you do, please seize it.”

Everyone nodded in assent. Everyone except Ruark who busied himself drinking his whisky.

“Wex?” Lucien prodded. “Aren’t you going to help?”

“Certainly.” Ruark would hope there wouldn’t be an opportunity. While he wouldn’t pursue her himself, he also couldn’t bring himself to push her toward another man.

“I appreciate your support.” Lucien held up his glass. “To the best friends a man could have.” His gaze landed on Deane’s empty hands. “Deane, where’s your drink?”

“He was too busy mooning over his wife to pour one,” MacNair noted.

“Hang on.” Deane jumped up and went to pour himself a brandy. When he was settled back in his chair, he lifted his glass and they all toasted to friendship.

The conversation continued around Ruark as his mind went back to their discussion before Lucien had arrived. About marriage—and love. He was no stranger to the latter but would continue to avoid the former for at least three more years.

He wouldn’t break the vow he’d given his father. He hadn’t done it yet, and he wouldn’t now. Not even for Cassandra. Especially not for her. He’d do whatever necessary to guard her heart from his perfidy.

CHAPTER 8

C assandra arrived at the Phoenix Club assembly with Prudence and Fiona. There was something exciting about the Phoenix Club. It was the exclusivity, certainly, but also the opulent interior with its glittering chandeliers, magnificent art, and beautiful décor. That it was a private club that allowed both men and women also added to its incredible appeal. But perhaps what was most alluring to Cassandra was the time she’d spent in a dark cupboard with the Earl of Wexford.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t think of that, and within two minutes of entering the club, the incident had already invaded her brain.

“How absurd is it that I’m allowed to chaperone you,” Fiona noted with a giggle as they moved through the foyer toward the ballroom. “Last time we were here, we were both unwed.”

“Society’s rules are often absurd,” Prudence observed.

Cassandra inclined her head in agreement. “Too true.” She looked toward Fiona. “I’m so glad I was able to come with you tonight. I confess I would have been sick with envy if you’d come without me. Alas, you will at some point, as you are a member and I am not.”

“Perhaps your father will allow you to come every week,” Fiona said.

All three ladies stared at each other then burst into laughter. They strolled into the ballroom—the half that served as a place to mingle and sample refreshments. The other half—on the men’s side—was where the dancing took place. Music carried through the doors that opened to join both sides into one large space.

Fiona leaned close to Cassandra. “I can’t help remembering when we were here that day pretending to clean the floor. Well, you were pretending. I actually cleaned it a bit.” She didn’t try to keep Prudence from overhearing because she already knew about it. In fact, she’d been the one to tell them about the maid costumes—the gray gown with green apron.

“Did you?” Cassandra laughed lightly. “I’m afraid I was too distracted by the splendor. I knew Lucien had spared no expense, but I didn’t realize just how lovely it would be.”

Seeing the interior had been the primary reason for their ruse. “I still can’t believe we dressed up as maids.” Fiona put her hand to her cheek briefly. “That seems so foolish now, and yet if we hadn’t done it, I would not have kissed Tobias in the garden. We may not even be married.”

And Cassandra would not have kissed Wexford. Heat rose up her neck, and she hoped neither of her companions noticed. She’d never told either of them what had happened because of the promise she and Wexford had made to each other. She wouldn’t break their agreement. Unless it was to kiss him again, which they’d also, implicitly, agreed not to do.

Many times, she’d considered revealing her secret to Fiona, particularly when Fiona had confessed that she’d kissed Overton—which she hadn’t done immediately either. But Cassandra had remained silent and continued to do so. Now she felt bad about not telling her. And yet, at this point, she doubted she ever would. What would be the point? It was a pleasant memory and nothing more. She needed to focus on Glastonbury.

Would he even be here? She’d heard nothing from Lucien other than he was working on it, which he’d sent in a missive that afternoon. He’d also told her to just come to the assembly, that he would handle their father if necessary. Cassandra only hoped she wasn’t going to be burdened with the duke’s presence at every ball for the rest of the Season.

Fiona and Prudence were, of course, well aware of the Glastonbury Plan, as Cassandra had taken to calling it. She scanned the ballroom but couldn’t find him. Nor did she locate Wexford. Or Lucien.

She did, however, see her sister-in-law, Sabrina, as well as Mrs. Renshaw. The two ladies came straight toward them.

“How lovely you look in that coral gown,” Sabrina said.

“Not as splendid as you. That peacock blue is stunning. Your wardrobe this Season is a cut above everyone else’s. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Sabrina, who struggled with the attention that came with being a countess, blushed. She’d been working to overcome the anxiety she felt in large crowds, something she’d only recently shared with Cassandra. “So Evie keeps telling me.”

“She assures me I’m mistaken,” Evie said with a smile. “Our Sabrina is as modest—and genuinely so—as they come. You also look lovely, Lady Overton.” Her gaze flicked to Fiona who inclined her head.

“Thank you, Mrs. Renshaw. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I trust you had a wonderful wedding trip.”

Cassandra grinned. “What a clever way to say elopement.”

Lucien bore down on them, joining their group between Prudence and Sabrina. “Good evening, Cass. I’m pleased to say Glastonbury has received and accepted his invitation.”

“He’ll be here?” Cassandra felt a swell of relief.

“He said he would.” Lucien moved to stand beside her. He added in a low tone, “There is a plan to ensure you and Glastonbury dance and have some time together this evening, so that you may get to know him better.”

“Indeed?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

It was, but she caught sight of Wexford from the corner of her eye and a pang of disappointment chilled her spine. “Thank you, Lu. It sounds as if the Glastonbury Plan is well underway.”

He arched a brow at her. “The Glastonbury Plan?”

“Yes.”

“I hope it finds success, my dear sister. Please let me know how I can further assist you.” He bussed her cheek, surprising her with the affectionate gesture. “I must mingle, but I’ll find you later to see how things are progressing. I’ll keep an eye out for when Glastonbury arrives.”

He departed, and Sabrina and Mrs. Renshaw also moved on. Cassandra darted a glance toward Wexford where he stood near the doors that were open to the garden. He was looking at her too, and a frisson of awareness skittered along her neck.

Dressed in black with a rich green waistcoat, Wexford looked impeccably handsome, both in his costume and his person, with his ink-black hair falling artfully across his forehead, and a small, secret smile teasing his mouth, as if they were sharing some sort of intimate moment across the very crowded room.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she had to stop pining for him. Her father didn’t approve of him, and Wexford hadn’t given the slightest indication that he wanted her for anything other than stolen kisses.

But stolen kisses are exciting and wonderful…

Then he was coming toward them, his gait purposeful and predatory, like a cat hunting a bird. Only, as the bird, Cassandra had no intention of flying away to safety. She much preferred the danger of his company.

“Good evening, ladies.” He bowed to the three of them before fixing his gaze on Cassandra. “I wondered if you might like to promenade, Lady Cassandra.”

She could hardly believe he was asking. He’d made it clear he would have no part in pretending to court her. “I would, thank you.”

Inclining her head toward Fiona and Prudence, both of whom looked at her with unveiled curiosity, Cassandra put her hand on Wexford’s arm. He guided her back the way he’d come, toward the garden.

“Are you part of Lucien’s plan to throw me together with Glastonbury?”

“Er, yes. But I don’t think Glastonbury’s arrived yet.”

“Then to what do I owe this promenade? You aren’t pretending to court me.”

“I’m helping. By occupying you now, I’m keeping you open for Glastonbury as soon as he arrives. You won’t be busy with someone else.”

“That seems a rather weak explanation.”

He looked at her askance, his features blank with innocence. “Does it? Would you prefer I leave you alone? That way you can meet other eligible gentlemen.”

“That was my goal in coming tonight—not just for Glastonbury. Dancing with him was my father’s edict.”

“Is the viscount truly a contender for your hand, or are you merely satisfying your father’s demands?”

“Both, I suppose. In truth, I scarcely know Glastonbury well enough to determine if we will suit. I can say that I don’t care for his boxing. Such a garish endeavor.”

Wexford steered them out to the garden with a chuckle. “Have you forgotten that I also partake in the sport? In fact, Glastonbury and I attend the same boxing club.”

They walked toward the oval pool, where dozens of candelabras around the perimeter flickered in the reflection of water. “I had forgotten, actually.”

“Why do you find it garish?” he asked, guiding her past the pool to a path that was less brightly lit.

“It’s so brutal. I don’t enjoy watching people hurt each other for fun.”

“Yes, it can be brutal, as evidenced by my once perfect nose.” He sighed. “One would think I would have quit after that, but I’m afraid I do rather enjoy hitting people. For fun.”

She stopped, pulling him off the path. Turning toward him, she looked up into his face and studied his nose. “Was it really perfect before?”

He laughed. “My mother said so.”

“Mothers can’t be trusted when it comes to their children. They are heavily biased. Everyone knows this.” Her own mother always told Cassandra she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

“You may be right. My nose was certainly straighter.”

She reached up and gently touched her fingertip between his eyes before skimming down to the slight crook. “So this ruined your face?” she asked softly, her gaze locking with his.

“I thought so, but you tell me. Am I hideous?”

“Not at all. I find this bump quite charming.” She pressed her finger lightly against his flesh.

Their arms—she was still holding his sleeve—were between them, but if not for that impediment, they would likely have stood chest to chest. Her pulse quickened, and her breathing thinned. She let her finger continue down his nose and nearly touched it to his mouth. The temptation to do that, and so many other things, was nearly overpowering.

He blinked and edged back just slightly. “It hurt like hell when it happened. I knew it was broken right away. There was so much blood.”

At the mention of blood, Cassandra froze. Her breath completely stalled, and sound whooshed in her ears.

“Poured out of my nose and down the back of my throat, gagging me,” he went on. “I could hardly breathe!”

Gagging… her throat closed, and her vision blurred. She tried to draw a breath and couldn’t. Then everything narrowed in front of her. All she could see was the bump on his nose, and she imagined a crimson current spilling over his mouth and down his front.

The world tilted sideways. Then it went black.

The moment before she sagged against him, Ruark noted her sickly pallor and was instantly filled with alarm. Propriety be damned, he swept her up and carried her to a bench where he bent to lay her down. Thankfully, she was already stirring in his arms.

He sat down with her and set her at his side, propping her against him. He curled his arm around her back with his hand firmly clasping her side. They faced the club, and so far it didn’t appear as if anyone had noticed her collapse. The bench was strategically placed away from the lanterns, offering a dim location for a couple to sit.

“Are you all right?” What an asinine question. Of course she wasn’t.

She leaned into him, her breath coming fast and shallow. He held onto her tightly, pulling her even more snugly into his side. With his free hand, he touched her cheek. She felt rather cold and still looked pale—not that he had the best illumination in which to see her.

“Cassandra, can you speak?”

“I-I think so. I don’t like bl-blood.” She shuddered in his embrace, and he caressed her face with soothing strokes.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She was one of the strongest, liveliest people he’d ever known. Strongest? Because she was fearless—or seemingly so. Didn’t she have to be with her father and brothers?

“You couldn’t—” Her teeth chattered briefly as she shivered. “You couldn’t know.”

“I should take you home.” He looked toward the club and wondered how he could secret her away without them being seen. Or perhaps he should escort her inside and deliver her to one—or both—of her brothers.

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment. Several moments.” She reached for his coat, clutching the lapel and holding him against her. “Don’t leave me.”

“There isn’t a person who could pry me away,” he said softly, allowing his hand to drift to her shoulder as he nuzzled the top of her head.

“It’s because of my mother.” Her voice was small and quiet, completely unlike her. “The blood, I mean.”

He looked into her face, which she turned up toward his. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to cause you any discomfort.” He frowned, angry with himself and his insensitivity. “More than I already have.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she repeated. “No one knows.” The last was a bare whisper as her gaze shot toward the club.

“When I was seven, my mother was ill. My brothers were away at school, and Father was always busy. He visited Mama, but I sat with her. I brushed her hair, read to her, fed her when she could eat.”

Those were not things a seven-year-old should do. “That is quite a burden for someone so young.”

“That’s what Nurse said, but I wouldn’t be deterred. No one could drag me from her bedside, not even when the surgeon came to bleed her every few days.”

Oh, God, she’d watched that?

“Cassandra.” He didn’t know what he meant to say after that. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he held her close.

“Every time he came, it was as if he bled some of her spirit from her, along with the actual blood. Then she died. Ever since, the sight, or even the discussion apparently, of blood terrifies me.”

“I can understand why.” He stroked her shoulder, her upper arm.

She flattened her hand beneath his coat, her palm flush against his chest. “Please don’t tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.”

“You’ve nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s not uncommon.” He thought of a young lad who’d come to the boxing club to train only to faint at the sight of another fighter bleeding. He’d never returned. Ruark decided not to share that story, however.

“It isn’t?”

“I know of at least one other person who reacts in the same way—a gentleman.”

She exhaled, the breath leaving her in a stutter. “That’s slightly comforting.”

“I wish I could banish your fear entirely.”

Her gaze met his once more, and a slight smile tugged at her mouth. “I appreciate that. Alas, I’ve been plagued with this irrational terror for fifteen years.”

He desperately wanted to lighten the mood for her, to get her to truly relax and let the tension tightening her body go. “I could kiss you as a distraction, but your brother is inside and who’s to say if we’d be seen. This—the way we are sitting here practically embracing—is scandalous enough.”

“Everything about you is scandalous,” she murmured. The air shifted, and where there’d been worry and apprehension, there was now heat and longing.

“Where you’re concerned, yes.”

“That is a problem, I think.” She lifted her chin, bringing her mouth closer to his.

The need to kiss her again was overwhelming. His fingers dug into her side as his other hand cupped her neck. She should tell him to stop. No, he should just stop. Let her go, help her up, take her inside.

But here they were in the same place—more or less—where they’d first kissed. He could no longer deny the impression that incident had left on him. He could no longer ignore the pull he felt toward her, and it wasn’t just about kissing. He enjoyed her humor, admired her spirit, and as of this moment, he felt a desperate need to protect her.

To possess her.

No, this couldn’t happen again. She was Lucien’s sister. Ruark had known her for years. Extricating himself from her, from his feelings for her, would not be as easy as it had been in the past. Hell, it had never been easy.

But he was not yet ready to move in the other direction—to pursue anything more that might lead to marriage. It wasn’t time. No matter how he felt about her or any of the women in the past, nothing could make him break his vow.

He brought his hand from her neck and loosened his hold on her side. “Feeling better?”

She blinked and removed her hand from his chest. Straightening, she edged away from him on the bench, and he withdrew his arm from around her.

“Yes, thank you. We should go back inside. We’ve been gone too long, probably.”

“Not terribly long, but yes, let’s go back.” He stood, offering his hand to help her up.

She smoothed away the wrinkles in her gown created from sitting. “Thank you for caring for me in my moment of…distress.”

He let out a sardonic laugh. “That’s the least I could do since I caused it.”

Her answering smile was sly and charming, very much the Cassandra he knew. He was glad he hadn’t broken her, but then he suspected it would take much more to do that.

“Time to get on with the Glastonbury Plan,” she announced. “What is it you’re helping with exactly?”

“I’m merely to ensure you have opportunities to dance and spend time with him.”

“Which I can’t do if I’m walking outside with you.” She laughed with an air of admonishment as she tapped his chest. “I think you lured me out here to kiss me again.”

In his heart, he knew it was true, even if his mind hadn’t been aware. “You are a tempting minx, Lady Cassandra.”

“Not tempting enough,” she whispered, looking toward the club.

He wanted to tell her she was more than tempting enough, that he was barely keeping a rein on his passion, that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Among other things. “If you’d rather go home, you can.”

“My father will be angry if I don’t dance with Glastonbury. And Lucien went to a great deal of effort to get the viscount here tonight.” She looked at him askance. “But I suspect you know all about that since you are on the membership committee.”

Pressing his lips together, he wouldn’t respond to that. Instead, he focused on Glastonbury. “If you truly aren’t interested in marrying Glastonbury, you shouldn’t bother with any of this.”

“It’s not that. I don’t know him.”

“You know he’s a pugilist, and given what I learned about you this evening, I’m not sure he’s a wise choice.” He’d likely come home bloodied at some point, and how would she react?

“Perhaps he’ll give it up for me. Come, let’s go find him.”

Ruark offered her his arm, and during the walk back to the club, his feet felt as if they were encased in stone. Men didn’t give up their passions or change their behavior for women. He knew that from personal experience. Love hadn’t moved him to change his plans, and he doubted it would persuade Glastonbury to give up something he enjoyed as much as boxing. But he wouldn’t tell her that. He had to stop thinking they were close friends, that she would care what he thought. He was supposed to be distancing himself from her, dammit.

They entered the ballroom where they’d come out, and right away he caught sight of the viscount on the opposite side. Spectacular. He stood with both of Cassandra’s brothers, who would wonder where in the hell she’d been.

“He’s over there.” Cassandra inclined her head to where Ruark was already looking.

“I see him. Do you want me to escort you?”

She took her hand from his arm. “It’s best if you don’t.” Looking up at him, there was some emotion buried deep in her gaze, some glimmer of expectation. Perhaps. “Thank you again for your care and your…friendship. You’re a good man, Wexford. For an Irishman.”

She winked at him before leaving, and he nearly pulled her back. Instead, he took a glass from a tray carried by a passing footman without any notion of what it was. Taking a sip, he vaguely registered it was a fortified wine, marsala perhaps.

His attention was entirely directed at Cassandra as she met up with her companion and Lady Overton. A moment later, her brothers and Glastonbury arrived at her side. They conversed gaily, all six of them smiling or laughing, even the perennially serious Miss Lancaster.

Then Glastonbury offered Cassandra his arm, and they left the group. Ruark downed the rest of his wine in one long gulp.

“Enjoying your evening, Wexford?” The question came from Evie, who’d stolen up to him without him even noticing.

Startled, he turned toward her. “Yes, and you?”

“Always. The club never fails to make me feel warm and welcome, but then that was Lucien’s intent. I hope it’s that way for all the members.”

Ruark felt warm, but it was from a mix of agitation and repressed desire. He deposited his empty glass as another footman passed with a tray and took another glass of wine.

“Ah, here comes Lord Aldington and Lucien.”

Wishing to avoid an interrogation as to where he and Cassandra had been, Ruark bowed to Evie. “If you’ll excuse me.” Then he turned and stalked back to the garden where he planned to use the secret door to cross over to the men’s garden and go upstairs to the members’ den. There he could relax and drink his whisky in peace.

And he wouldn’t have to see Cassandra with the man she would likely wed.

CHAPTER 9

C assandra sipped her chocolate at the table in her sitting room where she nearly always broke her fast. The tulips from Wexford were starting to fade, but she refused to part with them yet.

Prudence was usually with her for breakfast, save Saturday mornings like today, which she took for herself. As with every Saturday, she’d gone about her business early, despite being at the assembly until two last night.

Cassandra had struggled to find sleep as the events in the garden with Wexford repeated in her mind in an endless loop. Each time she got to the part where they’d nearly kissed, heat suffused her, along with a yearning she’d never felt before. She refocused her thoughts on the charming Viscount Glastonbury but invariably ended up thinking of Wexford again.

Glastonbury, she thought firmly.

After a delightful promenade around the ballroom the previous evening, Cassandra had waltzed with the viscount. He was a wonderful dancer, and she wondered how someone who moved with such grace and beauty could also enjoy something as violent as boxing. But then Wexford was also an excellent dancer and a pugilist.

And that was what she’d done all night at the assembly—compare the two men.

At least Glastonbury had shared a little more about himself. In addition to his flower-pressing Great Aunt Flora, he had another great aunt, Minerva, who was a prolific watercolorist. She painted three things: her childhood spaniel named Apple, a body of water with an empty boat floating upon it, and fire. They varied in size, color, and composition, for example, sometimes the boat was on a pond, others a river, and occasionally even the ocean. The spaniel might appear on a chair or in the grass or standing on top of the stables. They hadn’t discussed how she painted fire, and Cassandra thought that was perhaps for the best.

Glastonbury spoke of her with fondness and humor. He appeared to care about his extended family even if he did seem beleaguered by them. She’d then wondered about Wexford’s family because her brain apparently couldn’t allow Glastonbury to be the only presence. It could, however, wholly fixate on Wexford, such as why he’d decided not to kiss her last night when it had clearly been imminent.

Because he was behaving as a gentleman should.

It was for the best, for when she recalled how she’d fainted at his mention of blood, she couldn’t help but cringe. Honestly, she wasn’t surprised that he wished to distance himself from her, especially after she told him about her mother. He must think her a silly child.

Only he hadn’t given that impression. He’d been kind, considerate, and genuinely concerned for her welfare.

She didn’t want to regret sharing what she had, even as she wondered why she’d revealed it to him when she hadn’t ever told anyone else. Not her father, her brothers, Fiona or Prudence, no one.

Her father walked in through the open door of her sitting room, jarring her thoughts. “Good morning,” he said rather pleasantly. “How was the assembly last night?”

She looked up at him from her chair. “Good morning, Papa. It was lovely. I enjoyed a promenade and a dance with Lord Glastonbury.” She didn’t say waltz since her father would likely disapprove.

Before he could make further inquiry, she asked, “Do you miss Mama?”

She held her breath as a bit of color leached from his face. He never mentioned her, and Cassandra never, ever asked about her.

At length, he said, gruffly, “I do. However, I prefer not to think about it.” His gaze had moved away from her to some indistinct point to the right.

She could see it was painful for him—thinking of his wife. Cassandra understood the benefit of avoiding thinking about someone. What was the point? It wouldn’t bring them back in her mother’s case, nor would it summon them into your life, as in the case of Wexford, whom she couldn’t stop thinking about despite her best efforts.

Not that she could really compare them. Thoughts of her mother were cherished memories. They were all she had. Wexford was very much alive. Still, the memory of his kisses was all she would have of him. And now she could admit that she wanted more.

“Will Glastonbury call on you?” The awkward moment was gone, and the duke had regained his color.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Next week. He did not specify a day.”

His brow furrowed. “Harrumph. I suppose that’s good enough. Last evening, Philip Trowley approached me at White’s. He’d like to pay you a call.”

Cassandra scooted her chair back from the table and jumped to her feet. “I would rather he didn’t.”

“What’s wrong with Trowley?”

Besides his disconcerting leer? “He has children, Papa, and I would prefer to marry a man who doesn’t have any.” She didn’t want to be a mother immediately. “Furthermore, he makes me uncomfortable.”

“I see. Well, you must be comfortable with your husband. I can understand how you’d be more drawn to the handsome and suave Glastonbury.”

“Suave?” Cassandra laughed lightly. “Listen to you, Papa.”

“Besides, you should marry a title, and Trowley doesn’t have one. If things don’t progress with Glastonbury, I’ve been thinking about Lord Gregory Blakemore.”

“Isn’t he in mourning?” His father had died a month or so ago, and he’d retreated from Society. His elder brother, however, the new Marquess of Witney, had been seen at several places this week. She and Fiona had discussed this last night since Lord Gregory had courted her very briefly before Fiona had realized she was in love with her guardian.

“Yes, but that won’t last forever. I expect he’ll be back on the Marriage Mart before the end of the Season. It’s too bad his brother is already married, for then you could have been a marchioness.”

Cassandra was surprised her father had moved past Glastonbury. “I thought you were rather set on the viscount. I’m encouraged to hear you are not.”

Her father’s brows rose. “Does this mean you’ve decided you and he do not suit?”

“Not at all.” Just that she’d rather suit with Wexford. But her father would never support that. Even so, he’d indulged her in many things. If she was in love with someone he didn’t approve of, would he allow her to marry him anyway?

It was a moot question since she wasn’t in love with anyone. Not even Wexford. She was attracted to him, captivated by him. It would pass. She just had to push him from her mind more permanently.

Prudence came in then, stopping short. “I beg your pardon. I’ll come back later.”

“Come in, Pru.” Cassandra beckoned her forward. “Papa and I were just discussing the assembly and how Glastonbury plans to call next week.”

“I look forward to that,” the duke said, pivoting toward the door. “In the meantime, let me know if you dance with him again at the ball tonight.” With a nod toward both her and Prudence, he left.

Prudence had removed her gloves and now untied her bonnet. She set both items on a chair before moving to join Cassandra at the table.

Retaking her chair, Cassandra poured a cup of chocolate for Prudence. “Papa said Trowley requested to pay a call on me.” She sat back in her chair with a shudder and made a face.

“How unfortunate.”

“Thankfully, Papa understood my reservations. He said he could understand why I would prefer Glastonbury. He actually called him suave. Can you imagine?” She giggled.

Prudence smiled before sipping her chocolate. “Well, he is that. Did you tell the duke you waltzed?”

“Heavens, no. He would be scandalized, even if it was with the gentleman to whom he’s so desperately trying to marry me off.” Cassandra pursed her lips. “Or not. He said ‘if things don’t progress’ with regard to the viscount today, so it seems he’s open to other possibilities. He even mentioned Lord Gregory Blakemore.”

“But he’s in mourning.”

“Papa thinks he’ll be back on the Marriage Mart soon. I can’t imagine a courtship with him, not after he courted my best friend.”

“Yes, that would seem a trifle awkward. But then you are flirting with your brother’s best friend.” Prudence glanced toward the tulips before sliding her an inquisitive glance.

“Do you have a question?”

“You were in the garden with him last night for some time. I confess I looked out the window at one point and couldn’t see you.”

Cassandra arched a brow, half smiling in amusement. “Did you?”

“It’s my job as your companion to ensure you follow the rules of propriety.” Prudence looked down at her cup. “I realize I don’t always succeed, and I apologize for that.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize. You are an excellent companion, Pru. I was outside for such a long time last night because I, er, fainted. Briefly.”

Prudence’s pale gaze flew to Cassandra’s. “What happened? Why didn’t you say anything? We should have gone directly to the retiring room. I really am a terrible companion.”

“Why, because you aren’t a mind reader?” Cassandra laughed. “Please stop thinking you aren’t wonderful. Wexford was telling me about boxing—Glastonbury is a pugilist—and he mentioned blood.” All humor dissipated as Cassandra swallowed against the agitation rising in her throat. “I, ah, can’t stand the sight of blood, and apparently the mention of it can summon a similar queasy response.”

Prudence looked at her in warm sympathy. “I had no idea. That’s awful. What happened when you fainted?”

“Lord Wexford carried me to a bench—I was aware of that. It wasn’t very illuminated, which is likely why you couldn’t see us. When I felt better, we came back inside.”

“I’m glad you didn’t fall down. You could have hurt yourself.”

Cassandra couldn’t see Wexford allowing that to happen. He’d acted the hero in every way. That was why she was even more obsessed with him, she realized. Now she could add heroic to his list of attributes, which was already quite long: charming, handsome, sympathetic, witty, caring, considering, kind…stop!

“I was fine,” Cassandra assured her.

“You seemed perfectly normal when you came back inside. I would never have guessed that happened as I watched you promenade with Glastonbury afterward. Indeed, you appeared to be having a lovely time. Do you think you might suit?”

“I still don’t know.” Because Wexford was taking up too much space in her brain!

Prudence grimaced briefly. “If he enters into negotiations with the duke when he calls this week, you could be on a path with only one destination.”

“Marriage to Glastonbury.” Cassandra had considered that. “Why does this all need to move so quickly? Can’t I have a nice, long courtship? There’s a good two months—or more—left of this Season.”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“I don’t either.” Cassandra plucked a roll from the basket and nibbled the edge.

Next time she saw Glastonbury, perhaps tonight, she’d express her desire for an extended courtship—in an indirect way, of course. She didn’t want to give him the idea that their union was inevitable.

Not when she kept thinking of having a courtship with someone else.

F red, the owner of the Black Boar, intercepted Ruark as he stepped out of the changing room. “I hear you want to fight in my prizefight.” He spoke quietly, his voice deep and raspy.

Mort must have spoken to him. Ruark nodded. “I’m interested.”

“You can fight in the earlier one.”

Surprised, Ruark asked, “Who is the opponent?”

“Abe Garnham. You up for that?”

Ruark was familiar with the boxer but hadn’t ever sparred with him. A few years older than Ruark, Garnham had won several impressive bouts. He would draw a crowd once word got out closer to the date. “This will make you a lot of money.”

Fred grunted in response. “The winner gets four percent of the admission fees.”

There would be even more money coming in from wagers. But Ruark wasn’t doing it for the money. Why was he doing it?

He liked a challenge.

Or maybe it was because his father had been a pugilist in Ireland.

“Sure, I’ll fight for you. What prompted the event?” Fred had never hosted anything like this before to Ruark’s knowledge.

Fred stared at him a moment. “Fight’s in less than a fortnight.”

“You can’t tell me the exact date?”

“Can’t let that information get out just yet or where it’s located—not in London.”

Ruark nodded, understanding. “I expect you’ll tell me as soon as you can.”

“Going to call you the Irish Menace, I think.” Fred preceded Ruark into the boxing area.

Ruark made his way to one of four rings where he sparred with Mort. “It’s amazing that you and Fred are cousins.” Fred did not possess Mort’s charm or warmth.

Mort chuckled. “Fred had to keep seven younger siblings in line. That made him curmudgeonly.”

“Such an underrated word,” Ruark murmured. “Did you know he plans to call me the Irish Menace?”

“It was my idea.” Mort grinned. “Glad you like it.”

Ruark rolled his eyes and laughed. “I’ll do my best to appear menacing.”

“Bah, you couldn’t do that if a footpad held you at knifepoint.”

“How would you know?” Ruark had never found himself in that position. “I can be downright fearsome if I’m threatened—or if someone I care about is in peril.”

“Ah, that’s what would do it. If one of your ladies was at risk. What about the current one?”

“There is no current one.” Ruark went to the center of the ring and shook his shoulders out. “Are we sparring or chatting?”

Mort moved to face off with Ruark. They took their positions, and Mort called for them to begin.

Ruark commanded the ring at first, catching Mort with a few well-timed punches to his sides and shoulders. Mort also landed a glancing blow against Ruark’s chest.

Why did he persist in asking about a woman?

Because there was a woman.

Mort landed a second hit to Ruark’s arm. Ruark drove Mort backward with an aggressive flurry of fists.

There wasn’t a woman. Not really. He’d put her from his mind as of last night.

Isn’t she in your mind right now?

The cut struck Ruark’s side hard, sending him reeling. He lost his footing and stumbled to the side.

Redoubling his efforts, he cleared his thoughts and gritted his teeth. Lunging forward, he threw a punch toward Mort’s chest only to have the trainer neatly avoid the strike.

As if it were that easy.

The voice in Ruark’s head was hers. Taunting and teasing him as her lush lips curved into a tantalizing smile.

Mort hit him again—squarely—in the stomach. Ruark grunted as he staggered back.

“You can’t fight in Fred’s prizefight if you’re distracted like this.” Mort stood still, his brow creased, and his mouth set into a disappointed line.

Ruark put his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. No, he couldn’t. Apparently, he hadn’t banished Cassandra from his brain. But he would. It always took time when he had to get over…things like this.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Mort asked. “The fight is on the eighteenth.”

Hell. How could he possibly get over Cassandra when he couldn’t even admit what he felt for her?

No, he didn’t feel the same. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. She was Lucien’s sister.

That was it. He’d been holding himself back instead of allowing the emotion to wash over him. He’d tumbled into a kiss and had spent every moment since then keeping her at bay.

“Have you considered pursuing this one?” Mort asked softly. “Or is she not someone you can wed?”

He’d fallen for his first mistress when he’d been twenty-one. Even if he’d wanted to marry, he couldn’t have taken her as his wife. That hadn’t stopped him from behaving like a lovesick fool—his father’s warnings had been quite accurate.

Cassandra was not a courtesan, however. He could marry her. Except for two critical and inhibiting details: she was his best friend’s sister and her father had forbidden him from courting her.

“No, she is not,” Ruark affirmed. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning or asking about her. I am doing my best to put her from my mind.”

“My apologies.” Mort inclined his head. “Are you certain there is no way forward?”

“None.” Ruark took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Now, can we try again?”

Mort shook out his hands. “Whenever you say.”

Despite his best efforts, Ruark was unable to properly focus, and they ended the training session early. Mort encouraged him to withdraw from the prizefight if he couldn’t get himself sorted in the next few days. Unless he didn’t mind taking a beating from Garnham.

Ruark stalked from the club, his insides churning with tension. He didn’t want to withdraw, but he also didn’t think he could expel Cassandra from his mind before the fight.

He simply had to find a way to manage this. If only he didn’t want her so badly. Last night when she’d bared her emotions to him, sharing the pain of losing her mother, he’d wanted nothing more than to hold her close and never let her go.

As he strode toward Mayfair, too pent up to hail a hack, he cursed his nature. Why was he like this? His father seemed to have known he would be. Why else would he have made Ruark swear to remain unwed until he was thirty? Because his father had been the same. He’d quickly fallen in love—with Ruark’s mother. Only, he’d married her and seemed to regret it after, presumably, falling out of love. The fact that Ruark only remembered them bickering seemed to support that.

Ruark had never asked his mother about it. Why dredge up a potentially painful past just to confirm his supposition? Still, she would be here in a matter of days, and he could ask her. Perhaps she could explain to him why he was like this. Why it was so damned easy for him to lose his heart.

When would he know it was time to give it to the right person?

CHAPTER 10

“Thank you again for the pendant, Father.” Cassandra touched the flower made up of garnet stones, which hung from a sparkling gold chain. He’d gifted her the necklace earlier in celebration of her twenty-second birthday. She’d chosen to wear an ivory gown trimmed in scarlet so the red accents would match the garnets.

He gave her a rare smile from beside her. “You’re very welcome, my dear. It looks lovely on you.”

The coach stopped in front of Constantine and Sabrina’s house, and a footman came to open the door, helping Cassandra down. The duke followed and then the footman assisted Prudence to the pavement.

“I admit I’m surprised your brother invited us for dinner,” the duke observed.

“He’s a rather different person of late,” Cassandra said. “He is happier than I’ve ever known him to be.”

Her father didn’t respond as they entered the foyer. A footman took her wrap, as well as Prudence’s, and a flash of white fur darted by, followed closely by one of gray.

Cassandra smiled. “That must be the new kitten Grayson is chasing.”

“Bloody nuisance,” her father muttered.

Throwing him an exasperated glance, Cassandra put her hand on her hip. “It’s no different than your dogs at Woodbreak.”

“Those are hunters—they earn their keep.”

“I’m sure Grayson and his new friend do the same. I’d guess there are no mice to be found in the kitchen or scullery.”

As her father grumbled something inaudible, Sabrina swept into the foyer with a bright smile. “Happy birthday, Cassandra! Come to the parlor. Constantine is pouring an excellent sherry for the occasion.”

They followed Sabrina to the parlor and the moment she reached the threshold, there was a resounding chorus of, “Surprise!” Followed by several happy birthdays and much laughter.

Cassandra worried her jaw might drop to the floor. This was completely unexpected. Her gaze moved to Sabrina, who stood beside her husband. Cassandra had never seen him wear such a wide, joyful grin. Her throat constricted. This was for her.

Blinking, she surveyed the remaining guests—Lucien of course, and Fiona and Overton. But also Lucien’s friend Dougal MacNair, Mrs. Renshaw, whom Cassandra liked very much, and, to her complete surprise and utter delight, Wexford.

Oh dear. Wexford.

She looked toward her father to see if he’d noticed, but the duke stood with his hands clasped behind his back on the other side of Prudence. Cassandra leaned toward her companion. “Did you know about this?”

“Certainly. Isn’t it lovely? It was Lucien’s idea.” Sometimes Cassandra forgot that Prudence had met Lucien months ago, that he was the reason she’d been employed by Overton as Fiona’s companion. Prudence was one of the many people her brother had helped.

“It is lovely,” Cassandra murmured, her gaze drifting to Wexford who was looking at her in return. Her insides fluttered as her pulse picked up speed.

Fiona hurried over and hugged Cassandra. Stepping back, she admired the pendant around Cassandra’s throat. “Is that new?”

“Yes, my father gave it to me.” She glanced toward him where he stood in conversation with Constantine. She also caught the glower he cast toward Wexford.

“It’s beautiful.” Fiona looked in the direction of Cassandra’s attention. “Is something amiss?”

“I’m just watching to make sure my father doesn’t do anything obnoxious with regard to Wexford.”

Lucien had walked up to her and heard what she said. After embracing her and bussing her cheek, he also looked toward their father. “He’ll behave. He never had any problem with Wex before.”

“No, just since he paid that faux call on me.” Cassandra shook her head. “I never should have asked him to do that.” For so many reasons.

“He’ll forget about it,” Lucien said with certainty.

“Perhaps after I wed. Anyway, it shouldn’t matter. He was downright rude and for no good reason. He has no right to judge Wexford or find him lacking.”

A slight frown creased Fiona’s features. “He knows Wexford has no plans to court you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s been told, but that doesn’t mean he won’t think whatever he wishes.” Cassandra grasped her brother. “Come, Lu, let’s reassure him.” For whatever reason, she didn’t want him treating Wexford poorly. Wexford didn’t deserve that. Plus, it was just wrong of her father to behave like that.

As they made their way toward the duke, they paused to speak with Mr. MacNair and Mrs. Renshaw, who both wished Cassandra happy birthday. Sabrina joined Cassandra and Lucien just as they arrived at the duke and Constantine.

“Happy birthday, sister.” Constantine kissed her cheek and smiled warmly. Yes, he was quite changed. And for the better. It was hard to even glimpse the extremely reserved person he’d been for pretty much as long as she could remember.

“Papa, I came to make sure you will be kind to Lord Wexford. He is not courting me, nor does he have any plans to. We are simply friends—an extension of his friendship with Lucien.”

“So you profess,” the duke said before sipping his sherry. “But who’s to say what he has planned?”

“He isn’t some villain with a nefarious scheme to abduct me to Gretna Green.” Cassandra tried not to glare at him. “Just promise you won’t ruin my birthday?”

“I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help but overhear my name.”

At the sound of Wexford’s Irish lilt, Cassandra turned her head to see he’d come up behind her. Again, her pulse sped, and her stomach flipped over.

Wexford grinned brilliantly at Cassandra before executing a marvelous bow. “May I wish you a very happy birthday, Lady Cassandra?”

“Thank you, my lord.” How she wished he’d taken her hand while also understanding the many reasons he hadn’t.

“Let’s settle this then,” the duke said, startling Cassandra from her yearning. “Cassandra tells me you have no interest in courting her. I take it I successfully warned you off?”

Cassandra sucked in a breath and stared at her father.

Chuckling, Wexford shook his head. “Not at all. Rest assured, Your Grace, if I wanted to court Cassandra, I would. However, we have decided—together—that we do not suit. Your daughter is an intelligent and wise young woman. You should give her the credit she deserves when it comes to selecting suitors, let alone a husband.”

Lucien made a sound and angled his head away. His mouth was turned up as he clearly tried not to laugh.

Constantine inclined his head toward Wexford. “I could not have said that better.”

It wasn’t enough for Cassandra. And since it was her birthday, she felt emboldened to ask for what she wanted. “I think you owe Lord Wexford an apology for when he called on me, Papa.”

The duke’s dark eyes glittered, and everyone fell silent. Sabrina clutched her husband’s arm, and Cassandra felt sorry for making her nervous. She suffered from anxiety in certain situations, and her father-in-law did nothing to ease her apprehension. In fact, he often increased it.

“I don’t think Wexford requires an apology.” Her father’s gaze was locked with Wexford. “He understands the way of things.” He turned to Cassandra with a faint smile. A smile? “Now, if you’ll excuse me dear, I think your party will be livelier if I take myself off. Best to leave you younger people to enjoy yourselves.” He looked toward Constantine and Sabrina, an odd, almost fond look in his eyes as he finished his sherry. Constantine took his empty glass.

Before Cassandra could think of what to say, he bent to kiss her cheek. “Happy birthday, dear.” He looked to Constantine. “You’ll send her and Miss Lancaster home in your coach?”

“I can drop them off,” Lucien offered, a look of bemusement flitting across his features.

“Very good.” Then he turned and left.

Cassandra immediately turned to Wexford. “Please accept my apology in place of his.”

“It isn’t necessary.” His vivid blue eyes stared into hers, stirring her already ever-present desire for him. But there was more—they shared something. It wasn’t just the connection of the incident. There was a familiarity. She knew how he looked when he made various expressions, how he smelled, and the sounds he made when he was amused or interested or…aroused.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Constantine asked, handing his father’s sherry glass to Sabrina.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Constantine looked to Lucien who gently touched Cassandra’s arm. “Join us in Con’s study.”

Surprised, Cassandra went along with them to the next room, where Con closed the door behind them. “Ignore Father,” Con said, walking around her toward his desk where he picked up a box with a ribbon and handed it to Cassandra.

Lucien moved to face her. “That’s from the both of us.”

“Oh. How…lovely.” And unexpected. She wasn’t sure they’d given her a birthday gift since her, what, twelfth birthday?

She untied the ribbon and set it on Constantine’s desk then opened the box. Nestled in velvet was a miniature of her and their mother. Tears sprang to Cassandra’s eyes, and she had to blink because she couldn’t see through the wet blur.

When her vision cleared, she gingerly picked up the portrait from the box and studied the painting. In it, she sat in profile with her mother who looked at her adoringly. What was remarkable was that Cassandra looked as she did now—a grown woman. And her mother looked the same but different. “Is this what she would look like now, you think?” Her voice was small and uncertain, the voice of a child who’d lost her mother.

Constantine coughed. “That was the intent, yes.”

There were a few paintings of Cassandra with her mother—just the two of them. But there were more than twice that of her with her sons. And they both had miniatures of them with her when they’d turned ten. Cassandra didn’t have that because by the time she’d reached that age, her mother had been gone.

Lucien stepped closer. “It doesn’t bring her back, but we thought you might like to have something of her and of you. We all lost her, but Con and I had her for much longer.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She looked up at both of them. “How did you do this?”

“The woman who created the massive paintings in the foyers of the Phoenix Club is a singularly gifted artist,” Lucien said. “She has a series of paintings of her own mother, whom she lost in childhood, depicting her aging. Every year she paints a new portrait of how she imagines her mother would look. That gave me the idea.”

Cassandra couldn’t stop staring at the miniature. “It’s astonishing. Thank you both. So much.” A tear fell from her eye onto the painting, and she gasped.

Constantine rushed to her side. “It’s fine. You won’t ruin it.”

She put the cover back on the box. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“I’m glad.” Constantine touched her arm. “It can’t make up for the years in which I’ve been a lousy brother, but it’s my promise to you that I will do better.”

“I know losing her was hard for you too.” She realized he had smiled—and laughed—more when she was a child. Before their mother had died.

His answering smile was sad. “I blamed myself for a long time, and maybe I always will. If I hadn’t been away at school, perhaps I could have prevented what happened. That damned surgeon—” He cut himself off, looking away and dropping his hand from her arm. “Sorry.”

“Enough of that,” Lucien said. “There’s nothing any of us could have done. She was ill, and Father, despite his vast imperfections, tried to provide her with the best care.”

Cassandra started to shake. It was impossible to have this conversation and not think of the surgeon bleeding her. And thoughts of that, well… She suddenly wished for Wexford’s comforting arms. He understood her fear, and he could ease her pain.

Thankfully, Constantine diverted the conversation. “And none of that excuses my self-absorption and general aloofness. I’d put up a wall so tall that I couldn’t see over it, let alone allow you to see me.”

“Sabrina has been so good for you,” Cassandra said.

“Love can change everything,” he said softly. “If you let it.” He glanced toward Lucien, who blinked and held up his hands.

“What?” Lucien looked between then them. “I love both of you.”

Cassandra let out a light laugh and looked back to Constantine who only shook his head with a gentle smile.

Lucien gave her an earnest look. “We promise to be better brothers, and that includes not allowing Father to choose your husband.”

“Yes,” Constantine agreed. “If you wanted to marry Wexford, we’d ensure you could.”

“Er, no.” Lucien snapped his mouth closed. It was as if he’d been unable to contain himself.

Constantine turned his head toward Lucien. “I don’t understand your objection.”

“He’s just…not ready to marry. He has some rule that he won’t wed until he’s thirty.”

“Does he?” Cassandra hadn’t known that. What was the purpose of this rule? She had so many questions, and she was already plotting how she might find answers.

“Yes. Apparently.” Lucien shifted uncomfortably, which spoke volumes because he nearly always appeared at ease. It was annoying, actually.

“You know why?” Cassandra asked.

Lucien lifted a shoulder. “Just that he doesn’t think he’ll know his mind until then. Anyway, he’s not courting you. Glastonbury is, however, isn’t he?”

“I suppose. Mildly,” she added. “He indicated he’d call again this week.”

“Wexford is smart for wanting to know himself,” Constantine said. “Don’t marry someone because you think you must.”

“It turned out well for you,” Cassandra observed. “You and Sabrina seem quite happy now.”

“Now.” Constantine’s hazel eyes, so like their mother’s, crinkled at the edges. “However, it wasn’t easy. The key, actually, is to be honest about your feelings and your expectations. If you communicate what you want and hope for, you’ll get on much better.”

That was all well and good if you knew what you wanted. Cassandra wasn’t sure she did, other than she wanted to kiss Wexford again. Then maybe she would know…

Lucien gestured toward the door. “We should get back to the party.”

“Yes.” Cassandra drew a deep breath. “Thank you so much for this gift. I will cherish it—and both of you.”

She hugged them tightly, first Constantine and then Lucien. “Oh, I want one more thing for my birthday.”

“Name it,” Constantine said.

“I want to play hide and seek after dinner.”

Lucien barked out a laugh. “Is this punishment for all the times we refused to play with you when we said we were too old to play such games?”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “You owe me.”

“She’s going to be collecting for a long time,” Constantine said with a chuckle. “And we will pay the debt.

Splendid. Now she knew precisely how she was going to get Wexford alone so she could ask him about his thirty years of age rule.

Why do you care? It’s not as if you would wed him.

Wouldn’t she?

Dinner was an engaging, boisterous affair, in which everyone talked across and up and down the table. Cassandra’s cheeks hurt from laughing. The only drawback had been that Wexford had been too far away. While she’d sat to Constantine’s left, Wexford had sat to the left of Sabrina—who was opposite her husband at the end of the table.

Still, she’d sent many surreptitious glances his way and had caught him doing the same. Now, after several glasses of wine, she’d removed to the parlor with the ladies.

“I do hope they don’t take too long,” Cassandra said, glancing toward the dining room where the gentlemen had remained. “I’m keen to start our game of hide and seek.”

Mrs. Renshaw shared a small settee with Cassandra. “I love that you asked to play.” Her eyes sparkled with glee. “We can all use some youthfulness.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Renshaw, I agree.”

“I think you must call me Evie,” the dark-haired woman said. “We are certainly friends, especially given how we met.”

That was true. After Wexford had left Cassandra in the cupboard at the Phoenix Club, she’d had to remain in the dark for a while in order to regain her equilibrium. That, and she’d been afraid of being discovered in addition to feeling overcome with worry about whatever had happened to Fiona.

When she’d finally worked up the nerve to leave, the door had opened, much to her shock and horror. But it had been Mrs. Renshaw who’d kindly—and urgently—ushered Cassandra to her office on the ladies’ side of the club. There, Cassandra had been reunited with Fiona, who, as Cassandra had later discovered, had enjoyed quite an adventure after veering off in the opposite direction and running straight into her guardian.

“Yes, we are most definitely friends, and you must call me Cassandra. I do appreciate your help that day at the club. I think I said at the time that I regretted our behavior, but seeing as how things turned out for Fiona, I think it must have been Fate that drew us there that day.”

“Perhaps. I’m not sure I believe Fate is that kind.” There was a cynical edge to Evie’s voice. “But I wonder if you think Fate played a hand in what happened with you that day.” She spoke softly so that Cassandra had to lean slightly closer to hear her.

“I think it must have,” Cassandra said in agreement. “Otherwise, I might have been caught.”

“Weren’t you though?” Evie didn’t blink.

Cassandra wasn’t entirely certain what she meant. “By you, you mean.”

“Yes, of course. Though I admit I wondered what happened with you in the time between when you and Fiona parted to when I found you.”

“Nothing,” Cassandra said with perhaps too much haste and an elevated tone. The gentlemen came in then, and she couldn’t help but look toward Wexford as he strode into the parlor, grinning at something MacNair said. He was so handsome it made her chest ache. Her fingers fairly itched to touch that crook in his nose again.

“Nothing at all?” Evie practically whispered.

Cassandra glanced toward her and saw that she was also looking toward Wexford. Did she know? How could she?

Forcing a laugh, Cassandra smoothed her hand over her forehead. “I was alone in a cupboard, petrified that I would be discovered at any moment.”

There was a long pause during which Cassandra felt a bit warm before Evie said, “If you ever need help again, as you did that day, I hope you’ll ask.”

Because, like Lucien, she offered support where it was required. And for some reason, she thought Cassandra might need that.

“Thank you,” Cassandra said a bit uneasily. Perhaps Evie did know. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I promise that anything you confide in me or any help you seek will be kept strictly between us.” Her gaze riveted onto Cassandra so that she could not look away. “I firmly believe in the sanctity of friendship, especially among women. We must stick together.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” For the second time that night, Cassandra’s throat tried to close with emotion. It had been years since she’d had any friends. Girls that she’d known in her youth had all had their Seasons—supervised by their mothers—and wed, while Cassandra had preferred to remain at home. Without her mother to launch her in Society, the prospect had seemed daunting. Cassandra had envied those friends and their perfect Seasons.

Now she had Fiona and Prudence and Sabrina—and Evie, apparently.

Evie smiled at her. “Good. I believe it’s time for your hide and seek.” Her blue eyes glowed with anticipation.

Cassandra reconsidered her plan to get Wexford alone. What was the point? She would find an opportunity to ask him about his rule, because she was curious. But that was all she could allow. She had to go back to thinking of him as her brother’s friend.

Perhaps the answer had been in front of her all along. Instead of kissing him again, she ought to kiss Glastonbury. Yes, that would surely eradicate Wexford from her mind.

It was too bad the viscount wasn’t present.

CHAPTER 11

The moment Ruark stepped back into the parlor, his starved gaze fell on Cassandra. She looked stunning this evening, the ivory gown draping her form to perfection. Her dark hair was elegantly and intricately styled with a fetching pearl comb. The more he looked at her hair, the more he longed to unpin every strand and unravel each curl. He would bury his face in the mass, the silken locks caressing him.

Hell and the devil. He could not sport an erection in the middle of her birthday party.

And he’d done such a good job of staying away from her this evening. The only time he’d spoken directly to her, not including the irritating conversation with her father, had been when she’d returned to the parlor with the gift from her brothers. She’d shown everyone the beautiful miniature.

Ruark had been taken aback by the incredibly thoughtful gift. He could see how much it meant to her, but he hadn’t been able to say what he’d wanted, that he hoped it eased the ache in her heart. It was probably for the best that he could not. They’d shared too many charmed and heated moments, and he wasn’t sure how many more he could endure without surrendering to his rampant desire.

Lucien went to the center of the room. “Time for hide and seek, as requested by Cassandra. Since it’s her birthday, we must do as she says.”

Cassandra laughed and rose from the settee where she was sitting with Evie. Curtseying, she asked if there were any volunteers to be the finder.

Evie stood. “I’ll do it. How long shall I wait to search?”

“I should think three minutes by the clock,” Constantine suggested, gesturing toward the mantel where a small, ornate clock sat in the center. “Ground and first floors only, please, and do refrain from entering our private quarters. The door is closed.”

“That includes you and Lady Aldington,” Lucien said with a grin and a wink.

Ruark couldn’t help but chuckle. It was odd to see him and Constantine behaving in such a…brotherly fashion. It was also rather nice. Ruark adored his sisters, but sometimes he thought it might be nice to have a brother. That was likely why he cherished his close friendships with Lucien, MacNair, and Deane.

“Everyone ready?” Evie asked.

“You’ll need to close your eyes,” MacNair said. “That way you can’t see which way we go.”

Fiona nodded. “Yes and turn toward the hearth.”

Evie pivoted and, back to everyone, presumably closed her eyes. “Ready now?” After several people responded in the affirmative, she called, “Go!”

Ruark considered going into Aldington’s study, but that would likely be the first place she’d look. Still, no one else had gone in there… Hell, he was wasting time.

Dashing into the dining room, he glanced around. The edge of a pale blue skirt was visible beneath the table. He walked closer and whispered, “You may want to get farther under the table Lady Overton.”

The skirt disappeared. Smiling, he went into the anteroom then pivoted toward the stair hall. There were likely more places to hide upstairs.

Ruark moved swiftly but quietly toward the stairs. Cassandra was just opening a door worked into the wood paneling beneath the stairs. He hurried across the carpet that thankfully swallowed the sound of his steps and caught up to her before she stepped inside wherever she was going.

“Tell me where to hide,” he whispered.

She jumped and turned to face him. “Wexford!” Her voice was low, barely audible, but the urgency in her sherry-colored eyes was unmistakable.

“Presumably, you’re familiar with your brother’s house. Tell me where to hide, please.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Where are you hiding?” He looked past her toward the open door that he never would have known was there if she hadn’t opened it.

“This is a…cupboard.”

And just like that, the lust he’d tried to keep at bay roared through him.

A squeak from the stairs above them prompted them both to glance up. Then she pulled Ruark into the cupboard and closed the door, plunging them into darkness. The space was small—more narrow than the cupboard at the Phoenix Club, with a pitched ceiling, which he’d seen before the light was gone, since they were under the stairs.

“Well, this is familiar.” It was also the stuff of which dreams were made. He could feel her heat and smell her intoxicating scent.

“There’s another door behind you,” she whispered. “It leads to the servants’ closet, which is attached to the backstairs.”

“You know your brother’s house very well.”

“Con moved here when I was twelve. I tried to get him and Lucien to play hide and seek with me, but they always said no. Haddock and a few of the other servants played with me, though. I know all the nooks and crannies. It’s likely that Con or Sabrina will have to tell Evie to look here. She won’t know it exists.”

Hell, that made it the perfect place for them to be. Until they were found. “I should move into the servants’ closet.” That could still look suspicious—them hiding in such close proximity.

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

Neither of them moved.

The air shifted, and he realized she had moved. Just a hair closer to him than she’d been before.

“Before you go, can I ask you something?” she asked so softly he had to strain to hear.

“Anything.” The word leapt from his mouth without thought, but he meant it.

“Lucien said you have a rule about not marrying until you’re thirty. Is that true or just something you say to your friends?”

He nearly laughed but stopped himself. Still, he smiled. “That is something I might say to my family to get them to stop nagging me about marriage.”

“Do they?”

“My mother does, but I am fortunate that she has four daughters with which to concern herself.” He had to work to keep his hands at his sides rather than reach for her. “But to answer your question, yes, that is my rule.”

“Why?”

He should have expected the further inquiry and just responded as he normally did. Instead, he hesitated. He’d never told anyone the real truth. “You’ll think it’s silly.”

“I won’t. You didn’t laugh at my reaction to…well, you know.”

No, he hadn’t. He knew she wouldn’t make light of him either. “The rule is so I’ll be sure that I’m marrying the right person,” he said, wondering if she was the right person and he’d just met her too early. But he’d considered that before, and so far, he’d staunchly clung to his vow.

“It’s more than that,” he admitted, wanting to share this with her the way she’d revealed her fear to him.

A shriek from the direction of the dining room pitched Cassandra into his arms. She clung to him as silence followed. He pressed his hands to her back, both eager to hold her close and reluctant to encourage what they should not want.

He dropped his head so he could smell her hair, closing his eyes as he basked in this moment, knowing it would be fleeting. It had to be.

She pulled back. “Sorry. That startled me.”

“It did me, as well.”

Letting go of him, she exhaled. “You were saying?”

He should go into the closet now, get away from her as soon as possible. But he wanted to tell her this. “My father died when I was six. He fell from his horse and broke his leg. It didn’t set correctly and there was an infection. He knew he wasn’t going to survive and wanted me to promise him that I would wait to wed until I was mature enough to know that I was marrying for love instead of lust. That was the mistake he’d made. He married my mother when he was young—just twenty-one—and didn’t want me to do the same.”

“He regretted marrying your mother?”

“I don’t recall him saying that exactly, but that’s the impression I have now, particularly since the only thing I remember about them together is that they usually argued. He told me I would need time and wisdom to know my heart. I promised him I would wait until I was thirty at least. He died a few days later.”

She was quiet a moment then put her hand on his chest. “This promise is very important to you.”

His breath halted. “It’s all I have of my father.”

“I understand. Completely.” Of course she did. “If I’d made a promise to my mother on her deathbed, I would make sure I kept it.”

He lifted his hand and found her face, his fingertips stroking her temple and cheek down to her jaw. “You are a singular woman, Cassandra.”

Though it was dark, he imagined they were looking into each other’s eyes. He could see the gold flecks in the brown that made hers look like a warm, bronze sherry. “Are you going to move to the closet now?”

“In just a moment.” He bent his head, his nose grazing hers. “I think there is something I must do first…”

“Yes, please.” She moved, standing on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

This was what he craved, what he needed. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush to his chest. She clasped the back of his neck, one hand tangling into his hair.

They adjusted, in concert as if they’d rehearsed this—and maybe they had in their minds. Their mouths angled as their tongues found each other, the kiss opening and expanding, threatening to swallow them whole. He hoped it would. There was nowhere he would rather be than drowning in her embrace.

The kiss was frenzied, their lips and tongues caressing each other in mad, desperate strokes. His long-buried desire ignited into a conflagration of stark lust. He hadn’t wanted anyone like this in a long time. If ever.

He pulled back but continued to kiss her, softening his mouth against hers. “Cassandra,” he murmured. “This is inadvisable.”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathed, her lip licking along his. “Not yet. One more minute. Kiss me, Ruark.”

His name on her lips drove him to the brink. Pivoting, he turned her against the wall, pressing her back as he drew his hand up to cup her breast through her gown. With a gasp into his mouth, she arched forward, seeking more of his touch.

He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, savoring the delectable satin of her skin. She clutched his head, her fingers digging into his scalp. Her shallow breathing filled his senses, driving him wild with need.

He tore his mouth from her flesh before he marked her where everyone could see. Gliding his hand up over her breast, he pressed against her bare skin, his fingertips teasing her shoulder blade and neck. The temptation to slip his hand into her garments—if he could—or to flip her skirt up was nearly overwhelming. He’d turned into some sort of savage.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, tugging at his head. “One more kiss. Just…touch me. Please?”

Gripping her hip, he ground into her, his cock desperate for a release it would not achieve. Not here. Not now.

Not with her.

This might be all they ever had. He claimed her mouth, his teeth pulling on her lip and his tongue thrusting into her. She grabbed him as frantically as he held onto her, as if a storm raged around them, and they were all that kept each other from being swept away.

The storm suddenly became real, and they were doused with frigid rain as the door behind him opened. He jerked away, flattening himself back against what he now realized was the door to the closet that he should have gone through several minutes earlier.

Light poured into the cupboard, and the face of the person who’d opened the door was shadowed. Still, there was no mistaking it was Evie.

Or that Lady Aldington stood behind her.

Chest pounding from the erotic encounter and the shock of being discovered, Ruark fought to draw a deep enough breath. He glanced toward Cassandra, and though they were still inside the dark cupboard, she looked pale and uncertain. She did not, however, look frightened, and his admiration for her grew. Which was absurd since any rational unmarried young lady would be scared out of her wits at being found in a compromising position.

“Just come out quickly,” Evie whispered. “I’ll say I found Wexford somewhere else.”

“In the servant’s closet,” Cassandra said, her voice raspy. She coughed. “He’s standing in front of the door.”

“Go in there,” Evie bade with a nod of her head.

Ruark didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and slipped into the servants’ closet where he dropped his head into his hand and groaned inwardly. What a goddamned disaster.

A moment later, the other door to the closet opened, and Evie stepped inside. “I’ve just found you. Later, I will find Cassandra. She needed some time to…calm herself.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked warily, since it seemed she was working to keep this secret, meaning there would be no compromise-induced wedding.

“If you’re asking whether I plan to tell anyone, the answer is no. I believe forcing people to marry if they are seen kissing is stupid and potentially damaging. It makes perfect sense that a couple would like to see if they suit in all areas before committing to wed.”

That was not what he and Cassandra were doing, however. Ruark did not point that out.

Evie gave him a pointed look. “May I suggest you return to the parlor and have something to drink?”

“Excellent advice,” he said a bit hoarsely. “Thank you.” He looked past her, but Lady Aldington hadn’t followed her. “What of the countess?”

“She isn’t going to say anything either. Neither of us wish to force Cassandra into something she may not want.”

There was no mention as to what he might want. He understood their concern for Cassandra—women were often the injured party and paid the consequences. As a man, there would be little repercussion for him. Except what Lucien, and probably his brother, would exact.

Ruark stepped toward her. “Lucien can’t know.”

Her brows dipped. “You think I don’t know that? You should also know that I am aware of your past behavior with women.”

He swore under his breath. “I didn’t realize Lucien had such loose lips.”

“I’ve never breathed a word, and I won’t now. Just know that if you hurt Cassandra, Lucien will not be your most terrifying concern.”

Was she threatening him? It certainly sounded like it. Ruark didn’t plan to find out if she could carry through.

“I would never hurt her.” Not on purpose. But he had caused heartache in the past, and he was already fairly far gone with Cassandra…

“Good. While I won’t force you into it, you really ought to consider marrying her.”

He smoothed his hand over his hair, still unable to take a deep breath. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

“Yes, do that. I need to go find the rest of the guests.” She turned and left the closet.

Waiting another moment until he was sure his body was as normal as it could get before he went home and frigged himself, he stepped from the closet and walked into the stair hall. Lady Aldington stood in the center.

He glanced toward the almost imperceptible door in the wood imagining Cassandra behind it. She’d needed time—was she all right?

“Don’t even think about going back in there,” Lady Aldington whispered. She’d moved toward him, her brows pitched into an angry V. Indeed, he’d never seen her appear even remotely peeved, and at the moment she looked as if she could take on a brigade of soldiers. And win handily.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He hadn’t meant to sound glib but feared he did. “Honestly, I don’t wish to cause any trouble. I’ll just go to the parlor.”

She pursed her lips and watched him like a predatory bird until he left the hall.

He went directly for where a tray with liquor had been set out atop a table. It was all fortified wine. He needed whisky or gin.

No, what he needed was to leave. More than that, he wanted to make sure Cassandra was all right. While it was a relief to know there would be no consequences from their being caught, that didn’t mean she hadn’t been upset by it. One moment they’d been deep in the throes of their mutual passion, and the next they’d been torn apart by discovery—an act that would normally have sent them directly to the altar. If anyone else had caught them…

He poured a glass of marsala and downed it in one long gulp. If Lucien had opened that door, Ruark would have likely found himself on the dueling field at dawn.

What a fool he’d been. A reckless, thoughtless fool. He was just glad that Cassandra wouldn’t pay the price. It was past time he put her from his mind. He’d gotten what he’d wanted—another kiss—so he could now walk away without continuing to obsess about her.

Only he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Lady Cassandra Westbrook was well and truly under his skin and would be for some time.

The miniature of Cassandra and her mother sat on the dressing table as Cassandra’s maid, Derry, finished styling her hair. Cassandra had moved it there after having it on her bedside table. She simply couldn’t stop looking at it. Between the beautiful portrait, her memories of Ruark’s body pressed against hers in the most delicious of ways, and the shocking interruption that had somehow miraculously not resulted in her becoming betrothed, she could hardly string thoughts together.

Ruark. She couldn’t think of him as Wexford any longer. He’d been wrong that kissing again would finish things between them. The attraction she felt for him had only intensified.

Which was unfortunate since he couldn’t marry her and after last night’s near-catastrophe, they couldn’t risk being alone together ever again. Thinking of that, and the resulting pain, drove her attention back to the miniature.

Grateful for its distraction, she’d stared at it late into the night. Not just stared, she’d spoken to it—to her mother. The ache of not ever being able to hear a response seared her chest.

“All finished,” Derry said.

“Thank you.” Cassandra turned her head to smile up at her before the maid went about her chores, which took her from the chamber.

Looking back to the miniature, Cassandra studied her mother’s features. She was so familiar and yet not, since this was supposedly how she’d look if she’d lived to the present. There were gentle lines around her eyes but no gray in her light brown hair.

“You really would like Ruark, Mama.” It wasn’t the first time she’d said that since last night. “He’s kind and thoughtful, and he understands me in a way that no one ever has.”

Because of that, she was intent on understanding and supporting him too. She’d been so happy when he’d shared the promise he’d made to his father. That they shared the loss of a beloved parent at such young ages made her feel a kinship with him that she hadn’t experienced with anyone else. And it was why she understood why he wasn’t asking her to marry him.

“I’ll wait for him, Mama,” she whispered. “It’s only three years. I just need Papa to understand that I don’t wish to wed right now.” And to not be furious when she told him she wanted to marry the one man he’d refused. Cassandra touched the miniature. “How I wish you were here to help me.” Her mother would be able to manage the duke.

Cassandra could ask Constantine and Lucien to help her. Except Lucien didn’t want Ruark courting her either—and still hadn’t given her a good reason. Perhaps Constantine would be the better ally in this. Especially since his wife had seen them kissing last night.

The memory of being caught burned through her brain. The rest of the night had been quite awkward, at least for her. And likely for Sabrina and Mrs. Renshaw, as well as Ruark. Indeed, Ruark had left almost immediately after the game had concluded. He’d bid her a cool good evening from a safe distance.

Mrs. Renshaw and Sabrina had done a fair job of acting as though nothing untoward had happened, particularly Mrs. Renshaw. Sabrina kept sending quick, darting glances toward Cassandra that were full of curiosity. And concern.

Cassandra contemplated taking her sister-in-law into her confidence, telling her everything that had gone on between her and Ruark. She felt a sudden pang of guilt for not sharing her secret with Prudence or Fiona. In the end, she doubted she would break the vow she and Ruark had made. Though they’d been seen, the truth and length of their connection could, and probably should, remain secret.

Standing from the table, Cassandra picked up her bonnet and gloves, which the maid had left on the bed. Cassandra went into the sitting room where Prudence was seated in a chair waiting for her as they’d planned to take a walk around the square.

“Ready?” Prudence asked, rising.

“Yes.” Cassandra put on the hat and tied it beneath her chin then drew on her gloves. “I can’t stop thinking of the miniature my brothers gave me.”

“It’s a lovely gift.”

“Do you have a likeness of your mother, Pru?”

Prudence shook her head. “I don’t. I have several of her things, however. A pair of gloves, a handkerchief, and a ring.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ring on your hand.”

“I don’t wear it.” Prudence, who had already been wearing her bonnet and gloves started toward the door, signaling that she didn’t wish to discuss it further. She was, in addition to being rather reserved, a private person.

They walked outside to meander around Grosvenor Square. After a few minutes, Prudence looked askance at Cassandra. “I hope you won’t think I’m being nosy, but I wondered if there is anything between you and Lord Wexford. Beyond a flirtation, I mean. And don’t try to say you don’t flirt with him. You both flirt with each other. I expect that from a man like him, but you don’t do that with anyone else.”

Cassandra’s pulse kicked up. “What do you mean ‘a man like him’?”

“He’s not exactly a rake, but he flirts with everyone. Surely you’ve noticed.”

She had, in fact, but she knew it was his nature to be charming and complimentary. He always sought to put people at ease or make them smile. “He’s just a naturally gregarious person.”

“I suppose.” Prudence sounded skeptical. “He does seem different with you, however.”

“Does he?” Cassandra’s insides heated with pleasure, and her step was suddenly lighter.

Prudence arched her brows. “I see you looking at each other. The frequency and…intensity gives the impression there is something between you.”

Frequency and intensity. Yes, that described their not-so-covert glances rather well. “You have always been incredibly observant.” Cassandra wasn’t surprised that she’d picked up on their mutual…interest. “Do you think others have noticed?”

“I think it’s becoming likely, which is why I bring it up now. I have tried not to say anything. If you want to tell me to mind my own affairs, I will.”

“Except that since you are my paid companion, I am your ‘affair,’ am I not?” Cassandra said with a smile.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to—or should—meddle.”

“I don’t feel as though you’re meddling. I appreciate you looking out for me.” Particularly if her and Ruark’s attraction was becoming obvious. Or at least heading toward obvious. They would need to be more careful.

That was assuming there would be any more flirtation. Perhaps last night’s interruption would put an end to whatever had been between them. She didn’t want that to be the case, just as she knew he wasn’t going to marry her. Not now anyway.

This would be the perfect opportunity to tell Prudence everything—about the incident at the Phoenix Club, their flirtation, and last night’s kisses. And Cassandra’s decision to wait for him. It would help to talk to someone, so that she could understand what she was feeling.

Cassandra’s breath caught, and she abruptly stopped walking. She was in love with him.

“Why did you stop? Is something the matter?” Prudence turned her head, her brow gently creased.

“Not at all.” Cassandra started walking once more, perhaps a bit too quickly at first, so she slowed.

After a moment Prudence asked, “Is there no hope for you and Wexford to marry?”

Not at present. “Not if my father has anything to say about it.”

“And does he?” Prudence’s question carried a sardonic edge.

“Not really. If I wanted to marry Wexford—and he wanted to marry me—I would do so even if it infuriated him and agitated Lucien. I still don’t understand his specific issue with Ru—Wexford.” Cassandra needed to be careful. Perhaps she should pretend to loathe him in public so as not to draw attention to their…flirtation.

“So you do want to wed him?” Prudence asked.

Very much. “He hasn’t asked, so it’s a moot question at the moment. We have a harmless flirtation, nothing more,” Cassandra said, hoping her tongue wouldn’t ignite from telling lies. She continued walking around the square, and Prudence fell in beside her.

“What of Glastonbury?”

Oh hell. What about Glastonbury? Cassandra winced inwardly. “He hasn’t called on me again, nor does he seem particularly interested.” There was nothing special between them, no current of attraction or sparks of magnetism. Not like there was between her and Ruark.

“Perhaps he isn’t serious about courting you,” Prudence suggested.

“That could very well be.” Cassandra would hope so, for she didn’t really want to have to refuse him. Her father would be displeased.

As their conversation turned to their social plans for the rest of the week, Ruark remained in the back of Cassandra’s mind. Hopefully, she would see him soon. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she loved him and that she would wait until he turned thirty.

A tendril of doubt curled through her. What if Ruark didn’t return her love? She’d wanted to wed someone who loved her—either now or would in the future. Ruark surely fit that description. Even if he didn’t love her now, the potential was definitely there. How could it not be given the connection between them?

Sabrina had just exited her carriage when they arrived back at Evesham House. “Good afternoon, Cassandra, Miss Lancaster.”

Prudence dipped a curtsey. “My lady.”

Sabrina’s gaze settled on Cassandra. “How fortuitous to meet you out here. Might we take a walk around the square?” It seemed clear—to Cassandra at least—that Sabrina didn’t want Prudence to accompany them. Less clear was the purpose for Sabrina’s call, but Cassandra could make a good guess.

“Certainly.” Cassandra turned to Prudence. “I’ll see you inside.”

With a nod, Prudence went into the house. Walking alongside her sister-in-law, Cassandra began a repeat of the circuit she’d just made with Prudence.

Looking askance at Cassandra, Sabrina smiled a bit nervously. “I asked if we could walk so that we wouldn’t be overheard in the house. I wanted to see how you were faring after last night’s…excitement.”

Her word choice was both amusing and accurate for it had been terribly exciting. And wonderful.

“I’m fine, thank you. I very much appreciate your discretion.” Cassandra made eye contact with Sabrina so she could convey the depth of her gratitude.

“Wexford didn’t take advantage, did he?” Sabrina gave Cassandra a gentle smile. “I have to ask, though I imagine you wouldn’t have allowed him to.”

Cassandra almost laughed. “Your confidence in me is most complimentary. He did not take advantage.”

“When does he plan to propose, and do you have a plan for breaking the news to your father and Lucien?”

Hesitating, Cassandra silently chastised herself for not anticipating the question. “Er, he doesn’t. At least not now.”

Surprise flashed in Sabrina’s gaze. “You’ve discussed it then?”

Cassandra clasped her hands, latticing her fingers together. “Not exactly.”

“I feel it is my responsibility to guide you, Cass. You must know that what happened is highly inappropriate. If anyone else had found you, the betrothal would already be confirmed.”

“I am aware of that.” She sent Sabrina another grateful look. “Thank you. I very much appreciate your discretion.”

“Was it a singular occurrence that will not be repeated? Or do you have a tendre for him?”

“I can’t say.” Wouldn’t say. In that moment, she decided she wasn’t going to discuss her feelings for Ruark with anyone but him. Not when there wouldn’t be a betrothal for some time. If he even wanted her.

Cassandra squeezed her hands together then let them drop to her sides. “It was a heated moment. I was hiding, and he came in… I don’t know how he knew about that door.”

“I see. So, it’s possible, if not likely, that you can pretend it never happened.” Sabrina’s features relaxed into a relieved smile. “That might be best.”

They’d already tried that tack with spectacularly poor results. Stifling a laugh, Cassandra swallowed, schooling her expression to one of contemplation. “Yes, that would be.”

But it simply wasn’t going to happen.

CHAPTER 12

Today’s training with Mort had gone better than yesterday when Ruark had been too distracted by thoughts of Cassandra, the dark cupboard at Aldington’s house that had surpassed the dark cupboard at the Phoenix Club as his favorite enclosed space, and the fact that he’d been horrifyingly close to finding himself in front of a vicar exchanging wedding vows. Still, he wasn’t performing at his best, and with the prizefight in less than a week, he needed to clear Cassandra from his mind.

They’d kissed again, and now it was time to move on. For her sake, especially. She was going to wed, and it wouldn’t be to him.

He paid the hack driver and went into his house, where he immediately realized there was some sort of chaos. His butler, Bartholomew, whom Ruark affectionately called Bart, came into the foyer looking slightly harried.

“Has my mother arrived?” Ruark asked as he removed his hat and gloves.

“Within the last hour. She did not agree with the arrangements you specified for the bedchamber assignments, so we are having an additional room made up for Miss Iona.”

“What was wrong with the arrangements?”

“Your sisters will not be sharing a room,” his mother answered as she swept into the foyer from the stairs. Though a few new strands of gray streaked back from her temples into her dark brown hair, she possessed the complexion of someone several years younger.

“Welcome to London, Mother.” Ruark went to buss her cheek.

Before he could back away, she cupped his face and held him tightly. “Just look at my gorgeous boy.” She frowned. “Where were you when we arrived?”

“I just came from boxing.” It was somewhat difficult to speak as she was smashing his face between her hands.

“Horrid sport, but your father would be thrilled. Is that why you do it?” She smiled up at him, her blue eyes twinkling as she massaged his cheeks, which jostled his head. “Of course it is.”

Thankfully, she let him go. Ruark stepped back and stretched his jaw, though he resisted the urge to smooth his face, as if she’d left his flesh in disarray. Because she pretty much had.

“I suppose I started because Da loved it so.” His father had been renowned for his skill in Ireland. “Then I grew to love it myself.”

“Let us adjourn to your drawing room or wherever. We’ve much to discuss.”

They did? “You’ve only just arrived. Surely you wish to rest or refresh yourself.”

“I can do that later. I’ve no time to waste on this errand. Come.” She turned and went back to the stairs, giving him no choice but to follow.

Errand? That made the trip sound rather purposeful. As he trailed her up the stairs, he asked, “Marrying Kat off is an errand?”

“Yes. I had to bring her here, didn’t I? That signifies as an errand.”

“Are there no marriageable gentlemen in Gloucestershire?”

She looked back at him, her eyes hooded, as she reached the landing but said nothing before continuing to the drawing room. Once there, she waited until he came in then closed the doors.

“No one in Gloucestershire will have her,” she said darkly. “I need her wed with due haste before rumors of her behavior carry to London, and she becomes unmarriageable here too.”

Hell. “What happened?” Ruark didn’t bother going to sit down.

“Kathleen was seen kissing a gentleman—” His mother pressed her lips together then uttered a most unladylike curse. “Not a gentleman. The blackguard doesn’t deserve that description.”

“Who is he, and why isn’t he marrying her?” Ruark nearly choked on his own hypocrisy. He’d been caught kissing a young lady and wasn’t marrying her either. The difference was that their secret—their transgression—was safe. Apparently, Kat hadn’t been so lucky.

“A disgusting toad called Hickinbottom. He isn’t marrying Kathleen because he is already betrothed to Miss Hannah Dalton.”

“Miss Dalton wishes to go through with the wedding?”

“Her parents are insisting on it.” Mother rolled her eyes. “I believe Hickinbottom was trying to increase his fortunes. Kat’s dowry is twice Miss Dalton’s.”

“He sounds loathsome. Why on earth was Kat kissing this man?”

“You know your sister. She says it was an experiment.” His mother wore an exasperated expression. “I have since explained that her experiment will likely result in her spinsterhood.”

Ruark couldn’t imagine Kat would care. She loved scientific literature and collecting information, no matter how mundane. It made perfect sense to him that she would conduct kissing experiments. He was interested in knowing why and how many subjects she’d tested. This could have been so much worse.

He adopted his most benign tone and expression. “Has it occurred to you that it may be in everyone’s best interest if you allow Kat to become the spinster she probably longs to be?” She’d never shown the slightest inclination toward getting married, learning how to run a household, meeting potential suitors, or anything to do with the male species. Male human species, that was. She’d collected plenty of data about male cows, horses, turtles, cats, dogs, and any other species she could find. But he supposed that had now changed since she was conducting experiments on human males. He would have chuckled if his mother wasn’t present.

Many found Kat tedious, but Ruark was incredibly fond of her. In fact, he pondered how she’d induced this Hickinbottom fool to kiss her. Rather easily, he would guess. What gentleman of Hickinbottom’s apparent nature would refuse? She always planned her data collection and would have snared him with little effort. Ruark had never known her to come away empty-handed. It probably hadn’t hurt that she was remarkably pretty and, as Mother had mentioned, in possession of a nice dowry.

“I can’t imagine she’d be happy as a spinster,” his mother said, folding her arms across her chest. “And definitely not as a ruined spinster. She won’t be invited anywhere.”

“Does she even care about that?” Ruark asked gently. When his mother pursed her lips in response, he added, “While, you can’t imagine it, you must remember this is Kat’s life, not yours.” His mother had married at seventeen and again at twenty-four, not quite a year after the death of her first husband. Marriage, it seemed, was important to her.

“What will she do if she’s not married? How will she spend her life without children? Who will care for her?”

“She is fortunate to be the sister of an earl. I will care for her if she requires it. And her dowry should go to her if she doesn’t wed.”

“It does. When she’s twenty-five.”

“Then she’s well-positioned to make the choices that are best for her. I’ll speak with her.”

His mother uncrossed her arms as her brows pitched together. “Ruark! You can’t encourage her to be a spinster! It’s bad enough that you aren’t wed. Please tell me you’re at least courting someone.”

“I could, but I’d be lying.” He couldn’t help smirking because he could never seem to avoid teasing his mother whenever possible. She was always so dramatic.

“I do not understand your hesitation for marriage. I ask that you do not share it with your sister! Please.” The plea in her gaze was sharp and rather desperate.

Ruark laughed, hoping to bring some humor to her perspective. “It isn’t an illness I’m going to infect her with.”

“Now you’re just being silly. What I would like you to do is arrange for her to be invited wherever you can. She must find a husband quickly.”

It wasn’t that easy. Ruark instantly thought of Lucien and whether he could help. He also thought of the Phoenix Club, which was the one place he could take her. “My club has assemblies every Friday, and it’s become somewhat of a magnet for the Marriage Mart. You and Kat can come with me.”

“Wonderful.”

Ruark would speak with Kat before then. If she didn’t want to wed, he wouldn’t let their mother force her into it. He would also advise her against further kissing experiments, especially here in London where her ruin would be swift and vicious. Again, he felt the sting of hypocrisy.

“In the meantime,” his mother continued. “I am going to change my costume so we can go to Hyde Park for the fashionable hour.”

“Mother, it’s nearly five now. Don’t you need to rest after your journey?”

“I need to get your sister onto the Marriage Mart.” She started toward the door, pausing to look back at him over her shoulder. “Will you accompany us or not?”

He wiped his hand across his forehead, lightly massaging away the start of a headache. “I will.”

She turned fully toward him. “You should put yourself on the Marriage Mart too.”

“I’m not ready to wed.”

Exhaling, she didn’t bother hiding her disappointment. “Don’t take too long. Think of your father—you never know how much time you have.” Then she left the drawing room, leaving Ruark to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Or a series of them.

He thought of Freya, dark-haired and pale-eyed, with exquisite features that begged to be drawn or painted or sculpted—or all those things. Nine years had passed since he’d fancied himself in love with her. Had he actually been in love?

And what of his former mistress or the fair beauty he’d left in Ireland three years ago? Had he loved either of them? What were they doing now?

Suddenly he thought of Cassandra nine years on. What would she be doing? Would she be happy? Would he?

His shoulder twitched. He couldn’t keep torturing himself—or her. He needed to move on, to focus on the prizefight, to keep the vow he’d made. No matter the cost.

The day was overcast but thankfully free of rain as Cassandra walked into Hyde Park in the company of Sabrina and Prudence. While Sabrina wasn’t her sponsor anymore, she’d pledged to be available to Cassandra, something she’d reconfirmed at the end of their walk around Grosvenor Square the other day. She’d sent a note to Cassandra earlier inviting her to the park to promenade.

“Your walking dress is divine,” Cassandra said, eyeing her sister-in-law’s costume with a bit of envy. The cut was the absolute latest style and the dark teal color suited Sabrina perfectly. The best part, however, was the bonnet, which was like a men’s hat, though with a shorter top and a more curved brim, that sat at a jaunty angle over her brow. “It’s the hat, really. I need one.”

Sabrina laughed. “I wasn’t sure it looked right, but the modiste insisted it would—she designed it for the milliner to create.” She grazed the brim with her fingertips. “It’s so strange to have so many new clothes and accessories. Actually, what’s strange is the attention they receive,” she added in a lower tone.

“Some people are rather shallow,” Cassandra observed with a chuckle. “I suppose you must count me among them since I am so taken with your bonnet.”

“I would never count you among that sort,” Sabrina said fiercely. Her gaze swept toward the path they were approaching. “Glastonbury is looking this way.”

Cassandra whipped her head toward the grass on the other side of the path where several groupings of people stood. Glastonbury was with a few other gentlemen, but his gaze was directly on her. As they neared, he broke away to intercept them.

Bowing deeply, he took Cassandra’s hand. “The day is infinitely more fair now that you are here, Lady Cassandra.”

“You flatter me, Lord Glastonbury.” She withdrew her hand from his.

“May we promenade?” he asked.

Cassandra glanced toward Sabrina who gave her an inquisitive look but said nothing. Then she looked at Prudence who moved closer to Sabrina, silently indicating that they would remain at a discreet distance.

“Certainly.” Cassandra put her hand on his proffered arm, and they started along the path. “I’m so pleased to encounter you today. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Have you? Please, ask me anything you like.”

Anything? She would hold on to that invitation for later, perhaps. “I understand you are quite the pugilist. What attracts you to boxing? It seems such a brutal sport.” Almost immediately, she regretted asking him. If there was any mention of blood, she would humiliate herself in perhaps the most public place in London.

“I’m good at it,” he responded without a hint of arrogance.

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. “There’s a strategy and grace to it that soothes me.”

“How fascinating.” She couldn’t bring herself to ask how inflicting pain was at all graceful.

“I’m glad you think so.” His blue-green eyes met hers for long enough that she felt compelled to look away lest she walk into something or someone.

The viscount was different today. More attentive and revealing, more…flirtatious. Did that mean he was ready to move forward with their courtship? That would be just her luck since she’d realized she loved Ruark. She couldn’t possibly marry Glastonbury now.

Perhaps she was only imagining things. She would make no assumptions.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the familiar form of Ruark. Her heart leapt, and she couldn’t keep a smile from curling her lips. He was not alone. Two women flanked him as they meandered onto the path and came toward them. She knew the exact moment he saw her, for the air seemed to shift. It was suddenly warmer, brighter, and the scents of spring were more pungent.

“Lord Wexford,” she greeted.

“Lady Cassandra.” He bowed then inclined his head toward the viscount. “Glastonbury.”

“Afternoon, Wexford,” he said pleasantly.

Ruark glanced toward his mother and then his sister. “This is the Countess of Aldington, Lady Cassandra Westbrook, and the Viscount Glastonbury.” After the two women curtseyed, he continued with, “Allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Shaughnessy, and my sister, Miss Kathleen Shaughnessy.”

Cassandra saw the resemblance he shared with his mother—the slant of their eyes and the slope of their noses. The latter were probably identical before his had been broken. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Cassandra said warmly. “Let me also present my companion, Miss Lancaster.”

“How lovely to meet you,” Sabrina said while Prudence curtseyed. “Did you just arrive in London?”

“Earlier today,” Mrs. Shaughnessy said.

Goodness, they’d wasted no time. “You traveled from Gloucestershire?” Cassandra knew that was the location of Ruark’s English estate where they lived. But perhaps they’d come from somewhere else.

“Yes. We were most eager to see London.”

“Indeed. I can hardly wait to visit the museum,” Miss Shaughnessy said brightly.

“It is well worth the visit,” Glastonbury noted with one of his dazzling smiles. He tipped his head toward Cassandra. “We should go one day. Perhaps next week.”

She glanced toward him. “Er, yes.”

“Excellent. I shall look forward to it. And now I must be off.” He turned and took her hand—the one that had been clasping his sleeve. Bending over it, he floated a kiss just above her glove. She could imagine the barest hint of his lips against the kid leather.

She lifted her gaze toward Ruark and noted, giddily, that his eyes were narrowed as he fixed on Glastonbury. The viscount left, and Sabrina suggested they move off the path to converse.

“My Kathleen will be participating in the Season,” Ruark’s mother said, mainly to Sabrina. “I do hope we’ll see you.” She looked toward Cassandra. “And you, my lady.”

Cassandra hadn’t realized his sister would be on the Marriage Mart. But then she hadn’t even known they were coming to town. “How splendid. I should be delighted to help introduce Miss Shaughnessy to Society.”

“We’ll be attending the assembly at Ruark’s club on Friday,” Mrs. Shaughnessy said, glancing toward her son, whose brow had remained slightly furrowed since Glastonbury had left. She turned her attention to Sabrina. “I understand the assembly is an excellent place to go to access the Marriage Mart?” She seemed most eager.

“It can be, yes,” Sabrina said slowly. “I would also recommend obtaining a voucher to Almack’s if you can get one. It can be difficult, but your son is a peer, so that is always a help.”

Mrs. Shaughnessy sent her son an expectant look. “I assume you can get us a voucher?”

His eyes widened briefly as he tipped his head. “Assume nothing on that front. It’s entirely up to the patronesses of Almack’s.”

“I have faith in you, dear.” His mother’s lips spread in a wide, confident smile.

Miss Shaughnessy stepped toward Cassandra, her gaze fixed somewhere to the left of her. “I’d rather go to the museum with you and the other gentleman.”

“The museum?” Cassandra asked, bemused.

“With Glastonbury,” Ruark said stiffly. “He invited you to go next week.”

“Oh, right.” Cassandra had already forgotten. “I’m sure we can arrange a visit to the museum,” she said to his sister. “What are you interested in seeing?”

“The animal specimens mostly, but I would like to see everything.”

Ruark smiled at Miss Shaughnessy. “My sister has a passion for animals.”

“Shall we walk down to the Serpentine to see the waterfowl?” Cassandra suggested.

Miss Shaughnessy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”

Cassandra met Ruark’s eyes, trying to silently communicate that they should walk together.

Mrs. Shaughnessy walked to Sabrina. “Lady Aldington, I wonder if I might ask you about fashion and what my Kathleen ought to wear.”

“I can certainly try to help.”

Cassandra wondered if she ought to be the one to answer Mrs. Shaughnessy’s questions since Sabrina had relied on Evie to help her refurbish her wardrobe this Season. However, Cassandra was too eager to speak with Ruark. Alone.

Sabrina moved back to the path with Mrs. Shaughnessy and started toward the Serpentine with the other woman bustling along at her side.

Prudence looked to Cassandra, who joined her as Ruark walked with his sister. Cassandra frowned in disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” Prudence asked quietly.

“I wanted to walk with Lord Wexford. To ask him something about Glastonbury,” Cassandra fibbed.

“I see.” Prudence didn’t sound as if she believed her. Still, she said, “Let’s catch up with them, and I’ll break off with Miss Shaughnessy.”

Cassandra sent her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

They hastened to join Ruark and his sister, Prudence moving to Miss Shaughnessy’s right and Cassandra coming up on Ruark’s left. Miss Shaughnessy was speaking to him in an elevated tone. “Some of the males can be quite aggressive in their behavior. They set their sights on a female and are diligent in their courtship.”

“What is it you’re discussing?” Cassandra asked pleasantly. “Sounds like the London Season.”

Ruark smiled and stifled a laugh.

“The ducks at Warefield,” Miss Shaughnessy responded, surprising Cassandra with the answer. “Mallards, in particular. The gadwalls behave differently.” She took what sounded like a much needed breath. “Gadwalls are fascinating to watch. They will steal food that another duck has worked to find.”

“How do you know so much about ducks?” Prudence asked, drawing Miss Shaughnessy’s attention as her gaze fixed on Cassandra and silently communicated that this was now the time to snare Ruark for herself.

Cassandra gently clasped his arm. He looked down at where she touched him and then met her gaze. Connection and electricity flowed between them, making her feel giddy.

“I didn’t realize your family was coming to town,” she said as they walked behind Prudence and his sister. Prudence had done an excellent job of maneuvering herself and Miss Shaughnessy.

“Just my mother and two of my sisters. My mother wants Kat to find a husband.”

“What does your sister want?”

“To discuss ducks.” He flashed a grin at her. “I’m not entirely certain, but I suspect she’d be delighted to be left alone with her books and research.”

“What does she research?”

“Anything, really. Her mind is quite hungry. She tends to go through very focused periods. Ducks were one of them, as you can tell. She’s also dedicated time to studying cows, horses, goats, dogs, cats, and just about any animal you can find at a country estate.”

“That’s where her love of animals comes from,” Cassandra said. “I do hope you’ll see that she gets to the museum. She’ll be delighted by the displays.”

“I will. Unless you and Glastonbury take her with you.” He sent a look toward her that was both expectant and…annoyed?

“I don’t know that we actually would. Indeed, I can’t say whether I will go to the museum with the viscount.”

“Why?” The single word clipped from his mouth.

“Because I’ve decided I don’t think we will suit.”

“And why is that?”

She clasped his arm more tightly. “There is someone else I vastly prefer.”

CHAPTER 13

Delight warred with dread as Ruark looked toward Cassandra’s profile. An alluring smile curved her lips, beckoning him to kiss her. Not that he would in the middle of bloody Hyde Park. Walking with her was bad enough—this was not distancing himself as he needed to do.

He managed to ask, “Dare I ask who that is?”

She clucked her tongue. “If you don’t know, you’re not as clever as I’ve given you credit for. Just to be clear, it’s you.”

They were veering into dangerous territory. But they’d been there since kissing at her birthday party. No, they’d been firmly in Danger Land since the cupboard at the Phoenix Club. He had to steer them back to propriety. To the relationship they had before.

Was that even possible? He hadn’t ever tried with the others. He’d walked away and moved forward. How could he do that with his best friend’s sister?

He attempted to direct the conversation to safer ground. “I would be grateful if you could keep an eye on Kat at the assembly on Friday. You will be there, won’t you? Or has the duke forbidden your attendance again?”

“He hasn’t said I can’t go. My plan is to be there. I would be happy to assist your sister in any way I can.”

“Thank you. My mother is intent on seeing her wed, but I won’t force her. I suspect I’m going to have to tell my mother to stop meddling.”

“Tell her that meddling parents are horrid. I’d be happy to share my own experience,” she added with a laugh.

He smiled, appreciating her camaraderie. “Thank you, but I daresay that wouldn’t help.”

“Why is your mother so insistent if your sister is reluctant?”

He hesitated, and she almost said he didn’t have to tell her. But then he blurted, softly, “My sister got into some trouble in Gloucestershire. She kissed a gentleman when she shouldn’t have and was seen doing so. Her reputation is in tatters, so Mother brought her here to wed. She’s in a hurry to do so before the gossip follows them here.”

“Oh dear.” She sent him a sympathetic look as she leaned toward him. “The good news is that it may take some time for that information to reach London. The bad news is that it may not.”

“I keep thinking of how that could have been us.” He spoke in a low tone, not that Kat would be listening to them. And he highly doubted Miss Lancaster could hear anything over Kat’s talking. His sister possessed a louder than average speaking voice, particularly when she was engaged in a topic that interested her.

“We were seen,” Cassandra murmured.

“Yes. But that was two days ago, and, fortunately, no one has said anything. I take it Lady Aldington and Evie are doing as they indicated and keeping the information to themselves.” He’d wondered if he’d run into Evie at the club last night but hadn’t seen her.

“Sabrina called on me yesterday to discuss it. She supposed it could have been a one-time occurrence. I did not correct her.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “I don’t expect a proposal.”

He felt a rush of relief and then instantly felt bad because of it.

“At least not now,” she added.

Ruark nearly tripped.

Cassandra gripped his arm more tightly. “I know you won’t wed until you’re thirty, and I understand. I’ve decided to wait for you.”

He slowed so that they nearly stopped. “You can’t do that.”

“I want to.” She urged him onward, tugging his arm.

Mind spinning, he walked forward as if he were in a trance. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t. I want to.”

They were nearly to the Serpentine. The others had just reached the edge. Ruark could see Kat’s enthusiasm from here. She leaned over the water and held her hand out to the ducks.

He stopped, turning toward Cassandra. “I can’t promise to marry you in three years. The whole point of the vow I made was to wait, to make sure I am ready and—” He didn’t want to say to ensure he was making the right choice. Now, in this moment, he thought it could be her. But he’d thought that before.

Her eyes were warm, her expression compassionate. “I understand. And I can wait. I want to wait. I love you enough for both of us…until you’re ready.”

It was as if someone stood on his chest. He couldn’t draw a deep breath. She couldn’t love him. He didn’t want her to.

“I—I have to go.” He walked away from her and went to his mother and sister, telling them they needed to return home, that he had an appointment.

“Lovely,” Kat said, turning from the water with an ease that surprised him. He’d expected her to balk given her interest in the waterfowl. “I’m exhausted from traveling.”

Of course she was. “Then let us return home immediately.” He looked to his mother who nodded despite looking slightly disgruntled.

Ruark bowed to Lady Aldington. “Good afternoon.” He inclined his head to Miss Lancaster. As he turned, he saw Cassandra’s deeply furrowed brow and hated that he’d caused her distress. But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t listen to her plan their future or make declarations of love.

He’d already decided his future for at least the next three years, and she couldn’t be a part of it.

Ruark had spent the prior evening closeted in his study. He hadn’t even joined his mother and Kat for dinner. Later, he’d learned that Kat had slept through it, so he didn’t feel bad. He simply hadn’t been able to summon the wherewithal to face his mother after what had happened at the park with Cassandra.

She’d sounded so certain. I’ve decided to wait for you. I want to wait. I love you enough for both of us.

Her words had repeated over and over in his brain until he’d drunk enough whisky to stop the refrain. Unfortunately, that meant he was now suffering a terrible hangover. He deserved nothing less for leading Cassandra down this hopeless path. He never should have let things progress to this point.

As soon as he’d realized she was the woman he’d kissed in the cupboard, he should have banished her from his mind. He’d tried, dammit.

Kat strode into the breakfast room. She wore a loose day dress with a small floral print. Ruark could see it was a few years out of fashion, and the ends of the long sleeves were frayed.

“Morning, Ruark,” she sang as she went to fill her plate. She could eat like a soldier on leave who’d been on rations for months.

“Good morning.” He sipped his coffee and watched in mild amusement as she sat down and frowned at her plate.

“I may have taken too much.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. You have a dog I can feed, don’t you?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“We have dogs at Warefield.”

“I know. It’s my house, Kat.”

“Yes, but you aren’t there as much as me. There are two more dogs since you were there at Christmas.”

“Are there?”

“A brother and sister from John Mason’s terrier. Aislinn and Abigail each took one.”

“Mother allowed that?”

“Father made her.” Kat attacked her plate for a few minutes while Ruark perused the newspaper.

When she began to slow, he set the paper aside. “You are not enthusiastic about marrying, are you?”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t suppose you kissed this Hickinbottom fellow in order to cause a scandal so you couldn’t wed?”

Her hand arrested with a piece of ham speared on fork halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t, but that’s an excellent stratagem. I wish I’d thought of it.” She ate the ham and after swallowing said, “I kissed him as an experiment, and I chose him because he was already betrothed.”

Ruark followed her logic. “That way he couldn’t be forced to wed you?”

She narrowed one eye and nodded, a smile stretching her lips. “Clever, yes?”

“Yes. But also foolish. Kat, did you not think about what this would do to your reputation?”

“I can’t say that I did, but I also can’t say that I care.”

“What of your sisters? This will reflect poorly on Iona and the twins.”

She frowned. “Iona has said as much. She’s quite irritated with me. That’s why we had to have separate chambers.”

That made sense to Ruark. “I think in her position I might be irritated too,” he said gently. Sometimes Kat had a hard time understanding others’ perspectives, particularly when she was focused on her own goals, as she’d been with her experimentation.

“Ohhh.” She stretched the word out and grimaced. “I didn’t realize. I’ll apologize.”

While that was the right thing to do, it wouldn’t fix matters for Iona, who, at nineteen, was also old enough to wed.

“It may be that you should remain here in London to distance yourself from her and the twins,” Ruark suggested. “Would you like that?” He’d have to convince their mother. And hire a companion for her. There was no way he was going to supervise her, nor should he oversee a twenty-year-old young lady, even if she was his sister.

Her eyes glowed with excitement. “Ever so much.”

“You’ll have to promise not to conduct any more kissing experiments. Why were you doing that anyway?”

“I was talking to Hetty, and she said not to marry anyone unless they were a good kisser. I asked her how I would know if they were good or not. She explained it—I had no idea tongues would be involved—and I decided I needed to understand first-hand. So I conducted an experiment.”

He stared at her with a mix of amusement, incredulity, and complete understanding. “Of course you did.”

Henrietta Barnwick was a friend of his sisters’ who lived two miles from Warefield. He’d never met anyone who could talk faster and with more confidence despite not knowing much about whatever she was saying. “I would caution you not to take anything Hetty says as gospel.”

She scoffed. “Why do you think I had to conduct an experiment? I couldn’t just trust her description.”

“Do you promise not to conduct any more of them if I persuade Mother to let you stay here?”

“I promise. Please, Ruark?”

“I’ll do my best,” he said with a chuckle, thinking it would be nice to have her here. He was going to need a distraction if he meant to stay completely away from Cassandra. Which he had to do. “In the meantime, you need to go to the assembly tomorrow night. I’ll start working on Mother, but it’s going to take a bit of time to convince her.” He finished his coffee before looking toward her once more. “Do you ever want to wed?”

She shrugged again. “Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. I know I should have. Lord knows Mother prattles on about it enough.”

“I’ll talk with her. Wish me luck.” He winked at his sister as he stood.

“Right now? She’s still abed and likely will be until at least noon.”

He chuckled. “No, not now. I know not to disturb her when she’s sleeping.” Their mother was a fierce beast when awakened, and she did not enjoy the early morning hours. Early being ten o’clock in her opinion.

“Oh good. You would have regretted it for certain.” Kat returned her attention to her breakfast, and Ruark told her he was going to his study.

Once there, he went right back to wallowing in his Cassandra dilemma, though he was able to occasionally distract himself with thoughts of how he might persuade his mother to allow Kat to remain in London. Yes, distractions were good. Such as boxing. He wasn’t due at the club until tomorrow, but he could still exercise today.

Distractions wouldn’t remove the need to end things with her, however. He had to tell her they were finished, that she couldn’t love him. She needed to forget him and move on. Marry Glastonbury, probably.

Jealousy knifed through him, as it had yesterday in the park when he’d seen Glastonbury fawning all over her. How was he going to walk away from her when every part of him wanted to run straight into her arms?

“ You’re better today,” Mort said as they took a break from sparring. “Did something happen?”

“Just keeping a clearer head.” Ruark went to a bench outside the ring where he picked up a towel and mopped the sweat from his brow and neck. He’d slept terribly, but he’d kept his focus on anything other than— He wouldn’t even think her name.

“Wexford!”

Ruark turned toward the sound of his name. Glastonbury was coming toward him. Suddenly, Ruark’s efforts to remain calm became much more difficult. Jealousy and irritation pricked through him.

“Afternoon, Glastonbury,” he said evenly, dropping the towel onto the bench.

“I caught the end of your practice with Mort.” Glastonbury glanced toward the trainer with a smile. “You’ve excellent form. How is it that we’ve never sparred?”

“I don’t know.” Ruark hoped he would suggest they should. The opportunity to fight Glastonbury was incredibly appealing.

Glastonbury eyed him speculatively. “Should we?”

“I think so.” Ruark couldn’t help smiling.

“You’ve been exercising nearly an hour,” Mort said with a slight frown. “The viscount has arrived fresh.”

“Are you saying I should go easy on him?” Glastonbury asked with a laugh. “I can do that.”

“Please don’t,” Ruark said, trying not to grit his teeth. “I’m sure I’m up to the challenge. I’m loose and ready, whereas you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Glastonbury’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Very well.” He stepped into the ring, and Ruark followed. The viscount looked to Mort. “You’ll referee?”

Mort nodded but didn’t look pleased. He sent Ruark a headshake. Ruark ignored him.

“One round,” Mort said before starting the fight. “Or until I say so.”

Ruark noted that everyone in the club—a good dozen or so gentlemen and Fred, of course, had gathered around the ring to watch. He focused on his opponent, eager to plant his fist in the man’s face.

“I hope I can keep my mind on the fight,” Glastonbury said jovially. “You see, my head’s a bit full of plans as I am looking forward to proposing to Lady Cassandra tomorrow.”

Now her name was in Ruark’s mind, along with a visceral reaction to what the viscount had just said. Bitter anger rose inside him. He couldn’t allow Glastonbury to marry her.

Glastonbury struck while he was distracted, his hand connecting with Ruark’s shoulder. The anger intensified.

Ruark launched forward, but he was too agitated. Glastonbury deflected his blows. Then he landed another on the side of Ruark’s arm. Clenching his jaw, Ruark redoubled his efforts, willing himself to be calm and strategic. After several moments of matching each other’s defenses, he finally landed a hit to Glastonbury’s ribs.

“Nice one,” Glastonbury said, flashing a smile. His amiable demeanor was infuriating. In part because that was typically Ruark’s demeanor. He was charming and witting and devil-may-care.

Apparently, Glastonbury was too. Perhaps that’s why Cassandra had been considering marrying him.

Had been. Yesterday, she’d declared her intent to wait for Ruark. There was no reason for him to be upset right now. She’d already chosen him.

Except her father wouldn’t allow that, especially if Glastonbury came up to scratch, which he was. Shit!

Glastonbury’s right fist connected with Ruark’s gut and his left with Ruark’s side, pushing Ruark back. Before he could gather his wits, Glastonbury pressed onward, landing two more blows.

“Stop!” Mort called, ending the fight. “Well fought.”

Breathing heavily, Glastonbury stood in the center of the ring. He inclined his head toward Ruark. “Good match.”

“Is the viscount the winner?” someone called.

“Yes,” Mort answered in a clipped tone.

Ruark heard the spectators murmuring and saw money change hands. Of course they’d wagered on the bout. Sweat ran into his eye, and he blinked furiously. He’d let Glastonbury get the better of him. No, he’d let his mind wander in precisely the manner it shouldn’t have.

Ruark went to shake Glastonbury’s hand. “Good match. I suppose I was a bit tired.”

“I could see that,” Glastonbury said graciously.

They left the ring, Glastonbury going to speak with Fred, while Ruark headed toward the dressing room. Mort intercepted him on the way.

“You need to withdraw from the prizefight. Unless you want to get pummeled by Garnham.”

Ruark couldn’t think about that right now. His mind was consumed with Cassandra and her potentially impending betrothal. If Glastonbury got to her—more importantly, if he got to her father—the deal would be done.

He grunted toward Mort, who hurried to move in front of him, blocking Ruark’s path. “You’re being a dolt. There’s no shame in withdrawing. Fred will find someone else.”

“Let me go, Mort.” Ruark pushed past him and went to wash and change. He left the club through a back door in order to avoid seeing Mort or anyone else. Exiting into an alley, he made his way around toward Covent Garden where he’d hail a hack.

What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t let Cassandra wed Glastonbury, but he also couldn’t break the vow he’d made to his father. What if they went with her plan and waited until he was thirty?

Her father would never agree to that. Nor would Lucien. Or would he? Ruark would be treating her differently from the women in his past. There would be no broken hearts or disappointment. They just had to be patient.

Perhaps he should get Aldington on his side first. No, on their side. Cassandra would have to be the driving force in getting her brother to support this plan.

Ruark wiped his hand over his brow. Was he deciding to marry her in three years? What if he felt differently about her by then? And he expected to—his father had been right. Every time Ruark fell in love, he fell out of love.

But if there was even the slightest chance she was different, shouldn’t he try to find out?

Except she might fall out of love with you too—she’s far younger with far less experience.

He’d see her tonight at the assembly where he’d warn her about Glastonbury’s intent to propose. Because if Glastonbury did that, there would be no point in wondering if Ruark might love her for more than a fleeting bit of time.

CHAPTER 14

C assandra arrived at the Phoenix Club assembly with Sabrina and Prudence. While she was glad to have them with her, she desperately wanted to find Fiona. Ever since Ruark’s abrupt departure yesterday after she’d said she’d wait for him and that she loved him, she’d wanted to talk to her best friend. Indeed, she wanted to completely unburden herself to someone who would understand. Someone who’d behaved improperly, as Cassandra had, and ended up married to the man she loved.

At this point, Cassandra doubted that would happen. She’d seen the shock and fear in Ruark’s eyes at the park yesterday and realized she’d gone too far. But she couldn’t help how she felt, and if that scared him or drove him away—or both—it was best that she learn that now.

The club thrummed with light and laughter and music, but Cassandra seemed to be immune this evening. Her skin felt tight and scratchy, and if she hadn’t wanted to see Fiona so badly, she likely would have turned around and gone home. Perhaps she just needed to dab some cool water on her neck.

Turning to Prudence, she said, “I’m going to dash into the retiring room. I’ll meet you and Sabrina in the ballroom.”

Prudence’s brow pinched above her nose. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, I’ll just be a moment.” Cassandra didn’t want company. She wanted space. After so many years of mostly being alone, was it possible she missed that? She wouldn’t have thought so.

Before Prudence could protest, Cassandra hurried off in the direction of the retiring room. Before she reached it, however, a tall figure swooped into her path.

She looked up, surprised to see Ruark. Even more surprising was the urgent, rather distressed look on his face.

“Come with me,” he said without preamble, as he clasped her arm.

Cassandra dug her heels into the floor. “Where?”

“Upstairs. Somewhere…private. I need to speak with you about a dire matter.”

“Dire?” She couldn’t imagine what that could be. “All right.”

Exhaling, he took her hand and glancing around to make sure no one was watching—there were a pair of women nearing the retiring room, but their heads were bent together deep in conversation—he pulled her to a closed door and then up a back staircase all the way to the second floor.

Opening the door, he guided her into a wide, but dimly lit corridor. Looking left and right, he kept hold of her hand and took her to the left. Almost immediately, he opened another door and guided her inside. Where he promptly swore. “We need a light. Stay here.”

He let go of her hand, left the door ajar so the light from the sconces in the corridor could filter a bit of illumination into wherever she was standing. Pivoting, she realized it was a compact, windowless storage room crammed with a few pieces of furniture, some décor, and several crates.

Returning a moment later with a candle in hand, Ruark came back into the room and this time shut the door. He set the candle atop a stack of crates.

“What the devil is so dire that you had to secret me up here?”

He stared at her a moment, his blue eyes bright in the light of the single candle flickering beside them. Then his arms were around her as he pulled her against his chest, his lips descending on hers.

Though unexpected, his kiss was not unwelcome. On the contrary, Cassandra had feared she’d never experience his embrace again. She relished the feel of his arms around her, the slide of his tongue into her mouth as he claimed what he wanted. Clutching at his neck, she claimed what she wanted—exactly what he was offering.

But wait. Why was he doing this?

Cassandra pulled away from him and forced herself to take a step back. “Tell me of this dire situation.”

“You need to be sick tomorrow.” There was still an odd light in his eyes. He seemed unsettled, agitated.

“Why?” she asked, bemused.

“Glastonbury is going to propose.”

Eyes widening, Cassandra felt suddenly untethered, as if she might float away. She scrambled to remain on earth. “How do you know?” she whispered.

“He told me at the boxing club today. He was rather full of himself, if you must know.”

Now she understood his discomposure. “Are you jealous?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course I am.”

A ridiculous glee bubbled inside her. She couldn’t resist taunting him after he’d stalked away from her at the park yesterday. “Perhaps I should accept. My father would be ecstatic.”

The word had barely left her lips before Ruark was kissing her again. He clasped her back, his hands moving over her in a tantalizing display of want. Cassandra put her hands on his shoulders and dug her fingers into the superfine of his coat, returning his kiss with wild abandon.

Moving his mouth from hers, he trailed his lips along her jaw. “You can’t marry him.”

“Why not?”

“It would be intolerable.” He claimed her mouth again, kissing her deeply as his hand cupped her nape.

She was utterly captivated by his touch and desperate for more. Clinging to him desperately, she arched into him, her breasts pressed to his chest as he gently tipped her back in his arms.

He kissed down her neck, one hand splayed across her lower back as he held her tightly against him. “Would you really wait?” He licked her flesh, sending tremors of longing through her. “Three years is a long time.”

She thrust one hand into his hair, tousling the thick strands. “It would be worth it. I just need my brothers’ support in dealing with my father. He won’t like that I want to delay getting married until I’m firmly on the shelf. I’ll just need a pursuit to keep myself busy—like your sister and her love of animals.”

His mouth left her neck as he looked down at her. “I can’t quite see you doing that.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Well not that exactly, but I need something to pass those three years.” She gently pressed her fingers into his scalp. “You could also keep me busy with kissing. Or…other things.” She looked up at him suggestively, hoping he understood what she meant.

Righting her so that she was balanced on her own two feet, he took his hands from her and stepped away. He ran his hand through his already disheveled hair before pivoting to face her again. “I’m not proposing marriage to you, Cassandra.” And he seemed sorry about that.

“I didn’t expect that you were. I understand why you need to wait to make a marital commitment. I’m only asking for the chance that you might commit to me in three years’ time.”

“I really don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

She moved toward him and took his hand. “Yes, you do. For whatever reason, we found ourselves in a cupboard together and it changed the course of our lives. I can wait for you, and I will. I am that sure of my love for you, even if you aren’t yet ready to entertain such emotions.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re so bloody understanding.”

“That’s good, I hope,” she said with a light laugh. “Unless you’d rather I just marry Glastonbury?” She couldn’t help teasing him again.

“No.” His gaze darkened, and he pulled her against him. “You aren’t going to tell your brothers that you wish to delay marriage so you can wait for me, are you?”

“I’d considered it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too, and I believe it would be better if you didn’t mention me. Your father and Lucien are so against me courting you, let alone marrying you, that I fear it will cause an upset. Three years gives us time to change their minds.”

“That’s actually rather brilliant. Three years from now, my father will be delighted to accept any proposal.” She smiled then grimaced as she realized how that sounded. “Sorry, that wasn’t meant to insult you.”

“I know.” He hesitated, his features stretched taut. “It’s not that I don’t love you…” His voice faltered.

Her pulse sped as joy swelled in her chest. “I know you’re afraid and that you made a promise to your father.”

“Yes, but those are my troubles, not yours.”

She put her hand against his jaw. “Well, I don’t want anyone else, so you can either turn me away and definitely break my heart or you can agree to my plan.”

“And potentially break your heart anyway,” he whispered, the anguish in his voice tearing at her.

“You won’t. And I will spend the next three years reminding you—in every way that I can.” She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “Please tell me we don’t have to stay apart. I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Neither could I.” He kissed her again, and Cassandra lost herself in his embrace for several minutes, wondering how it was that anything could feel this spectacular. Her desire for him was a heavy, welcome weight, making the most private parts of her sing with want.

Once again, he left her mouth as his lips and tongue mapped a path along her jaw and neck, down to her collarbone then to the skin just above her bodice. He cupped her breast, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“I should mention that our…connection has not gone unnoticed.”

“Your sister-in-law and Evie did catch us kissing.” He’d paused only long enough to speak and now his mouth was once again dancing rapturous attention over her flesh.

“Aside from that, Prudence has noticed the singular way in which we regard each other. She’s more observant than most, but I wonder if we should make an effort to avoid each other publicly.”

“That will be difficult. I will miss you terribly.” There was a longing in his voice as if they were already apart.

She slipped her hand to the back of his head, thrusting her fingers into his hair. “We’ll just have to find ways to spend time together that isn’t at a ball or strolling through Hyde Park. Like we are right now.”

“We should probably return to the ball,” he said with a tinge of disappointment.

She could see that he was torn. Clasping his head and neck, she dragged him down for a blazing kiss, commanding him with her lips and tongue. When she was finished, she looked up into his eyes with dark, insistent need. “I’d prefer to take advantage of this stolen moment. There’s no telling how many we’ll have in the next three years.”

“So domineering,” he said with a tsk, his eyes glittering with desire. “I like it.” He led her to a chaise that was pushed up against the wall.

Sitting down with her, he gently caressed her face. “Let me make sure I understand this plan of yours. We’re going to stop talking to each other in public?”

He reached down and found the hem of her dress. Cassandra held her breath as the fabric skimmed up her legs.

She somehow managed to answer his question. “Not entirely. Just no dancing or promenading.”

“How disappointing.” He settled her gown above her knees while he kissed behind her ear. His hand moved up along her thigh, his touch gentle and arousing as his fingertips skimmed over her bare flesh.

“No flirting, either, I suppose.” She was surprised she could still speak. Her entire body was tingling with sensation.

“That will be difficult.” He pressed against her inner thigh, silently urging her to part her legs. She opened herself as she clutched his upper arm, which was wrapped around her waist. “But if I know I can see you like this once in a while, I think I can manage. Do you want me to continue, Cassandra?”

“Yes.” She’d pleasured herself, but it had felt completely different than this. His touch was light and enticing. It was as if her body was awakening for the first time.

He kissed her as his hand reached her sex, his fingers stroking and teasing. The need inside her built, heat unfurling, beneath his relentless attention.

Clasping the back of her head, he pulled it back, his fingers tangling in her hair. He kissed down her arched neck, his teeth nipping at her flesh, making her cry out. She slapped her hand over her mouth and tried not to whimper as he slipped his finger into her sex. A desperate need exploded within her.

“God, I want to remove your gown,” he muttered against her, his tongue dipping into the crease between her breasts. “Another time, perhaps.”

His hand worked with exquisite precision, alternating between her clitoris, that most tender part, and her sheath. Every stroke and thrust drove her closer to the brink. Pleasure built until she felt as if she stood on top of the world.

He kissed up her neck, next to her ear then whispered, “Come, Cass. Do you know how to do that? Come.” He speared into her, his thumb working her outer flesh. She pitched over the pinnacle into rapturous oblivion.

As he took her hand away from her mouth, she realized she’d kept it there. Now he replaced it with his lips, kissing her as she floated back to herself from wherever she’d gone.

His hand had continued its ministrations during her orgasm, but now he withdrew, gently tugging her gown back over her legs. Then he did the most outrageous thing. He put his fingers into his mouth—the ones that had been inside her—and sucked. His gaze locked with hers, and she could not look away from his scandalous behavior.

“Ruark!”

He slipped his fingers from his mouth and grinned. “You taste divine. Next time, I’ll be more direct when I savor you.” He licked his lips, and the pulse of heat between her legs that she thought he’d satisfied roared back.

“Mayhap I’ll be the one to do the savoring,” she said with a saucy smile.

He groaned. “How am I supposed to ignore you in public when you say such things? Or when you look like you do?” He kissed her again, and she swore she could taste herself on his tongue.

Then he was gone, jumping up from the chaise, and pulling her along with him. He frowned at her head. “Your hair needs a bit of tidying. There has to be a mirror in here.” He left her to search for one.

Cassandra’s heart was just beginning to find its normal rhythm. She smoothed her hand over her skirt and a realization came to her. “You did all of that with your left hand.”

“I’m ambidextrous. Next time I’ll use my right.” He looked back at her over his shoulder and waggled his brows.

“What about you? Don’t you need release?”

“Eureka!” He picked up a small mirror then brought it to her, holding up in front of her so she could smooth her hairstyle back into place. Thankfully, it wasn’t too terrible. “And, no, I don’t need to find release.”

She glanced down and noted the hard outline of his cock. “Your body says otherwise,” she said wryly. “Can’t we fix that?”

“We’ve already been gone too long. When you go—we shouldn’t go back together—I’ll take care of it.”

“How?” She took the mirror from him and set it behind her on the chaise.

“Er, in much the same way I did for you. With my hand.”

She reached for him, her hand cupping the bulge. “With your right or left? Or will you switch? I’m afraid I am only good with my right.”

“Dear God, Cassandra, you’re going to kill me. Please go,” he croaked.

“Are you sure?” She rubbed her palm against him, and his hips pitched forward.

“Yes,” he said tightly. “You need to get back.”

“I’ll go, but first you have to tell me what you’re going to do. You’d better be quick.”

“Fine. I’ll take my cock out.”

“Don’t you have to unbutton your fall first? You’re skipping steps, Ruark.” She began to loosen his buttons.

“Cassandra. You have to go. I am skipping steps because this is driving me to madness.”

She stood on her toes and kissed his jaw. “Tell me.”

“I’ll unbutton my fall, slip my cock from my smallclothes, and then I’ll stroke it. From base to tip. Over and over, moving faster as my need grew.”

“Just as you did with me.” She licked his neck then gently bit his earlobe. “I wish you’d let me help.”

“My God. You are intolerable. In the very best way. Yes, please, take it out.” He sucked in a breath. “It’s not as if this will take long,” he muttered.

She already had him unbuttoned—and had removed her gloves in the process—and it was easy to slide his cock free. She looked down, marveling at the rigid flesh cradled in her palm. “How firmly should I hold it?” she asked softly.

He put his hand over hers and showed her. “Now move. Hurry.”

Placing her other hand on his hip, she began to stroke him, slowly at first as she learned the shape and feel of him.

“Take some moisture from the end,” he ground out, his hips moving as she brought her hand to the tip.

Shockingly, there was wetness. Not much, but enough for her to dampen her fingers.

“Smooth that over the skin. It will help you—” He gasped for she was already doing it and had returned to caressing him. “Glide,” he finished before letting out a deep groan. “Faster, please.”

“Are you close?” she asked, loving the sensation of having the power to give him pleasure.

“Yes. Faster.”

She focused everything on him, moving her hand with rapid, fevered strokes. He tensed in her hand, and he pushed her away.

“I’m going to—” He turned from her and finished what she’d started as liquid spurted from him.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a handkerchief which she hurriedly wrapped around his sex. He took it from her with a grateful grimace. “Thank you,” he bit out.

She pivoted, giving him some privacy while he tidied up. “Men are much messier, aren’t they?”

He laughed. “In all things.”

“I tend to agree.”

“Cassandra, that was the single most erotic event of my life. But now you really must go.”

She sighed. “I suppose, but it will be difficult. When will I see you next?”

“First, tell me about Glastonbury. How will you avoid his call?”

“As it happens, I am traveling to Richmond tomorrow for a ball and will stay overnight.”

He’d just finished buttoning his fall. “The Crimshaw ball? I will be there.” His lips slowly spread into an utterly magnificent grin.

Cassandra’s heart turned over. “Then I shall see you there. I’m certain you can maneuver an occasion for us to meet.”

“I shall consider it my primary duty. Just remember, that in public, I shall nearly give you the cut direct.” He bowed elegantly as if they were in the middle of the ballroom and hadn’t just enjoyed each other in a thoroughly carnal fashion.

Ballroom! She needed to get back. Already, she was thinking that she’d tell them she came up here—by herself—instead of going to the retiring room. Because surely Prudence had already gone in search of her.

“You’re right. I must go.” She didn’t even have time to kiss him properly. But they had tomorrow. Blowing him a kiss, she turned and left, floating on air as she made her way down to the ball.

CHAPTER 15

L ast night had been the best sleep Ruark could remember. He would say it was because of his restless sleep of the night before and the exhaustion of fighting—and losing to bloody Glastonbury—but he knew it was because of his encounter with Cassandra in the storage room.

She’d fulfilled dreams he didn’t know he had and given him several new ones. Starting with finding ways to get her alone at the ball tonight, a task that had become slightly more difficult once he’d relented to his mother’s pleas to bring her and Kat to the ball tonight.

His coach, one of many in an interminable line, arrived at the front door. “This is so exciting!” his mother exclaimed. “I’m so glad we were able to come. Isn’t it wonderful, Kathleen?” She glanced over at Kat who’d been reading a book the entire way.

Kat didn’t look up. “Mmm.”

“I don’t know how you can read that. The lantern can’t possibly provide enough light.”

“She can probably read in the dark, Mother,” Ruark said pleasantly. “She’s quite driven.”

Snapping the book closed, Kat set it on the seat between herself and the side of the coach. “Thank you for recognizing that, Ruark. Are we getting out of the carriage or have I donned this infernal ballgown for naught?”

Their mother pursed her lips at Kat. “I do hope you’ll shed that attitude once we’re inside.”

Kat’s only response was to motion toward the open door with an expectant look.

Ruark jumped down and helped first his mother then his sister from the coach. Once inside, they made their way to the ballroom where the brightness of hundreds of candles and mirrors upon the walls competed with the noise of ballgoers, some of whom, like Cassandra, were fortunate enough to have a room to stay the night. The rest would stay until dawn but then drive back to London with the rising sun.

He could hardly wait to see Cassandra even if he wasn’t supposed to dance with her. Or promenade with her. Or spend time with her at all. As far as people could see. What they did in secret was another matter entirely. He hoped they’d have an opportunity to steal a few minutes.

Even as he wished to spend time with her, a voice in the back of his head warned that he was behaving stupidly, that this scheme to wait three years was beyond foolish. Except it had been her idea to wait. He should have walked away from her, painful as it would have been. It’s not as if he hadn’t done that before.

But this time was different. He hadn’t told any of the others about the promise he’d made to his father. That he’d told Cassandra, and she not only understood but wanted to wait for him, made him think she had to be different, that maybe she could be the one he was meant to love. Forever.

If he could.

The fear that he wouldn’t be able to or that her emotions would change was very real, even if it seemed absurd. He didn’t want to fall out of love with her and if he didn’t push her away, as he had the others, perhaps that would increase the chance that their love would persist.

It was only three years. Unless he broke his vow. If he still loved her in a year, would he feel confident to take the next step toward their future together?

He began to shake. He needed to take this slowly. One day at a time.

As they reached the ballroom, he willed himself to relax and focus on just tonight.

“My goodness, look at all the people,” his mother said with quiet awe. “So many potential husbands.” She gripped Ruark’s arm. “This is splendid. Thank you.”

“So many potential subjects,” Kat murmured from his other side.

Ruark bit back a smile. “Shh. Mother will hear you. You must behave.”

“I will if you will.”

For a moment, Ruark wondered if she knew he was hoping to have an assignation with Cassandra. But how could she? Kat was merely being sarcastic.

They mingled for a while before the music started and Ruark scanned the ballroom for Cassandra. Had she not come? What if Glastonbury had arrived before she’d left, and they were now betrothed? Ruark felt as if he’d been punched repeatedly in the gut.

Looking toward the door, the tension left his frame as he saw Cassandra, beautiful in a vivid dark rose-pink gown. He simply stared at her, his senses reveling in her presence. Then everything around him came to a screeching halt as he realized her father was standing next to her.

What the hell was the duke doing here?

His presence would make seeing Cassandra privately more difficult. Ruark forced the tension from his shoulders. Perhaps that was for the best.

Turning away, he escorted his mother and Kat deeper in the ballroom.

Two glasses of champagne later, he was feeling slightly better. He’d also convinced himself that not being alone with Cassandra was better. For her. She might be content to wait for him, but he couldn’t shake the doubt swirling in his gut. He’d spent nearly his entire life thinking he shouldn’t be ready to wed until he was thirty and that he couldn’t be sure he could love anyone until then. And experience had proved that right.

“I’m so pleased your sister is dancing,” Ruark’s mother said, dragging him from his thoughts.

Kat was currently in the middle of a set with a young, energetic gentleman. She wasn’t the best of dancers, but she was keeping up from what Ruark could see.

“Can we move over to the refreshment table?” his mother asked. “I need something to drink.”

Ruark offered his arm and they strolled to a table with a bowl of probably ratafia. A footman offered his mother a glass, which she accepted and immediately drained.

“Lovely,” she declared, swinging the glass as she spoke. And nearly hitting the Duke of Evesham in the chin.

Cassandra’s father jerked back then narrowed his eyes at Ruark’s mother. Already disinclined to like the duke, Ruark’s hackles rose.

“Please excuse my mother,” Ruark said evenly. “Mother, allow me to introduce the Duke of Evesham. This is my mother, Mrs. Fergus Shaughnessy.”

His mother dropped into a perfect curtsey. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

“Good evening,” the duke said without inflection. His gaze however was tinged with annoyance.

“I beg your pardon,” Ruark’s mother continued. “I didn’t mean to swing my arm like that.” She offered a lighthearted laugh, clearly meant to defuse the tense encounter. Was it really tense, or was that just Ruark’s estimation?

Ruark realized Miss Lancaster was just behind the duke. “Miss Lancaster, you remember my mother?”

“You’ve met?” the duke asked in surprise.

“At the park,” Miss Lancaster replied. She curtsied to Ruark’s mother. “How pleasant to see you again, Mrs. Shaughnessy.”

“And you.” Ruark’s mother looked around. “Where is your lovely charge?”

The duke peered beyond them as if he couldn’t be bothered to engage. “My daughter is dancing with Mr. Terryford.” He said this as if it should matter. Terryford was a young buck barely out of leading strings. “I’m afraid you must excuse me.” He glanced toward Ruark before turning his attention to Miss Lancaster. “Stay here to await Cassandra. She’ll be expecting to find you here.”

Ruark’s pulse sped. If he remained, he would see her—without her father. Not alone, but it was better than in the duke’s presence.

“Are you staying here at Fernhill?” Ruark’s mother asked Miss Lancaster. “We must travel back to London at daybreak, but that’s fine with me as I enjoy such occasions.”

“We are lodging here, yes.”

Ruark clasped that information to his brain. Not that he needed it. Hadn’t he already decided he shouldn’t see Cassandra alone tonight?

The music drew to a close, and Ruark braced himself.

His mother craned her neck toward the dance floor. “I suppose we should go back to where we were so Kathleen knows where to find us. Oh, but here comes Lady Cassandra, and I must say good evening.”

Ruark’s entire body tensed as she sailed toward them on the arm of her dancing partner. Terryford looked flushed and sweat dappled his wide forehead.

“Thank you, Lady Cassandra,” he said with a bow.

“Thank you, Mr. Terryford for the lively dance.” She smiled at him as he turned and departed.

Cassandra grimaced as he walked away.

“Are you all right?” Ruark asked, concerned at what looked like pain in her features.

“Does lively mean he stepped on your foot?” Miss Lancaster asked, seeming to already know the answer.

“Twice,” Cassandra confirmed as she lifted and extended one foot, the dark pink of her slipper appearing beneath her hem. Shaking the appendage, she looked to Ruark. “He’s not as good a dancer as you, I’m afraid.”

The urge to sweep her onto the dance floor, to put evidence to her words was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he forced a tight smile.

His mother clasped his arm, and he instantly knew what was coming. “You should dance with her, Ruark.”

“I’m afraid I already have a partner for the next set,” Cassandra said, flicking him a glance that clearly told him she wished she didn’t. Damn, this was even more difficult than he’d imagined!

Before his mother could suggest a later set—and she most certainly would have—Kat arrived. Alone.

“Where is your partner?” their mother asked, looking past Kat.

“I told him I could find my way after thanking him for the dance.” Kat shook her shoulders and wriggled her arms. “He was too touchy.” She made a face, much to their mother’s horror. Ruark could tell she wanted to say something but held her tongue since they weren’t alone.

“Oh, I loathe when they’re like that,” Cassandra said to Kat, who stood next to her.

Kat turned her head, and her reaction made it clear she hadn’t realized Cassandra was even there. “Lady Cassandra! I’m so glad to see you. Yes, grabby gentleman are awful. Unless you invite them to grab.”

“I sincerely hope you don’t do that,” their mother admonished. Ruark could hear the silent “anymore” she’d added onto to the end of that in her mind.

A smile teased Cassandra’s lips, and Ruark wanted to coax it forth and devour it whole. “I would agree that inviting a gentleman’s attention should be done with great caution.” Her gaze nearly strayed to Ruark, but she jerked it back to his sister. This was hard for her then too. Ruark wasn’t sure if he was glad to know that or not.

Kat edged closer to Cassandra. “Do you really have to accept every invitation to dance?”

“Typically, yes. It’s considered rude if you don’t.”

“Why are men allowed to grab and we can’t even say no when we know they’ll behave poorly.” Kat crossed her arms over her chest.

“You might want to keep your voice down,” Cassandra suggested with a smile. “On second thought, don’t bother. You make an excellent point.”

Kat’s face lit and her eyes glowed. “Thank you.”

Watching Cassandra talk with his sister, and—even better—understand her filled him with joy.

“They don’t even want to talk about birds or horses,” Kat moaned.

Cassandra stared at her with rounded eyes. “You’ve found gentlemen who don’t wish to talk about horses? How can this be?”

“Well, they want to talk about how tall they are or how well matched they are or how fast they are.” Kat rolled her eyes. “I want to discuss their mating habits, how long they should be in service, what can be done to ensure their quality of life—”

Their mother laughed. “Kathleen, you are a dear, but I’m sure Lady Cassandra doesn’t want to discuss those things either.”

“I would in fact,” Cassandra said with a warm look toward Kat. “That all sounds fascinating.”

Ruark’s mother seemed surprised. She blinked before gently clearing her throat. “How nice.”

He could see the appreciation in his mother’s gaze. Kathleen more often annoyed people. Seeing Cassandra engage with her so fully had to make her heart happy. It certainly made Ruark’s.

He knew he loved her. He just didn’t know if it would last. What if he wasn’t capable of loving her forever?

Excusing himself, Ruark beat a hasty retreat from the ballroom and didn’t stop until he was outside in the dark away from anguish.

And temptation.

C assandra watched Ruark weave through the crowd of people until she could no longer see him. She might have gone after him if she didn’t have another dance coming up.

No, she wouldn’t have. Especially since they’d agreed to avoid each other publicly. So far that wasn’t working out so well, not that she minded.

“Your sister-in-law was most helpful with wardrobe suggestions,” Mrs. Shaughnessy said. “Is she here this evening?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Cassandra believed Sabrina and Constantine were enjoying a night at home. Sabrina grew weary of too many events and too many people. This ball in particular would have been taxing for her due to its size.

Mrs. Shaughnessy nodded. “I do hope you’ll deliver my best regards to her. I’m so pleased Ruark was able to bring us along tonight. Isn’t it wonderful, Kathleen?”

Miss Shaughnessy was scrutinizing the ballroom as if she were trying to read minds. Cassandra wondered if she was conducting some sort of research. She made a note to keep an eye on her—for Ruark’s sake. He clearly cared for his sister very much.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” Cassandra directed the question to both mother and daughter.

“Oh yes.”

“Not particularly.”

They spoke over each other, and Mrs. Shaughnessy sent a beleaguered look toward her daughter. Miss Shaughnessy, however, didn’t notice because she was focused on Prudence. “How do you get your job?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Prudence pressed her lips together, appearing to try to think of how to answer such an unexpected question. “I, well, I was recommended to Lady Cassandra and His Grace by another lady, my former employer.”

“And how did you obtain that position? I thought companions were middle-aged spinsters or widows.”

“How do you know I’m not?” Prudence asked softly with a hint of mischief.

Cassandra smiled. When Prudence decided to allow her wit to show, it was never disappointing.

Miss Shaughnessy studied Prudence. “You are most definitely not middle-aged. You might be five and twenty, but I’d wager you aren’t even approaching thirty. I suppose you could be a spinster, but I’d guess widow first.”

“Why is that?” Prudence seemed genuinely interested.

“There’s a sadness around you.” Miss Shaughnessy made the statement without hesitation.

Cassandra looked to Prudence who stared at Miss Shaughnessy. She also seemed to have paled. Hoping to put an end to the awkward moment, Cassandra rushed to change the subject. She turned to Ruark’s mother and asked, “How was Lord Wexford as a child? I imagine he got into trouble quite often.”

Mrs. Shaughnessy laughed. “Oh, yes. He was always traipsing through the mud with the dogs or swimming in the pond instead of catching fish, which was what he’d set out to do. He never stood still.” Her gaze unfocused as if she were looking back in time instead of at her present surroundings. “He used to pretend to box a chair in the nursery.”

Fascinated, Cassandra leaned slightly toward the dark-haired woman. “Indeed?”

Chuckling, Mrs. Shaughnessy said, “I suppose he wasn’t pretending. He actually hit the cushioned back. He was mimicking his father, who was rather good at the sport.”

Learning that Ruark’s father had been a pugilist made her think of the activity differently—at least with regard to Ruark. She could understand why he did it and didn’t think she could expect him to stop. If she could wait three years to marry him, surely she could deal with his sport.

The back of her neck twitched. She was giving up a great deal to marry him, and he hadn’t even asked her. It seemed implicit that they would wed in three years, but he hadn’t promised anything.

“He still loves the sport,” Mrs. Shaughnessy continued. “I haven’t watched him fight in a long time, but I expect he’s every bit as good as his father was. His da would be so proud of him.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable.

Cassandra felt a surge of longing. While she and Ruark had bonded over losing a parent, he still had one who clearly loved him and admired him. Cassandra didn’t doubt her father’s love, but why was it so hard for him to show it? The loneliness she’d managed to keep at bay with her newfound circle of friends and family streaked through her, leaving her cold.

Three years was nothing in the grand scheme of life. She would wait for the man she loved because she didn’t want to contemplate anything else.

“Your next dancing partner is coming this way,” Prudence said softly.

Taking a deep breath, Cassandra cleared the darkness from her mind. She turned a bright smile on Mrs. Shaughnessy. “Lord Wexford and Miss Shaughnessy are so lucky to have you as their mother.”

“Please call me Kat,” Ruark’s sister said rather loudly. “Please.”

“All right,” Cassandra said with a light laugh, touching Kat’s arm. “You must call me Cass then.”

“They almost rhyme,” Kat noted. “It’s too bad you aren’t my sister.”

Mrs. Shaughnessy’s blue eyes, so similar to Ruark’s, shone. “You never know, dear. Perhaps your brother will be smart and decide to court Lady Cassandra.”

How Cassandra wished that would happen. But for now, she danced with another gentleman who wasn’t and would never be the man who held her heart.

CHAPTER 16

Ruark returned to the ball where he danced with a handful of young ladies. He smiled and charmed, but inside he seethed with yearning for Cassandra. Inevitably, he found himself back outside in the cool night air where he couldn’t see her dancing with a parade of eligible gentlemen. It was easier to stay away from her when he couldn’t see her.

The gardens were beautifully lit with flickering lanterns, a perfect surrounding for couples to promenade. He made his way to the reflecting pool where the echo of the flames shimmered on the surface of the water. From there, he followed a path to the hedgerow maze where a footman was handing out lanterns to those who wanted to try to find the center. Ruark wished he and Cassandra could do that. He’d find a dead end, snuff out the lantern, then take her into his arms.

He circuited the path outside the maze, appreciating that there was no one about—they were all inside the labyrinth of shrubbery. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear anyone approach.

“Ruark!” Cassandra called, but in a low tone when she was practically on top of him.

Eyes wide, he glanced toward the house. “Are you alone?”

“For now. I finished a set, and Prudence was in the retiring room.”

“Where’s your father?” He still looked nervously toward the house.

“The gaming room, thank goodness. He’s been a thorn in my side most of the evening.” Her exasperation was evident in her tone. Her expression was also a bit beleaguered. He wanted to smooth all her concern and annoyance away with kisses.

Ruark pulled her farther behind the maze, where there was even less light, and they couldn’t see the house over the hedgerows—which meant they couldn’t be seen either. Before he could ask her anything else, she was kissing him, her arms around his neck and her delectable body pressed against his.

Despite his better judgment since anyone could happen along at any moment, he clasped her to him and returned her kiss, as a tide of passion washed over him. “This is incredibly foolish of us,” he murmured against her lips.

“Probably,” she answered before stealing his breath once more.

After an ardent series of kisses, she pulled back and smoothed her hands down the front of his coat. “It’s been awful. My father is the worst sort of sponsor—he never ceases to foist me off on dancing partners or gentlemen who wish to promenade. I fear I’ll be dancing long past midnight at this rate. If it wasn’t for a short break in the music, I wouldn’t have been able to come out here at all.”

Ruark stroked his thumb along her jaw, reveling in the beauty and intimacy of her upturned face as she vented her grievances. “I’m glad you were able to find a moment. When I saw that your father was here, I despaired of being able to see you alone.”

She clasped the back of his head, her hand warm against him despite the glove covering her flesh. “I was wondering if we could somehow meet later. I have a room, and while you do not, I presume you could slip away from the ball without causing too much notice?”

A pure, delicious jolt of lust shot through him. “You aren’t suggesting I meet you in your room?”

“Goodness no.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Prudence will be there. I could probably steal away, however.”

The temptation was overwhelming. An idea stole into his brain. It was risky, but perhaps worth it? “If we met while the ball was still in full swing, say around three, we might be able to pull it off. I’d suggest the stables, for there won’t be any guests there and it’s certainly teeming with coaches and dozens upon dozens of extra coachmen, meaning it’s chaotic.”

She nodded, seeming to understand. “We wouldn’t be noticed?”

“It’s our best chance to avoid notice, I think.” He glanced down at the stunning pink confection she wore. “You can’t wear your ballgown, however.”

“I won’t.”

He kissed her again, his lips moving gently over hers. “I don’t want you to risk getting caught. If you can’t get away, don’t. There will be other opportunities for us.”

She hesitated, her teeth snagging her lower lip in a thoroughly provocative manner.

“Are you trying to arouse me?”

Blinking, she looked up at him in slight confusion. “What am I doing?”

“Biting your lip. Now I want to bite your lip. And other parts of you.” He skimmed his hand down her back and cupped her backside through her gown, pulling her against him. “You are a most wicked temptation.” He bent his head and licked along her lips before sliding his tongue into her mouth.

She ground her hips against him. He moaned, thinking how easy it would be to toss up her skirts and unbutton his fall. And how badly he wanted to. He pressed against her backside as he arched forward, his cock desperate for her and release.

Tearing himself away from her, he took a step back. “We can’t do what we did last night. By that, I mean you can’t tarry here. You must return to the ball.”

“I know.” Her lips spread into a brilliant smile. “It won’t be so bad now that I have something to look forward to later.” She arched her brows playfully before turning and hurrying back around the hedge.

Ruark pivoted and slumped back against the outer shrubbery of the maze. It didn’t support him very well, so he stood upright almost immediately despite the weakness in his knees. The memory of her kisses would carry him through the next few hours.

What would guide him through the next three years?

Blowing out a breath, he wiped his hand over his face. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Looking to the past or the future wouldn’t help the present.

And right now, the present seemed quite lovely.

Thankfully, the duke was once again in the gaming room when Cassandra left the ball with Prudence at half two. He would probably have tried to make her stay, to dance with even more gentlemen. As it was, she was expecting a half dozen calls next week at least. Perhaps more. She’d lost count.

It was amazing what her father’s presence, rather his affable demeanor, had done for her husband hunt. She’d never danced so much or been so sought after. That she’d been able to get away for even a few minutes with Ruark had been a remarkable achievement.

As soon as they got to the guest room they were sharing, Cassandra realized she had a conundrum. There was no way she could steal away to meet Ruark without Prudence knowing she was leaving. It was apparently time to confess. She’d nearly done it with Fiona, who’d attended the ball with her husband, earlier, especially after seeing Ruark behind the maze. She wanted to share her joy with someone, and who better than her best friend? Or her companion?

Except without a proposal from Ruark, she doubted they would share her ebullience.

She and Prudence had foregone a maid this evening, reasoning that they could help each other dress and undress for the ball. That had been Cassandra’s deviousness as she’d thought a maid would just be another hindrance between her and Ruark.

As Prudence helped her from her ballgown, Cassandra broached the truth. “Pru, I need to tell you something.”

“Is it about Lord Wexford?”

“Er, yes.” Of course Prudence had made that accurate assumption.

Prudence took her gown to the armoire. “I noticed you mostly avoided each other this evening. I was surprised he didn’t ask you to dance when we were speaking with him and his family. Did you fall out?”

Cassandra began to unlace her corset, which fastened in the front. “No.” She ignored the heat rising in her chest and neck. “Since you remarked upon our behavior, we thought it best if we steered clear of each other.”

Standing in front of the armoire, Prudence crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? If you’ve formed an affection for one another, you ought to pursue it, regardless of what your father says.”

How Cassandra appreciated hearing her say that. “He’s not ready to marry. He has his reasons and I understand them. I love him and I’m going to wait until he is.”

“What?” The word fell out of Prudence’s mouth with the force of a rock dropping from the sky. She unfolded her arms and came toward Cassandra, her eyes wide. “How did this happen? Does he love you in return? Why won’t he—” She cut herself off and held up a hand. “Let’s start with how.”

“Pru, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much and with such…vehemence.” Cassandra couldn’t help smiling. “To answer how, I should tell you that something happened the day that Fiona and I went to the Phoenix Club dressed as maids.”

Prudence closed her eyes and put her hand over them. “I never should have told you what to wear or encouraged you in any way.”

Cassandra gently took her hand and pulled it way from her eyes, then drew her to the bed and sat down with her. “This is in no way your fault.”

“Fiona ended up kissing Overton that day. I can only imagine what happened to you.” Prudence’s pale eyes were filled with distress.

“Nothing worse, I assure you. I kissed Lord Wexford. We were trapped in a dark cupboard, you see. Well, not trapped.” She shook her head. “The particulars don’t really matter. Suffice it to say, the day left us both changed, and we regarded each other very differently, despite promising each other we’d forget it ever happened. That proved rather impossible for both of us.” Cassandra smiled then. She felt no regret.

“Why didn’t he court you?” Prudence pressed her lips together. “Because he’s not ready to marry.”

“Please don’t ask me to explain. It’s his secret to share. Or not. He will not wed until he’s thirty, and I support that. Fully.”

Prudence blinked at her, and it was a long moment before she spoke again. “Why would you do that?” she asked softly with great concern.

“It’s only three years,” Cassandra said defensively.

“You’ll be twenty-five. On the shelf, by all accounts. The duke will not approve,” she said quietly, as if she were delivering bad news that Cassandra wasn’t wholly aware of.

“I know. I am trying to come up with a reason that I cannot wed, but I fear my father won’t be supportive. Especially since so many gentlemen now seem as though they would like to court me.” Cassandra’s shoulders slumped.

“You were rather popular tonight. The duke’s presence seemed to have encouraged suitors.”

“His pleasant demeanor, you mean. Did you see how he behaved? He smiled and laughed and made idle conversation. It was appalling.”

Prudence laughed then quickly sobered as Cassandra sent her a quelling glance. “My apologies. I found it rather amusing. Shocking, but also amusing. I’ve never seen His Grace act like that.”

“I haven’t either, which makes it appalling. Why can’t he be that amiable all the time?”

“You make a valid point,” Prudence agreed with a firm nod, all humor from a moment ago gone. “Let us return to Lord Wexford. Does he love you in return?”

How Cassandra wished she hadn’t asked that question. “Yes, I believe so, but I’m not pressing him to propose, not even secretly. He has very important reasons for keeping to his plan of remaining unwed until he’s at least thirty, and I won’t ask him to deviate from it.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.” Prudence looked away. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“There is no need to apologize. I appreciate your counsel. Why is it a mistake to wait for the man I love?”

“Because if he truly loved you, he’d marry you now. He wouldn’t risk your reputation or cause upset for you within your family. He shouldn’t expect that of you.”

Her words cut into Cassandra with a sharp and painful precision. “He isn’t—I offered to wait. You don’t understand, and you can’t.”

“No, I suppose not.” Prudence’s lips were drawn into a slight frown as she stared across the room in consternation. “I admit to feeling a bit sad that you didn’t feel you could confide in me. This has been going on for weeks.” She turned her head toward Cassandra, who saw the hurt flicker in her gaze.

“I’m sorry. We promised each other we wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I can understand not wanting to break a promise,” Prudence said.

“There wasn’t much to tell for a long while. After the incident in the cupboard at the Phoenix Club, we resisted our attraction for some time. We didn’t kiss again until my birthday party.” Grimacing, Cassandra decided not to withhold anything else. She hated that Prudence was sad. “We were hiding together during the game after dinner. Unfortunately, Evie found us.” At Prudence’s sharp intake of breath, she added, “And Sabrina was standing behind her.”

Prudence lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Oh dear. They obviously said nothing.”

“Evie thought it best—for me—if nothing was said. Sabrina spoke to me about it the next day.”

“That’s why she wanted to walk alone with you around the square.”

Cassandra nodded. “She suggested Ruark and I forget it ever happened. That’s what we tried to do after the first time.” A wry smile curled her lips. “We weren’t very good at it.”

“This certainly explains all the lingering looks and the lengthy promenades. And the extended visit to the garden at the Phoenix Club. You really didn’t kiss then?”

“No, I swear. What I told you about fainting was completely true.” She was again reminded that he was a pugilist and that she loathed the violent sport. But she’d find a way to accept it now that she knew it was a bond he shared with his father.

“Why are you telling me now?” Prudence asked.

Cassandra grimaced again. “I’m going to meet him shortly, and I knew I couldn’t steal away without telling you where I was going.”

Prudence blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t have to.”

“Probably not,” Cassandra said quietly. “I honestly thought—and I still think—it’s best if you don’t know anything. Then you can’t be held accountable. Will you promise to pretend you knew nothing if something happens?”

“Such as you getting caught again?” she asked sardonically. “I appreciate you trying to protect me. Although, that’s my job when it comes to you. I should forbid you from meeting him.”

Cassandra laughed and rolled her eyes. “You can’t forbid me.”

“Perhaps not, but I could inform your father.”

For a brief moment, she sounded serious, but then Cassandra saw the light of mischief in her eyes and exhaled with relief. “You wouldn’t, and I thank you.”

“Still, you shouldn’t go.”

“I can’t not go.” Even the thought of it made her heart twist. “Things are about to become very complicated, I fear. There will be calls and at least one proposal.” At Prudence’s arched brow, Cassandra said, “Glastonbury told Ruark yesterday that he planned to propose today. It was fortunate that we left early to attend the ball. When Papa announced he was joining us, I worried we wouldn’t leave in time and that Glastonbury would call before we were on our way.” She took a breath to ease the gathering concern in her chest. “I want to have tonight with Ruark—and yes, we plan to be very careful.”

Prudence tipped her head to the side. “Are you saying you think you may end up having to marry someone else?”

“I hope not, but I am worried my father will insist, particularly if there are several gentlemen to choose from. It would be different if Ruark was ready to marry now. I would fight to choose him.”

“You can still do that,” Prudence said, as if it were obvious. “You could also demand Ruark marry you.”

“Perhaps.” But she couldn’t, not when Ruark had promised his father. Prudence would likely understand. She’d lost her mother and seemed to have had a strong connection to her. “What I will do is fight for the chance to wait for him.”

And she would do it knowing the risk. Three years from now—even a year from now—he may realize that he didn’t love her. To be fair, she may decide the same about him.

“Do you think the duke will allow you to postpone getting married? He seems rather single-minded.”

“He already allowed me to put off my Season. He understood that I was struggling to be ready without Mama.”

Her throat constricted as she recalled when she’d told him, three years earlier, that she wanted to delay her Season. He’d surprised her by not only understanding but telling her not to give it a second thought—of course she would wait. But then last autumn, he’d said he hoped she was ready because it was time. She couldn’t delay any longer. He’d been kind about it, but he’d also indicated the matter wasn’t up for debate.

Prudence gently patted her forearm. “Perhaps he will be more understanding about Wexford than you think.”

Cassandra doubted it. “He’s been awfully cruel to Ruark. I worry he will cut me off completely, both financially—and emotionally,” she added softly. She really didn’t want to lose another parent, even if he behaved like a beast sometimes. “I have that same concern about asking to delay my marriage.”

Prudence nodded, her expression warm with sympathy. “I understand your fear. We really do have to take what happiness we can, for we never know what tomorrow will bring. You should go and meet Wexford.” She winced slightly. “Where are you going exactly?”

“The stables.”

“Won’t they be swarming with activity with so many guests?”

“Yes, and because of that, Ruark believes there will be too much going on for anyone to notice us.” Cassandra glanced toward the clock on the mantel. “I need to hurry.”

“You should wear my day gown. It’s dark blue and will blend into the night.”

“Thank you, Pru. For everything.” Cassandra hugged her, and Prudence clasped her tightly in return. After parting with laughter and smiles, they got to work getting Cassandra ready quickly.

Prudence put a cap over Cassandra’s hair to disguise the elegant style she’d worn for the ball. There wasn’t time to change it. “You should take the backstairs at the end of our corridor. I believe they will lead you down near the scullery. There should be a door to outside, and the stables won’t be far away.”

“How do you know all that?” Cassandra had seen the stables earlier when they’d gone for a walk after arriving, but the rest was a mystery.

“You’ve commented more than once about my skills of observation.” She smiled slyly. “I pay attention. To everything.”

Cassandra grinned at her. “And for that I am most grateful.”

CHAPTER 17

F inding her way to the scullery was easy. Getting through it so she could exit the house was less so. Keeping her head down, Cassandra maneuvered her way past bustling maids and finally emerged into the cool, dark night.

“Thank goodness,” she murmured as she started toward the stables, moving quickly because she was late. Hopefully he hadn’t given up on her.

He and Prudence were right about the activity at the stables. There were dozens of vehicles clogging the yard and several groups of retainers seemed to be enjoying their own entertainment. They were gathered together, drinking and talking. One group was singing. Most importantly, they were all too busy to pay any attention to her. Splendid.

But where was Ruark?

Suddenly she saw him, standing near the corner in the shadows. He beckoned her to come to him, and she realized that’s why she’d seen him. If he hadn’t moved, he would have continued to blend into the darkness.

When she reached him, he put his arm around her waist and ushered her around the stone structure. “I worried you found trouble,” he said quietly as they walked farther into the darkness.

“No, but I did have to take Prudence into my confidence.” She stopped, forcing him to stop too. The faint light coming from the stables and the activity in the yard provided just enough illumination for her to make out his expression. “There was no other way I was going to be able to leave my room.”

He smiled at her and caressed her cheek. “I understand. She didn’t try to stop you from coming?”

“She did at first, but I convinced her that seeing you tonight was incredibly important to me. We must take the time that we have, don’t you think?”

“I do, and I know you understand that better than most. As do I.”

“It’s just another reason I feel so connected to you.” She slid her hands up his chest and under his coat, settling on the curve of his neck. The urge to ask him if he felt the same overwhelmed her.

He stroked her jaw before lowering his head. “I feel the same way about you.”

Her heart sang as he kissed her, joining their bodies while joy coursed through her veins. Then he surprised her by sweeping her into his arms. She squealed, and he whispered, “Shh,” against her lips before kissing her again.

Circling to the rear of the building, he opened a door and stepped cautiously over the threshold. She wanted to ask where he was taking her but remained silent. After surveying the area briefly, he carried her to a coach.

It was nearly dark here in the back of the stables, but not completely so. She could still discern his features.

He set her down then opened the door to the coach with a flourish, his leg extended. “After you, my lady,” he said quietly but with great gallantry as he offered her his hand.

She placed her fingers in his palm and stepped up into the coach. It was perhaps a decade old and seemed as though it was no longer used very often. “How did you know this was here?” She settled on the forward facing seat while he climbed in after her.

Closing the door with a snap, he sat opposite her. “I arrived early and scouted the area for an appropriate place. I was ecstatic to find this old coach so far removed from the activity in front.”

“It is most fortuitous.”

His eyes narrowed seductively. “You look like the maid I met in the closet with that cap on.”

“Should I take it off?” She lifted one hand to her head.

“I’m torn. On the one hand, it’s quite arousing as it recalls that day when I nearly shagged you in a cupboard.” His words stirred the already pulsing heat inside her into a boil. “On the other, I long to take your hair down, and I can’t very well do that while you wear a cap. I think I will choose the former as we don’t have all night, unfortunately.”

Perhaps someday they would. No, she would think only of tonight. “Does it help to know that I’m only wearing this dress and a chemise beneath it? That should save you some time. That is, if you plan to—” She couldn’t bring herself to say what she thought he was going to do, what he’d mentioned last night.

“Just to be clear, we are not having intercourse,” he said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I won’t risk a child.”

“I can’t find any fault with that. Just disappointment.”

“Wicked girl,” he murmured, licking his lower lip. The heat in her core intensified. “How easily does that gown open?”

“Fairly easily.” She reached up and unfastened the buttons on the front below her shoulders. The bodice of the gown dropped, exposing her chemise. “Why are you sitting over there?”

“So I can see you. But I wish to God there was more light.” He scooted forward. “Does your chemise come down too?”

There was a lacing around the neckline so that she could gather it—or loosen it. She tugged and did the latter. “Like this?”

“Yes.” He swallowed—she could see his throat work. “Take it down so I can see your breast.”

Cassandra did as he bade, pulling the garment down to reveal her right breast. “Just one?”

“God, you’re beautiful. I’ll take both, please.”

Pushing and pulling at the garment, she situated it so that both of her breasts were exposed to his gaze. The cool air made her nipples stiff. Or perhaps that was due to the way he was looking at her.

Her breasts felt heavy, and they tingled with want. She ached for him to touch her. “Is there something else I should do?” she asked softly, growing nervous at his inaction.

“I’m torturing myself for a few minutes, if you’ll bear with me.”

A short laugh slipped past her lips. “You’re torturing me too.”

“That is not my intent.” His mouth tilted into a lop-sided smile. “Actually, perhaps it is. Anticipation is good for both of us.” He shifted on the seat then removed his coat. He was already without a hat or gloves. “Do you ever touch yourself there?”

“Not really. Should I?” Her nipples seemed to quiver in response.

“Most definitely. Bring your hands up and cup them underneath.” He watched as she did what he said. “Lift them, gently. Yes, like that. They are too big for your hands.” His voice was low and rough, like a rock tumbling down a hillside.

“But not for yours, I imagine.” She moved her hands, massaging herself, and was shocked to find the need between her legs grew more urgent. “I want to see them on me. Your hands.” She imagined his mouth there too. “And your mouth.”

“Cassandra.” Her name was a ragged plea on his lips. “Tug on them.”

She pinched her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, pulling gently and gasping at the sensation. “I am never ignoring these again.” She applied more pressure and pulled harder. This time, she moaned.

“I can’t—” He sprang forward, his knees hitting the floor of the coach in front of her. He slid his hands beneath hers and took over, cupping and massaging her, his gaze locked on her breasts.

Cassandra cast her head back against the squab and arched her back, seeking more of his touch. She parted her legs so he could move closer. Then his head dipped, and his mouth closed over one nipple while he pinched the other.

Crying out, she thrust her hand into his hair and held him to her. He licked her then grazed her flesh with his teeth. A flood of desire rushed through her, sending tremors of need pulsing in her sex. He suckled her then, pulling hard on her nipple as he tormented her other breast.

She lost herself in dark sensation as he delivered wave after wave of pleasure, working her body into a passionate frenzy. She longed for him to lift her gown, to make her come as he’d done last night. “Ruark, please.” She reached down and grasped her skirt, tugging it up over her knees.

“So eager,” he murmured as he moved his mouth to her other breast while his hand skimmed down over her abdomen. His fingers trailed along her thigh as he pushed her dress up to her waist. “Is this what you want, Cass?” He stroked along her sex, soft and gentle. It wasn’t at all what she wanted.

“No. More. Please.”

“So demanding.”

“You said you liked that.”

He nipped her breast and pinched her nipple hard. “I do, but sometimes I want to be in charge.”

She squeaked in shocked pleasure. “Again.”

He squeezed down and pulled, holding her in between light pain and delirious rapture. “I’ll do what I want, and you’ll stop demanding. Understand?” He tweaked her flesh and let go then laved her with his tongue.

Groaning softly, she pressed her fingers into his scalp. “What if I ask very nicely? Or if I beg?”

“Begging can be incredibly arousing. But not tonight.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.” Tonight, I’m going to take what I want. If at any moment, you want me to stop, you tell me and I will. Understand?”

She nodded, utterly captivated by the dark command of his tone and the seductive promise in his eyes. She would have done anything he asked in that moment.

He stroked her sex once more, his fingers probing gently into her folds. “Good. Now scoot up to the edge of the seat like a good young lady.”

She moved forward and he lowered his head, kissing her hard and deep, his lips and tongue leaving no question as to what he intended. He would take, but he would also give. Somehow, he attended her sex and her breast as he kissed his way down her neck. He left a trail of fire and need as he made his way to her nipple and drew hard on the peak. The connection of that part of her to the very core of her sex was astonishing.

Then his mouth was gone, and the night air brought her nipples to even stiffer peaks. He moved his fingers against her clitoris, and she could feel her orgasm begin to build.

“Open your legs wider, Cass.” His head was down there, between her thighs, looking at her sex. “That’s right. So pretty. So soft. So very wet.”

His fingers parted her, and before she could wonder what he was about, his tongue was there, licking into her. She made incoherent sounds as she gripped his hair. Thrust after thrust of his tongue drove her swiftly toward release.

But then he stopped. Only briefly, thank goodness, and only to replace his tongue with his fingers—and yes, this time he was using his right hand—spearing them into her as he sucked on her clitoris. She threw her head back in wild abandon, her body screaming for satisfaction. It was so close, but she didn’t want this glorious rapture to end.

Holding herself back, she lifted her hips from the seat and rocked forward, seeking his penetration. Again, he changed, going back to using his tongue. She wasn’t sure which she preferred, just that he never, ever stop. To make sure, she told him so.

He slid one hand beneath her thigh and then up to cup her backside. Squeezing her flesh, he buried his tongue deep and thumbed her clitoris. She couldn’t hold it off any longer. Her muscles tensed as her hips twitched wildly. He held her fast and tight, his mouth and fingers working a wondrous ecstasy upon her.

She came hard, reaching the crest before she’d even seen it coming. Her cries filled the coach as he delivered her into magnificent bliss. When she was next aware of herself, she was sprawled rather inelegantly on the seat. Ruark’s head lay against her thigh as his fingers continued to stroke her sex.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to want to come again,” she croaked.

“Would that be bad?” He kissed her inner thigh.

“Not at all, but as you said, we don’t have all night. And now, it’s your turn.” She straightened, pushing herself up.

He lifted his head and looked up at her. “That isn’t necessary.”

She slitted her eyes at him and knew she could easily have another orgasm. “You’ve had your turn being in command. Now it’s mine.”

Ruark didn’t want to be responsible about this, but he also didn’t want to increase the risk of an already potentially dangerous situation. Thankfully, they were fairly well concealed in this coach tucked in the back of the stable.

In the end, he was no match for her seductive gaze. It was already taking everything he had not to continue playing with her sex. She was so responsive and utterly delicious. He was nowhere near sated. “What do you have planned?”

“I’ll show you. Go sit on the other cushion.” She inclined her head as she began to push her dress down. He wanted to tell her not to, but gravity would see it done regardless.

Pushing himself up, Ruark flung himself onto the opposite seat. She started to raise her chemise to cover breasts.

“Do you have to do that?” Ruark asked. There was a bit of a plaintive quality to the question, and he wasn’t even slightly embarrassed.

Letting go of the garment, she moved off the seat and joined him on his. “I suppose not.”

He fondled her, dragging his thumb over a nipple. “Good, because I could stare at them all night.”

“You aren’t doing that right now.”

“No, but it’s nice to know that I can. I also like to touch them. Very much.”

“How fortunate because I like that too.” She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “I think it’s only fair that I also get to ogle your chest.” When the buttons were all free, she separated the garment and pushed it over his shoulders and down his arms. He assisted and tossed it across the coach.

Before it even hit the other seat, she’d tugged his cravat loose. The slide of the silk around his neck as she pulled it free was an erotic sensation that only increased his already raging arousal.

“Better,” she murmured, dropping the cravat behind her. Slipping her hand into the open V of his shirt, she licked her lower lip. “But I think you should take this off too.” She pulled the hem from his waistband, and he whisked the garment over his head then threw it away from them.

She put her leg over his hips and straddled him, splaying her hands on his chest. “Much better.”

“God, yes.” He adjusted her skirt so that she was bare against him, with just his clothing separating them.

She moved her hands over him, pressing and massaging his flesh then combing her fingers through the dark hair in the center of his chest. “Are yours as sensitive as mine?” she asked as she skimmed her way to his nipples. With thumbs and forefingers, she plucked and squeezed, drawing a sharp gasp from his lips.

“They are quite sensitive.” His cock jerked in response, and he thrust up from the cushion.

She gripped his shoulders and pushed down, meeting him with her sex. Her breathing grew shallow, and she lowered her mouth to his neck, kissing him as they simulated intercourse—did she even realize?

With each rotation of his hips, he edged closer to release. “Is this how you want me to come?” he rasped.

She pulled up and lifted her head. “No, I didn’t realize you could do that like this.”

“I can practically do it just thinking about you,” he said with a dark laugh.

Delightful color pinked her cheeks. “Oh. Well, I was going to do what you did to me.” Moving to one side of him, she dropped a kiss on his lips before sliding down between his legs.

“Cass, are you sure?” He stroked her cheek and jaw.

She plucked the buttons of his fall open. “Quite. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?” She didn’t pause.

“On the contrary. I’ve dreamed of this.”

“Good.” Her smile was filled with deviltry as she pulled his cock from his clothing.

Ruark moaned softly as he adjusted his clothing so that his balls were also free. “Don’t want anything getting cinched.”

“That would be bad?”

“An utter disaster.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” She trailed her fingers from the head to the base. “Should I do anything with them?”

“Whatever you like.”

She moved her hand beneath them and massaged gently. “Oh, they are rather soft and the flesh around them is…interesting.”

“You can squeeze them carefully—not too tight.”

“Like this?” She lightly compressed them.

“Yes.” He sounded as though he were being strangled. And he supposed he was—in the best possible way.

Continuing her ministrations, she dipped her head and licked the tip. “Is this supposed to taste salty?”

“So I’m told.” He itched to tangle his fingers in her hair and hold her while he thrust deep into her mouth. But she was in command.

“Mmm.” She closed her mouth around him then. He was torn between giving himself over to complete sensation and watching her take him into her. He did both, first throwing his head back against the squab as she sucked him then peering down at her as she pleasured him.

He watched, enthralled, and tried to hold himself in check. But with every slide of her tongue and caress of her hand, he was deeper in the wilderness. If he wasn’t careful, he would be lost.

Clasping her head, he pulled her back. “Cass, you have to stop before I come.”

“Why? The point is to ensure you do.”

“But if I do, it will be…in your mouth.”

She hadn’t stopped stroking him. “Then so be it.” Dipping her head once more, she went back to her exquisite work. He couldn’t keep himself from rocking into her mouth, the sweet rhythm of her hand and mouth pushing him to the edge of his restraint.

“Faster,” he breathed, the muscles in his hips clenching.

She increased her speed and he groaned as every part of him tensed, anticipating the coming release. It did not disappoint.

His orgasm washed through him with a ferocity he’d never known, carrying him to a fantastic height while at the same time casting him into the darkest oblivion. He held onto her, mindless, amidst the overwhelming ecstasy.

After some time, he realized she’d never let him go, swallowing every last bit of what he’d offered. Spent, he forced his eyes open and looked down at her. She’d scooted back and sat on the floor against the opposite seat, a satisfied smile teasing her gorgeous, wondrously skilled mouth.

She handed him his shirt, which he pulled on and adjusted over his abdomen before pushing the hem into his waistband. When he looked up, she’d covered her breasts, much to his disappointment.

He must have frowned or given some indication as to what he thought of losing his view for she said, “It had to be done. I can’t very well go back to the house like that.”

He chuckled. “I suppose not.”

He felt a burst of love for her along with regret that he was making her wait for a promise he’d made to a dead man. It was more than that, however. He didn’t trust his emotions.

What if he could? Would he break his vow and marry Cassandra before he was thirty?

“I really don’t deserve you,” he murmured as he tucked himself back into his clothing.

“I forbid you from saying that anymore. I offered to wait for you, and I will. Though I admit that after tonight it will be incredibly difficult.”

He couldn’t disagree with her there. “What if I broke my vow?” he whispered so softly he barely heard himself.

She reached for him, grasping his wrist. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not. Just as I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”

“What if you compromised? I didn’t want to be rushed into marriage—which my father seems to have trouble accepting—and neither do you. We love each other. Let us see how things are between us at the end of the Season.”

Her idea had merit. “Thirty was a rather arbitrary age anyway.” The key was for Ruark to know his mind and heart. He’d never stayed in love more than a handful of weeks. There was double that left in the Season. “I like this plan.” He pulled his arm from her grip so they could clasp hands. “Do you?”

“I do.” She kissed his hand then let him go. “Now, we must hurry.”

They both righted their appearances to the best of their ability. Ruark helped her from the coach, and they left the stable through the door they’d come in. Circuiting the outer wall, they held hands in silence until they reached the corner.

“I’ll watch you go back,” he said. “I daren’t accompany you.”

She nodded. “I hate that I have to leave you.”

“I hate that too,” he admitted softly. He leaned down to kiss her, their lips meeting in a soft but fierce collision full of promise. Could they continue like this? He hoped so even as he knew it was fraught with risk.

She stepped back and gave him a flirtatious smile, her fingers still entangled with his. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I love you. I will count the hours until we’re together again.”

No, he didn’t want her to say it, nor could he deny the selfish hunger in his heart that was desperate to hear it. “Soon,” he responded, as he reluctantly let her go.

She spun about and dashed toward the house, the ribbons of her bonnet flying behind her because she hadn’t tied it beneath her chin. He watched until she was long gone, until his body was cold but his heart full.

They could wait until the end of the Season. He prayed his love for her would only increase.

CHAPTER 18

The glow of Ruark’s rendezvous with Cassandra the other night had finally begun to fade. He attributed that to the possibility that she was even now receiving callers and none of them were him. How could he call on her when his father had made it clear he wasn’t a welcome suitor?

He had to wait for Cassandra to smooth things over with him. And then what? Ruark would court her? What if things…changed by the end of the Season?

And just like that, the happiness he’d basked in the past day and a half evaporated. He put his elbows on his desk and cradled his head in his hands.

“Where are you taking Kat this evening? Time is wasting.”

Ruark looked up to see his mother standing on the other side of his desk. “We’ll go to a pleasure garden. Will that suffice?”

“Vauxhall?” she asked with expectant glee.

“Er, no. A smaller one, but it will be pleasant and there will be eligible gentlemen.” He hoped. “Vauxhall is so large. This smaller garden will ensure Kat is seen.” He hoped that too.

“I can’t argue with that.”

Ruark wanted to say she surely could but refrained from poking the bear. Withdrawing his elbows from the desktop, he leaned back in his chair. “What are your plans this afternoon?” He knew she wouldn’t stay home.

“Iona and I are going shopping.”

“Oh good. I’m sorry Iona hasn’t been out much.” She wasn’t participating in the Season as Kat was because their mother didn’t want to have to manage two daughters at once. Particularly since Kat typically took more management. Surprisingly, Iona hadn’t seemed too bothered. Ruark suspected she was glad to be left alone.

His mother waved her hand. “She’ll be fine. She knows the primary goal of this trip is to see Kat married.”

Ruark had to find a way to convince his mother to let Kat remain unwed. In pondering this problem, he couldn’t help but think of Cassandra, who would also be trying to persuade her father to allow her to delay marriage, at least until the end of the Season but perhaps longer.

Excusing himself, Ruark left for the boxing club, eager to work out his agitation in the ring. An hour later, he was disappointed to realize that his encounter with Cassandra the other night had done nothing to improve his focus in the ring. But that was likely because he was consumed with thoughts of whether she’d spoken to her father about delaying marriage or if she was even now hearing a marriage proposal.

Mort’s knuckles connected with Ruark’s ribs again. “Enough,” Mort said, shaking his head. “I’m telling Fred you can’t fight.”

Ruark knew it was foolish to go ahead with the prizefight, but it was in two days. “What if he can’t find a replacement?”

“I’ll find one,” Mort said decisively. “Garnham will pulverize you.”

“If there’s no one to take my place, I’ll just have to do my best.” He wasn’t going to leave Fred without a fighter, especially not after he’d asked to participate.

“You’re an honorable gent,” Mort said as they went to the bench where he picked up a cloth to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

Ruark wasn’t sure he agreed. An honorable gent would have proposed to Cassandra already. Would he though if he worried he’d hurt her by falling out of love? Because he was perhaps incapable of sustaining love?

He’d hoped she was different from the others. What if she wasn’t?

Ruark scrubbed the towel over the back of his neck. “I’m going to get changed, and then I’ll speak with Fred.”

Mort nodded. “I’d go with you, but I’ve another lad coming in. Don’t worry—we’ll find a replacement.”

“I appreciate your support,” Ruark said earnestly. “In everything.”

After cleaning up and changing his clothes, Ruark made his way to Fred’s office in the back corner of the club. Thoughts of Cassandra still scraped at his mind, and he had no answers. He only knew that he loved her—or at least thought he did. And that the thought of breaking his vow to marry her made him want to run and hide.

The door to Fred’s office was closed, so Ruark lifted his hand to knock.

“I need more!” The exclamation, low and urgent, carried through the door.

Ruark’s hand froze.

“We already have an agreement. You can’t change it now.” That was Fred speaking.

“What if I withdraw?” the other man asked, his tone angry.

Ruark didn’t recognize the voice but wondered if it was Glastonbury.

“I’ll just move Wexford into your slot then,” Fred sounded smug. “A viscount is good, but an earl in the premier bout is better. I don’t need you the way you need me.”

Definitely Glastonbury. What were they haggling about? Why did Glastonbury need him?

“You can’t do that. This entire scheme was my idea.” Glastonbury nearly growled the last couple of words.

“It’s my club. I can do what I like. The deal stays as it is. You’ll get thirty percent and not a shilling more.”

Thirty? When Ruark was getting four.

“Then give me more of the wagers. Twenty instead of fifteen.”

He was getting a portion of the wagers that would be made? Was Glastonbury in need of funds? Suddenly his interest in marrying Cassandra took on a rather different cast. Ruark had been jealous of the man before, but now he was angry. She deserved a husband who cared for her, not her dowry. He supposed there was a chance Glastonbury wanted both, but he needed to find out.

Wait, did it even matter when Cassandra had no intention of accepting his proposal?

Ruark realized he’d gotten so lost in his thoughts that he’d missed whatever was said next. Suddenly, the door flew open, and the viscount stalked out. Hat in hand, he stopped abruptly upon seeing Ruark.

Glastonbury blinked then seemed to struggle to summon a pleasant expression. “Afternoon, Wexford. How was your practice? Or are you just arriving?”

“Finished, actually. It was…average.”

“Ah, well, I have those days too. Once in a rare while.” Glastonbury inclined his head then slapped his hat on and strode past Ruark.

Looking over his shoulder, Ruark watched him leave the club. When he turned his attention to the office, he could see Fred sitting inside. He motioned for Ruark to come in.

“What do you need?”

“I came to speak with you about the prizefight.” Ruark considered telling him he’d overheard their conversation. He wanted to know why Glastonbury had concocted this scheme but doubted Fred would tell him.

In the end, Ruark decided not to mention it. Not yet anyway. “I’m afraid I need to withdraw. I haven’t been fighting at my best, and Mort is certain I’ll be destroyed.” With each word, Fred’s frown seemed to deepen. “I won’t leave you without a fighter, however. Mort is working to find a replacement.”

Fred narrowed his eyes. “The fight’s in two bloody days. I’ve already said the Irish Menace is fighting. Is he going to find me an Irishman? Preferably a peer who will draw a crowd?”

Ruark didn’t bother pointing out that Fred hadn’t asked him to begin with, that he’d been prodded to do so. “Perhaps MacNair will do it, and you can just call him the Scottish Menace. He’s the brother of an earl. Surely that would please your spectators. He’s also an incredibly skilled pugilist.”

Grunting in response, Fred tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I’ll think about it.”

“MacNair?” Ruark wasn’t entirely sure if that was what he meant.

“And whether I’ll let you withdraw.”

Now he was just being difficult. Once he had someone confirmed to take Ruark’s place, he’d be less cantankerous. Curmudgeonly. Yes, that remained the best word for him. “Quite magnanimous of you,” he said with a benign smile. “I’m sure we’ll sort this out.”

Fred grunted again then looked down at his desk. Ruark assumed he was finished with the conversation.

“Afternoon, then!” Ruark turned and walked away, shaking his head at Fred’s behavior. His mind quickly turned to what he’d overheard between him and Glastonbury.

Why did the viscount need a moneymaking scheme? For that’s what it seemed he was about, suggesting this prizefight to Fred and taking a percentage of both the admission fees and the wagers.

The question he most wanted an answer to, however, was whether Glastonbury wanted to marry Cassandra for her lovely, amazing self—or for her dowry.

“This is exactly what I wanted.” Cassandra smiled at her reflection as she tilted her head to see a new angle of the cunning hat that she’d had made in the masculine style of the one Sabrina had worn in the park. Like Sabrina’s, this was a short top hat with a curved brim. Unlike Sabrina’s, it was black instead of teal and sported a wide, bright red ribbon and silk flower, which matched the walking gown Cassandra would wear it with.

“It’s quite fetching,” Prudence said with a nod.

“Oh, that hat is lovely!”

Cassandra pivoted at the exclamation and immediately recognized one of the women—it was Ruark’s mother.

“Lady Cassandra,” Mrs. Shaughnessy said with a smile. “I don’t think you’ve met my younger daughter, Iona. She’s not the youngest, those would be the twins who remained in Gloucestershire.”

Turning fully, Cassandra smiled at Iona. Her blue eyes were the same as her mother and brother’s, but her hair was a dark auburn. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Mama, can I have a hat like that?” Iona asked.

“I think you must,” Cassandra said, looking to the milliner. “Helena, I hope you’ll be able to craft something similar for Miss Shaughnessy.” Removing the hat, Cassandra handed it to Helena who beamed with pride.

“Of course, my lady. It was my pleasure to create such a lovely accessory for you and I’d be delighted to help Miss Shaughnessy. Let me just wrap this up for you.” The petite woman retreated behind her counter to place the hat into a box.

“Is Kat not with you?” Cassandra asked.

“She hates shopping,” Iona said. “She’s probably reading, as usual.”

“Do tell her I asked after her.” Cassandra wondered what it would be like to have sisters. She imagined it was rather nice to have playmates and confidantes growing up. Oh, she’d had her governess, but that just wasn’t the same.

“We will,” Mrs. Shaughnessy responded. “How wonderful to run into you today. I do hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“I’m sure.” It suddenly occurred to Cassandra that if she married Ruark they would be her family. She would have sisters—four of them. The prospect filled her with joy as she collected her hatbox and left the shop with Prudence.

“Where shall we go next?” Prudence asked.

This was the only errand they needed to run on Bond Street today, but Cassandra was avoiding callers so they would extend their shopping trip until she was certain it was safe to return to Grosvenor Square. “I have no preference, so long as it isn’t home. Perhaps we should go back inside and accompany the Shaughnessys.”

“You won’t be able to avoid speaking with your father for much longer, not unless you want to accept a marriage proposal—that isn’t from Wexford—as soon as tomorrow.” Prudence spoke kindly but firmly. Cassandra had told her that she and Ruark had discussed possibly marrying at the end of the Season, and Prudence had been delighted to hear it.

“I plan to talk to him this evening.” She had to because Prudence was right—a proposal was imminent. From Glastonbury and perhaps others. Her father’s charming performance at the ball on Saturday still grated her nerves. And yet, hadn’t she wanted suitors to approach her? That was before she’d fallen in love with Ruark. Now, there could be no one else.

Prudence looked past her. “Is that your brother?”

Cassandra turned her head as Lucien walked toward them. He wore a dark frown that instantly alarmed her.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said somewhat ominously.

“There must be an important reason since you’ve run me to ground on Bond Street.” Cassandra didn’t like the wriggle of trepidation that scurried along her spine.

“I went to Grosvenor Square first. I must speak with you immediately about a matter of…sensitivity.”

“You don’t want Prudence to overhear?” Cassandra asked.

“I would prefer to have a private conversation.” He flicked a glance toward Prudence. “Sorry. Would you mind returning to Grosvenor Square now? I’ll bring Cassandra home in my gig.”

“But—” Prudence started before cutting herself off as she looked at Cassandra in question.

“I’m avoiding the house today,” Cassandra said with a sigh. “I fear there will be callers, and I don’t want to take any today.”

Lucien lifted a shoulder. “Tell Bender you aren’t receiving calls.”

“I didn’t want to deal with Papa’s aggravation.” Because then she’d have to tell him why she didn’t want to receive calls and that was another aggravation—one she was going to have to face sooner rather than later. So she’d fled the house instead.

Nodding with understanding at last, Lucien gave her a flash of a sympathetic smile. “How about Miss Lancaster takes the coach to Gunter’s, and I’ll take you in my gig?”

“That’s fine.” Cassandra was both eager to hear what he had to say and somehow dreading it at the same time. He’d never behaved like this. What could he possibly have to say that he wouldn’t reveal in front of Prudence?

Cassandra turned to Prudence as the milliner came to deliver the hatbox. “I’ll meet you at Gunter’s shortly.”

“I’ll take this.” Prudence accepted the hat with a smile for the milliner and departed the shop.

“I can only hope whatever it is you need to tell me so urgently is worth all this fuss,” Cassandra said with a hint of irritation as Lucien escorted her from the milliner’s.

Lucien’s gig was just outside the shop, managed by his tiger who turned over the reins after Lucien settled Cassandra inside and hopped onto the back. Once he started driving, his frown returned. “There is no delicate way to say this, so I will just be plain.”

Cassandra squeezed her hands together in her lap. “Please.”

“You were seen with Wexford near the stables at the ball the other night.”

Her nerves, rattled since Lucien had arrived in the shop, balled into a knot of dread in her stomach. “By whom?” She sounded much calmer than she felt, and for that she was grateful.

“One of Father’s coachmen. You should be glad he came to me and not Father.”

The knot hardened to stone, and Cassandra felt queasy. “He didn’t tell Papa?”

“No. He likes you—everyone does—and thought I could handle the situation in a more discreet manner. He said he didn’t think anyone else saw, but of course there’s no knowing that for certain.”

Rumors about her could start at any moment. Mayhap they already had.

Lucien shot her a narrow-eyed glower. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Should I talk to Father and prepare him for the wedding?” Lucien shook his head. “No, because there isn’t going to be a wedding.”

She angled herself toward him. “What do you mean?”

“Wexford won’t marry you. He has that silly rule—”

“Not to marry until he’s thirty,” she interrupted. “I know all about that. Which is why I plan to wait for him.” She wouldn’t tell him that Ruark might wed sooner. Because it was currently a might.

“Oh, Cass, did he tell you he’d wait for you too? Don’t bother answering because it doesn’t matter. You wanted to know why I’ve been so against his courtship. The reason is that he falls in and out of love as easily as you buy a new wardrobe and discard it the following year.”

“I don’t do that.” Not entirely. Her insides twisted. “You’re saying there have been other women?” Like her?

“I know of at least three he was head over heels in love with. Because of his rule, he didn’t marry any of them. Would you care to know whether he still loves them?”

She already knew the answer. She’d seen the hesitation and doubt in his eyes. He wasn’t sure he would still love her in three years’ time. Or even two months’ time. Why would he? He’d loved before and, apparently, the emotion hadn’t ever been permanent.

“He does not,” she said quietly, turning herself so she faced forward once more. She’d thought their connection was special, that it was proof he’d been smart to wait to marry. But she was just another woman in a long line.

“I’m so sorry, Cass. Perhaps I should have told you about this before. Then you could have kept your distance from him.”

Except the damage had already been done. From the moment they’d kissed in the cupboard—and that was before she’d ever danced with him or they’d given Lucien any inkling they might wish to court—she’d been lost. She may not have fallen in love with him then, but she’d been infatuated at least.

“Don’t feel guilty.” Her voice, like her insides, was suddenly hollow.

“I will, even if you absolve me. I trusted him.”

So had she. He should have told her about his past. If she’d been aware, would she still have decided to wait for him?

The answer came hard and fast: no.

How could she wait, putting her own life on hold, when he likely expected that his emotions would change? She’d thought his reticence was entirely due to the promise he’d made his father. Was that even true? “Did he tell you why he wouldn’t marry until he turned thirty?”

“Only that he wanted to be certain. Why, is there something more?”

Was there? Or had Ruark fabricated the story about his father? She didn’t think he could have, not the way he shared it with her. But why reveal himself to her about that but not tell her about his past loves?

“What are you thinking?” Lucien asked.

“That I’ve been a fool, and Ruark is a toad.”

“The latter is certainly true, but the former is not. He’s a charming rogue. It isn’t a mystery that you would fall for him.”

“He owes me an explanation. I think I need that.” She drew a breath. “So I can move on.” She had to move on. With Glastonbury or someone else.

Except she didn’t love him or anyone else. And if she’d learned anything this Season, it was that she wanted to marry for love. Or, she reminded herself, the potential for love. That at least existed with Glastonbury. She liked him and thought they could probably be happy.

Probably.

Was that enough? Not for Ruark. But what was going to happen when he turned thirty or at the end of the Season? He’d suddenly know, without question, that he was in love and marrying the right person? How could any of them know that? Constantine had married Sabrina under duress, and they’d gotten very lucky. Fiona had married Overton for love, but who was to say they’d stay that way? Perhaps they’d be like Ruark and fall out of love.

The thought of that sickened her. Not just because she hated to think of that happening to her friend. If Cassandra couldn’t believe in love, why bother marrying for it? Why not accept Glastonbury’s offer, which would please her father and probably ensure a nice, comfortable life?

“Do you want me to take you to his house? Though, it’s not very seemly—calling on a gentleman.”

She exhaled, flattening her hands across her lap, trying to expel some of the tension from her body. “I suppose not. Perhaps I don’t want to speak with him.” She certainly didn’t owe him the opportunity to explain. He’d had ample time to do that.

“I’d be happy to deliver any message you’d care to give him,” Lucien suggested.

Yes, that would do nicely. “You may tell him I’ve decided I can’t wait for him.”

“And if someone else saw you near the stables?”

She tipped her head toward him. “What did the coachman see exactly?”

“He said you looked…intimate.”

Kissing then. Otherwise, he would have seen them in the stables. She closed her eyes, trying to block out what had been a blissful memory but that was now tainted.

“Please also tell Ruark that he’s a scoundrel, and that I’m sorry I trusted him.”

“Nothing would give me more satisfaction. Except hitting him.”

“Be careful, Lu, he’s a pugilist.” At least now she wouldn’t have to worry about that. He could bloody himself all he liked, and it would be none of her concern. She’d still have to broach the subject with Glastonbury. A small part of her hoped it would prevent their union. Then she could retreat for the rest of the Season and hope next year would be better.

Or forget having a Season altogether. Mayhap she’d journey to a remote castle to be governess to some brooding widower duke’s small children. She’d mend his broken heart, and he’d fall madly in love with her.

“Don’t worry about me, Cass. I can hold my own against Wexford.”

She heard the anger in his voice, his teeth practically grinding, and almost worried for Ruark’s safety. Almost.

A few minutes later, he stopped in front of Gunter’s. “Are you sure you want to meet Miss Lancaster? I could send my tiger in to tell her you’ve returned home.”

“I refuse to let Ru—Wexford—upset me that much.” She lifted her chin. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”

“Of course you are,” Lucien murmured before leaping from the gig and rushing around to help her down. He squeezed her hand. “Please let me know if you need anything. I’ll find out if there’s any gossip swirling, but I should think we might have heard something by now.”

“Thank you.” Withdrawing her hand from his, Cassandra swept into Gunter’s where Prudence waited just inside.

“Oh dear, you look pale,” Prudence said in mild alarm. “What happened?”

“Lucien shared the truth of Wexford’s past with me. Apparently, he’s a serial romantic, falling in and out of love quite easily. I can’t imagine he will love me in two months, let alone three years. Oh, Pru, I’ve been the biggest fool.” Cassandra had kept her voice low and whispered the last so that the words were barely audible.

“Come, let’s walk around the square instead.” Prudence looped her arm through Cassandra’s, and together they left the shop. “Tell me all about it. Or not. Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to punch him in the face.” She loved him, and the knowledge that he likely couldn’t love her—at least not permanently—was a knife in her heart.

Cassandra poured out everything she’d learned from Lucien along with her own feelings of hurt and despair. When she was finished, she was surprised to find she felt slightly better. “I just need to fall out of love. Perhaps I should consult with Ruark on how best to do that since he’s apparently an expert.”

Prudence smiled. “There’s the Cass I know. Are you sure you don’t want to see him, to at least show him that you’re fine?”

“I suspect I’ll have ample opportunity to do that. It’s not as if I won’t see him around town. In fact, next time I do, I could very well be betrothed. And wouldn’t that be an excellent revenge?”

Prudence’s smile evaporated. “I hope you don’t become engaged solely for that purpose.”

Cassandra waved her hand. “I won’t. But it’s delicious to contemplate. I suppose I must think about what I will say to Glastonbury. I am considering his offer—whenever it comes—but I must speak with him about his boxing habit.” The thought of revealing her weakness made her uncomfortable, and she couldn’t help but think of how wonderfully supportive Ruark—Wexford—had been. She really did want to punch him.

A small voice in the back of her head said she should demand he explain himself, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming part of her that didn’t want to open herself up to more pain and disappointment. He’d tried to deter her, and she’d persisted, saying she’d wait for him.

That doesn’t make this your fault. He should have told you everything, not just the part about the vow he made his father. He should have included why that vow made perfect sense.

Because with that information, she may have made different choices. She would have, wouldn’t she?

Perhaps not. She’d fallen hard for him; they’d connected so deeply, or so she’d thought. He seemed the perfect solution for what she’d long been searching for—someone to love who would love her in return.

She had been a fool. Hadn’t she survived just fine on her own? Was there a need for her to completely expose herself, which had only left her ripe for disappointment? How was that better than feeling lonely or being afraid she would never have love? Glastonbury was looking better and better. He was a nice, safe gentleman who likely wouldn’t break her heart. That couldn’t happen when you kept it safely locked behind a wall.

She’d put Wexford behind her and do precisely that.

CHAPTER 19

The pleasure garden in Clerkenwell was smaller and more rustic than Vauxhall, but Ruark thought it a fine place to take his mother and sister on a sedate Monday evening.

“I would rather have gone to Vauxhall,” his mother said as they walked into the main area where music drifted from the covered area where a quartet played.

“And we shall,” Ruark said smoothly.

“It’s so beautiful,” Kat remarked, her gaze taking in the surroundings—from the bright lanterns to the supper boxes to the dance floor where dozens of couples swirled about in their finery. “Isn’t anyone afraid it will rain?”

Iona, who’d asked to come, and their mother had agreed, looked up at the sky. “I am.”

Ruark hadn’t considered that. “Then they shall rush to the supper boxes, I suppose.”

Kat tipped her head back and sniffed the air. “I hope they’re ready, because I daresay we’ll be subjected to a fine drizzle in the next hour or so.”

“We’ll leave before then,” their mother said. “It’s not as if Kathleen is going to find a husband here. You said there would be eligible gentlemen. All I see are couples, except for you.”

“You never know, Mother,” Kat said cheerily. “Husbands can be found in the strangest of places. Or so people say about you and Papa.”

Ruark had to stifle a laugh as their mother drew in a sharp breath. He noted Iona pressing her lips together and looking away. Sometimes Kat said things without thinking, but he was certain that had been an intentional—and direct—hit. He wanted to applaud.

Instead, he sought to soothe his mother’s agitation. “Kat has received several invitations, Mother. That pleases you, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

Kat beckoned to her sister. “Come with me to see if there are fish.”

Iona joined her and they walked away, arm in arm, the short distance to a pond.

Ruark took the opportunity to edge closer to their mother. “Or you could leave off trying to find a husband for Kat. She doesn’t particularly want to wed. Perhaps her reputation won’t be seriously damaged, especially if she’s gone from Gloucestershire for a while.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let her stay here in London with me. I’ll hire a companion for her, and she’ll be well looked after.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you insinuating that she wasn’t back home?”

“Not at all. I apologize if it sounded that way. I only meant to reassure you about leaving her here. She’ll be safe.”

“I don’t doubt that. Unfortunately, the greatest danger to her is herself.” She pursed her lips toward Kat. “I love her so very much, but I fear she will be alone.”

“Some people don’t mind that,” Ruark said softly. “You mustn’t push your worries onto others.” He suddenly thought of his father—hadn’t he done the same thing to Ruark when he’d made him promise not to wed? He shifted uncomfortably and shoved the thought away for another time.

Kat and Iona returned. “I saw two frogs,” Kat said. “The rain is coming sooner than I thought.”

Ruark cast his head back to look up at the night sky and was rewarded with a fat raindrop on his cheek. “Indeed.”

“Let’s go.” Their mother started toward the gate.

Several minutes later they were damp but settled in the coach heading back toward Mayfair. “Well, that was a waste of an evening,” their mother said.

Kat, who sat beside Ruark on the rear-facing seat, gazed out the window. “I wish we could have stayed longer. I like being out at night.” She looked toward Ruark. “When can we go to Vauxhall? I want to see the fireworks.”

“Soon.”

“Oh, Ruark, I meant to tell you that Iona and I encountered Lady Cassandra today on Bond Street.”

Suddenly very interested, Ruark leaned forward. “She was shopping?” Perhaps she hadn’t received callers then. Hope bloomed in his chest.

“She had the most delightful bonnet,” Iona said. “I ordered a similar one. I shall be the most fashionable young lady in Gloucestershire.”

“I don’t think you ever provided an adequate reason as to why you don’t court her. She’s quite charming and you seem friendly.”

“Her brother is one of my closest friends.” As if that explained anything.

“So?” Kat asked

“He, ah, asked his friends not to court his sister.”

“That’s ridiculous,” their mother said with a huff. “She’d be a perfect countess for you. I can’t imagine what you’re waiting for if you find her wanting.”

Ruark bit his tongue before he declared rather vehemently that there was nothing wanting about Cassandra. She would make the perfect countess.

Thankfully, his mother moved on. “Ruark, why don’t you provide me with a list of eligible bachelors? That will help us narrow down Kat’s choices so that we may be strategic in our actions this week. With luck, she’ll be betrothed in a fortnight at most.”

Kat had returned her attention to the window for the majority of the trip. “Or you could do what Ruark suggested and let me stay here in London with him.”

“Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” Mother asked, her tone strident. Ruark hated how she was treating Kat.

“If you don’t want a conversation to be heard, don’t have it in front of people,” Kat said wryly.

Ruark rushed to speak so their mother couldn’t respond. “Mother, I understand you’re upset about what happened in Gloucestershire, but you mustn’t keep holding it against Kat. Her behavior can’t be changed. Forcing her into marriage isn’t the answer either.”

Their mother folded her arms over her chest as the coach stopped in front of his house. “Ruark, you are being far too meddlesome. It is up to me, and Kathleen’s father, to ensure she’s settled.”

Ruark was fairly certain his stepfather would be pleased if Kat stayed in London—because it would make her happier than getting married.

“You should let her stay, Mama,” Iona said. “And I’m not saying that because she practically ruined my life along with her own.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” Ruark hoped Iona wasn’t taking after their mother.

Iona fixed him with an angry stare. “You have no idea, so kindly refrain from opining on the matter.”

The door opened, and a footman helped their mother from the coach then Iona. Kat turned her head. “I appreciate your support, Ruark.”

“If Mother won’t let you stay here, perhaps she’d let you go to my estate in Ireland. Would that interest you?”

“My preference is to stay here, but I would take Ireland over having to wed.” She stepped out of the coach but Ruark didn’t follow her. Instead, he directed the coachman to take him to the Phoenix Club.

His banished thought from the pleasure garden returned to the front of his mind. Had his father pushed his fears onto him? That wasn’t really the question. He had most definitely done that. The real question was whether his inability to sustain romantic love came from that fear instead of a genuine incapability.

If Da had never demanded that promise, would Ruark have married Freya nine years ago? Perhaps, but he couldn’t imagine it. He certainly wouldn’t have married his mistress three years later, but that was because it wouldn’t have been acceptable.

He could have married Nuala, the pretty daughter of his neighbor in Ireland. But he’d stopped their association from progressing after a few stolen kisses. He certainly hadn’t allowed things to go on as long as they had with Cassandra.

The coach arrived at the Phoenix Club, and Ruark bounded out, eager to relax inside. If he could.

The moment he walked into the Member’s Den and Lucien stalked toward him, Ruark knew something was very wrong. Before he could ask, Lucien barked out a command, “Membership committee chamber. Now.” The distinctive Westbrook growl was on full display.

Ruark followed him out of the Member’s Den and into the membership committee’s meeting room. “I hope nothing is terribly wrong.”

“Something is very wrong. With you.” Lucien closed the door with more force than necessary, turned on his heel, and planted his fist in Ruark’s nose.

Stumbling backward, Ruark brought his hand to his face. “Ow! Are you trying to break my nose again?”

“You’re lucky I don’t break your legs.”

The door opened, and MacNair and Deane filed in, the latter closing it behind him.

“What the devil’s going on?” MacNair asked, his eyes narrowing at first Ruark and then Lucien. “Everyone can see your ire, and since it’s almost never on display, you can imagine how it looks.”

“I don’t give a damn how it looks,” Lucien seethed, surprising Ruark with the vehemence of his anger. “Wexford is banished from the Phoenix Club.”

Ruark dropped his hand from his face. He was so stupid—there was only one reason Lucien would behave like this. He somehow knew about Ruark and Cassandra.

“Banishment?” Deane stepped forward, almost between Lucien and Ruark. When Ruark glowered at him, he seemed to think better of advancing further. “We’ve never banished anyone. I thought that was for other clubs.”

“What Deane said,” MacNair put in, sending a concerned look toward Ruark. “We’re inclusive and once you’re in, you’re in.”

“It’s my bloody club, and he’s banished.”

“Now you have the final say,” Ruark muttered. “That’s deuced convenient.”

Lip curling, Lucien stepped toward him, his hand fisted. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

“What is going on?” Deane demanded, looking from Ruark to Lucien.

“The fiend has been carrying on with my sister for who-knows-how-long. It’s bad enough to risk her reputation, but when you have no intention of marrying her, it’s downright despicable.” Lucien spat the last word, and Ruark felt it like a knife in his gut.

He was despicable. He’d tried to resist, and he’d failed. He could argue that Cassandra had tempted him, that she’d been unflinchingly persistent. But this was his fault. He’d continued with her despite the fact that he’d fallen out of love with every other woman for whom he’d felt a tendre. And expected to do the same with Cassandra, even though he hoped she would be different. That was where he’d gone totally wrong—he’d allowed hope to color his decisions and hurt Cassandra. There was simply no good excuse for his behavior.

Lucien put one hand on his hip as he continued to glare at Ruark. “See, he has nothing to say for himself.”

“This is true?” MacNair asked Ruark.

Ruark nodded. “I regret that it is. Lucien, I hold Cassandra in the highest regard. I have tried at every moment to keep her safe from harm—even from that caused by me.”

Lucien came toward him, stopping just within arm’s length. “First, don’t refer to her in such a casual fashion ever. Second, how can you possibly hold her in the highest regard when you have nearly ruined her? Third, how can you try to keep her safe while continuing to carry on an illicit liaison.”

“It wasn’t that,” Ruark ground out. Except it had become that, hadn’t it? Even if they weren’t having sexual intercourse, they had engaged in activities that no young, unmarried daughter of a duke ever should. “We’re…friends.”

Lucien lifted his arm to hit him again, but Ruark was expecting it. He was also a trained pugilist, where Lucien was not.

Deflecting the blow, Ruark stepped to the side. “Don’t start something you can’t finish well.”

“You should let me beat you.” Lucien blew out a frustrated breath.

“He can’t do that,” MacNair said quietly. “Too well trained. But I could hold him for you.” He shook his head at Ruark in clear disappointment. “I won’t though.”

Ruark’s insides churned in turmoil. He wanted to ask how Lucien found out, not because it mattered to him personally, but because he was concerned about Cassandra. “Is Cassandra…ruined?” He was afraid of the answer.

“Not yet, but you were seen at the ball the other night. Rather, at the stables.” Lucien spoke with heavy disgust. “We must hope that my father’s coachman is the only person who saw you.”

The duke’s coachman? As if Cassandra’s father’s opinion of Ruark wasn’t bad enough. But then Ruark’s own opinion of himself had never been worse. “I will hope that is the case. It was never my intent to endanger your sister. I care for her very deeply.” He’d still behaved like an ass.

“But not deeply enough to wed her.” Lucien stared at him. “Why? Because of some stupid rule? I don’t believe that anymore. I don’t think you’re capable of love. All you do is leave a trail of broken hearts behind you. If you can’t marry for three more years, why even go to balls or dance with young ladies who are on the Marriage Mart?”

“Put like that, it’s a bit cruel—to yourself as much as them,” Deane said with a frown.

Yes, it was cruel. Why did he do that? Ruark could just as easily go back to Ireland and ride horses for the next three years. Except, he’d done that three years ago, and he’d still fallen for a woman. It seemed his heart had a mind of its own.

“There’s nothing left to say,” Lucien said flatly. “You should go, Wexford.”

Ruark took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. “There is something else. Glastonbury plans to propose to your sister. I learned he’s behind the prizefight at the club.” He looked toward MacNair who blinked in surprise. “He seems to need the money. It was his idea, and Fred’s giving him thirty percent of the admission, plus a portion of the wagers. I’m only getting four percent.”

“I didn’t know Glastonbury was short on funds,” Deane noted. “Or that you were fighting in a prizefight.” He looked surprised.

“I didn’t realize he was light in the purse either,” Ruark said. “I don’t think anyone knows, otherwise we’d have learned this when we were investigating him for membership, and that seems to be his preference.” He glanced toward Lucien, hating the fury still burning in his friend’s—former friend’s—gaze. “I thought you should know. I was going to try to find out why he was in need of funds, but I suppose that’s your job.”

“It sure as hell isn’t yours.” Lucien sneered at him before pivoting to allow Ruark a clear path to the door. “Time for you to go.”

Ruark took a step then stopped to look over at Lucien. “I do care about Lady Cassandra, no matter what you think. At least she knows that I do.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Ruark said. “After I told her all about your penchant for loving and leaving the women in your life, she was more than ready to forget you even exist.”

It was the final blow, and Ruark should have seen it coming. Of course Lucien would have told her all about his past. He should have done it himself. But he’d been too afraid that his father was right about him, that his father’s prognostication had been proven accurate by Ruark’s behavior. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever marry at all, at least not without being perfectly candid with his prospective bride. He might love her now, but he could almost guarantee the emotion wouldn’t last.

For the first time, he felt truly cursed.

Keeping his head high, Ruark left the membership committee chamber without looking at the other men whom he’d called friend just a short time ago. Then he left the Phoenix Club and didn’t look back.

C assandra slept later than normal after being awake most of the night. She’d talked to her mother, rather the portrait of her that her brothers had given her. Was that just a week ago that she’d celebrated her birthday and kissed Ruark in another cupboard? It felt like an eternity.

Unfortunately, her mother couldn’t give her any advice. Should she marry Glastonbury? Should she retreat to the country for the rest of the Season? Should she join a convent?

Dressed in a simple morning gown, Cassandra went into the sitting room to break her fast. She’d barely sat down before her father came in.

The duke coughed, his gaze dropping to the roll on her plate and the pot of chocolate. “I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

“It’s all right. Is there something you need to speak with me about?” It was a silly question. He never came here without intent. Just stopping to visit with her was not something her father did.

“I came to ask about your plans for the day—and for the rest of the week. You were gone most of yesterday.” He sounded slightly annoyed, which was better than angry. “There were two callers for you.”

She knew that because the flowers they’d brought were currently adorning the sitting room. “I will be home today. And the rest of the week.”

“Excellent.” He clasped his hands behind his back and went to inspect one of the floral arrangements. “Who’s this one from?”

“Brockton. I danced with him at the ball the other night.” He’d included a short but effusive message extolling the virtue of her hair color, likening it to the earth at his family seat in his beloved Warwickshire. “It doesn’t seem as though Glastonbury called.”

Her father’s mouth flattened. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was close. “No, which I find a trifle concerning. He’s certainly taking his time with courting you.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I’d prefer the chance to get to know him, or any man, before I agree to marry them. I do think he’ll propose when he next calls.” Because he’d told Ruark that he planned to.

“Splendid.” He focused on her. “Are you ready to accept? This could happen today, in fact.”

“I suppose.” She poured chocolate into her cup.

Her father’s brow creased, and he moved back toward the table but didn’t sit with her. “You don’t sound enthusiastic. Is there something wrong with Glastonbury? Have you decided you won’t suit?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s perfectly pleasant and charming. But I don’t love him, Papa.” She added the last in a softer tone, her gaze on her cup of chocolate that suddenly looked completely unappetizing. When had chocolate ever been unappetizing? She looked up at him then. “I wanted to fall in love.”

Her father stared at her a moment, seeming confounded. Then he slowly sat opposite her at the round table. “I would advise you to remember that love brings pain as well as joy.”

Cassandra knew that firsthand.

He went on. “It’s perfectly acceptable to be content with a warm, mutual affection. Can you have that with Glastonbury?”

She looked him in the eye. “Is that what you had with Mama?”

“No.” The word was barely audible.

“That’s why you find love painful. You loved her—and you lost her.”

“I don’t wish that on any of my children,” he rasped, looking away.

Cassandra had never seen him so emotional. It was at once wonderful and terrifying. “Wouldn’t you rather have known that love, even for a shorter time than you’d hoped, than to never have experienced it at all?” She couldn’t help but think of the rush of anticipation when she was waiting to see Ruark or the thrill of his gaze and his touch when they were together. Her world had seemed brighter, richer. It was agony to know she couldn’t have a future with him, but she still couldn’t regret the time they’d shared. She’d cling to that brightness, to that unparalleled bliss of being in love for the rest of her days. Even if she loved again—and she hoped she would.

It was a long moment before her father responded. “Yes, I would. I am thankful for your mother every day, even as I miss her beyond measure.” His voice had gone hoarse.

Cassandra left her chair to embrace him. It was quick but heartfelt, despite the fact that he only patted her shoulder. The touch was the most physical affection he’d displayed in a very long time.

When she sat back down, she folded her hands in her lap. “Is it absolutely imperative I marry this Season? I know you want me to, but I truly don’t wish to rush into anything I may regret.”

He exhaled. “You remind me so much of your mother. I could never deny her anything either. No, you don’t have to wed, but I’d prefer you did.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the window. “I’m getting older. I want to see you settled.”

Cassandra’s heart squeezed. “You aren’t ancient yet. Don’t be so maudlin. I may wed this Season, but I’d like to know you won’t be angry if I don’t. In fact, I may even wed Glastonbury. I just haven’t decided.”

“I won’t be angry. I’ve been testy in recent months, I know, and it hasn’t been my intent. I’ll feel better when you’re settled.”

She could understand that. At twenty-two, she should have been settled already. That she wasn’t was due to her father’s kindness and understanding. Other fathers would have probably forced her to wed two years ago.

“Thank you, Papa. Now, let me eat my breakfast.”

He squinted at her a moment. “You look tired. Perhaps you should delay receiving calls until tomorrow.”

She’d never loved him more than in that moment. “Yes, please. And thank you,” she added softly.

He rose, straightening his frame and slightly elevating his chin so that he presented the figure of the duke who intimidated almost everyone. “Prepare yourself for tomorrow—and don’t feel as if you have to accept anyone. The right man is out there for you, my dear.”

She watched him go and pondered his words. Fearing she’d already met the right man at the wrong time, she returned her attention to her breakfast. And worked to push that man from her thoughts—forever.

CHAPTER 20

The door opened, and Ruark was swept back six years to when he was a young buck conquering London—or thinking he was. His former paramour didn’t look as if she’d aged a day.

“Wexford! My goodness but look at how much more handsome you are! And you were devilishly attractive before.” She winked at him as she stepped to the side and ushered him in. “Come inside!” Closing the door behind him, she followed him into the sitting room of her small but elegant terrace. She frowned. “While it’s lovely to see you, I’m afraid I already have an arrangement. You’re a few months too late, sadly.” Her gaze raked over him with unabashed interest. “And I do mean sadly.”

“I am not here for that. I came to…talk.”

Her brows pitched in disappointment. “Oh. Can I pour you a drink?” She started toward the cabinet where she kept her liquor. Apparently, nothing had changed in the six years since he’d regularly visited her house.

“No, thank you.” He’d had a bit too much to drink last night after leaving his former club. The banishment stung but not as much as losing his friends. He went to sit in a chair, and she draped herself onto a chaise.

“What is it you wish to talk about?” Her tone carried a light amusement.

“How well do you remember our time together?” It was one Season—February through June. By March, he’d fancied himself in love, and by June he was more than ready to leave London, and her, for the country. In truth, he’d been ready to leave her by April, and his visits to her had dwindled after that.

“You have remained one of my favorites,” she said coyly. “I admit I got a little rush of excitement when I answered the door and saw you there. But, alas, I am committed elsewhere.”

“I wasn’t too…emotional?” That wasn’t quite the right word. He’d never professed his love to her, but for a handful of weeks, he’d spent every spare moment in her company.

She laughed, a throaty, seductive sound that vibrated in his chest. “You were so young. Twenty-one, was it?”

“Yes.” And she was five years older. “I loved you. Or I thought I did, anyway.”

“Well, many men feel that way about their mistresses. Don’t think you are singular in your devotion.”

“It wasn’t just you, however. I fell in love with another woman—before you. And again after.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I do recall you being sensitive. You were always thoughtful and considerate, far more than most men. Perhaps you just have a heart that likes to be in love.” She smiled with a warmth that comforted him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Except for the hearts he broke. But he hadn’t broken hers, had he? “It didn’t bother you when I left?”

“I’m often sad when an arrangement ends. Some more than others,” she added with an arched brow. “However, I know how things are, and I accept that.” She froze for a moment, her gaze fixing on his. “You aren’t still…?” Though she didn’t say the words, Ruark knew what she meant.

“No, I’d fallen out of love by the time our arrangement ended. Indeed, that is what I do. I fall in love, and then I fall out. It’s a curse, I think.”

“Or perhaps you’ve actually never really been in love but infatuation,” she suggested softly. “I don’t think you can assume your past pattern of behavior will dictate your future.”

“But how can I expect to stay in love when I never have?”

“You are asking very difficult questions!” She laughed heartily then sat up straight on the chaise. “If you can fall in love, and mayhap you can’t, I would expect that you could hold on to that emotion—if it’s right. I think it takes work in the long-term, but that’s only my observation from speaking with some of my…past gentlemen who have been married for years and years.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I don’t know that my counsel is worth much. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, nor do I expect to be.”

If he could fall in love. And maybe he couldn’t.

She leaned forward. “I have to ask, why would you come to me to discuss this matter?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to talk to someone whom I’d once loved—or thought I loved. You’re the only one in London.” He had no idea where Freya was now, and Nuala was in Ireland. “I suppose I wanted to know if there was any lingering emotion between us. At least on my end.”

“And is there?” she asked.

None whatsoever. “No.” The only emotion he felt was anguish over how he’d treated Cassandra and despair that they wouldn’t have a future together. Did that mean he truly loved her?

He knew he loved her, just as he’d felt certain—at the time—that he’d loved the others, only to realize he’d been wrong. There was nothing to lead him to believe his feelings for Cassandra wouldn’t change. This was the root of his turmoil.

He blinked, wondering why he’d thought Marianne would be able to help him. “Thank you for listening to me go on like a dunderhead.” He stood, eager to be gone.

She moved quickly, standing and then clasping his hand. “You do have a sensitive heart. As tender now as it as when we were together. I take it there’s a woman you may love. I wonder if when you thought you loved me whether you considered how you might feel if I was suddenly gone from your life. Would you have mourned the loss deeply or found a way to soldier on?” A smile teased her lips. “I suppose you could do both. What I’m trying to say is, how would you feel if this woman was suddenly gone, if you could never see her again? Perhaps the answer will give you some clarity.”

He had lost Cassandra. Oh, he’d see her, and it would be worse than not, knowing he couldn’t touch her and shouldn’t even speak to her. Mourning the loss didn’t begin to convey how he felt. Did that mean he loved her differently than the others?

While there wasn’t clarity, there was at least something to ponder. Ruark let go of Marianne’s hand. “Take care of yourself.”

“If you’re in the market for a companion next Season, I hope you’ll come see me.”

Ruark gave her a vague smile before departing.

As he took the reins of his phaeton from the tiger, he acknowledged one indisputable fact: even if he loved Cassandra for the rest of his days, he wasn’t sure he deserved her.

“ Are you sure you want to go out this evening?” Prudence asked as she and Cassandra descended the stairs.

“I can’t hide for the rest of the Season.”

“You don’t have to, but there’s no harm in taking a few days to…” Prudence didn’t say what.

“Wallow?” Cassandra supplied before making a derisive sound in her throat. “I refuse to give him the satisfaction.” She secretly hoped she’d run into Ruark so she could give him the cut direct.

Sabrina was waiting for them in the entry hall, having just arrived to accompany them to a few routs this evening. They would start in Hanover Square.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” Cassandra said brightly, determined to have a pleasant evening. “What a fetching gown. Is it new?” Dark blue and trimmed with gold, it was quite dramatic and would draw attention, as well as envy. The Countess of Aldington had earned a reputation this Season for being among the most fashionable ladies of the ton.

“It is.” Sabrina glanced down at herself. “This is the last new gown of the Season, however.”

“Pity, how will anyone know what to wear?” Cassandra grinned. “Thank you for accompanying us this evening.” She lowered her voice as she cast a look toward the footman who stood near the door. “I didn’t want to ask my aunt.”

“It is always my pleasure to join you. Besides, Constantine is busy at Westminster tonight, so I was glad to receive your invitation.”

They left the house and settled into the Aldington coach, which had brought Sabrina. A moment later, they were on their way to Hanover Square.

Sabrina sat beside Cassandra on the forward-facing seat. “Constantine and I wondered if you’d had many callers since the Crimshaw ball. I hear you were quite the toast.”

Cassandra had avoided reading anything in the papers for fear there would be a rumor about her and Ruark. Hopefully, Papa’s coachman had been the only person to see them. She didn’t like to think about the alternative—which was why she hadn’t read the newspaper.

“I have had a few callers, but I didn’t receive anyone. Yesterday, I was shopping and today I was too tired. I suppose I needed a bit of time to prepare myself. I do think Glastonbury may propose. He called today and told Bender he’d return tomorrow.” Cassandra’s chest had tightened when she’d heard he’d come. Tomorrow was a certainty. Tomorrow, she could be the future Viscountess Glastonbury.

Sabrina studied her a moment. “I can’t tell if you’re looking forward to that or not.”

“I’m not not looking forward to it,” Cassandra said with a smile. She darted a look toward Prudence, who sat facing her. Prudence’s expression was impassive.

They arrived at the rout and made their way inside. After greeting their host and hostess, Cassandra followed Sabrina upstairs to the drawing room, where a variety of sweets and fruits were set about the room.

“My goodness, there’s a pineapple,” Sabrina said, her eyes on a pedestal at the center of the room that supported the fruit.

Prudence’s nose wrinkled. “It looks a bit battered.”

“It’s probably nearly rotten.” Cassandra shook her head. “Too bad they likely won’t eat it.” Pineapples were so very dear that many of those who could afford them simply used them as centerpieces until they began to rot. Others shared the exorbitant cost and passed them around for events such as this. Cassandra wondered if it even belonged to their host, Sir Edgar.

The pineapple had diverted their attention so that Cassandra didn’t see Ruark until he was directly in front of her.

He bowed to Sabrina first, then Cassandra, and finally Prudence. “Good evening, Lady Aldington, Lady Cassandra, Miss Lancaster.”

Sabrina responded, dipping into a slight curtsey. Cassandra stared at him a moment. Her tongue went completely dry, and her insides twisted into a giant knot. She abruptly turned and left the drawing room, walking mindlessly into another chamber that ended up being the retiring room.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to five.

“Cass?” Sabrina’s voice broke into her tumultuous thoughts, and Cassandra opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.” Cassandra summoned a smile and turned to face her sister-in-law.

Prudence stepped into the retiring room, her brow furrowed. “Do you want to leave?”

“I would, but I need a moment to collect myself.”

“What’s going on?” Sabrina asked. Her gaze was dark with worry, and she seemed to be holding her tongue. She glanced toward Prudence, and Cassandra understood what was happening.

Sabrina wanted to ask what had happened between her and Ruark. The last she knew they’d been kissing in her cupboard. However, she didn’t want to discuss such things in front of Prudence, as evidenced by her asking to speak with Cassandra alone last week following the kiss.

“It’s all right,” Cassandra said. “Prudence knows all about what happened at my birthday party. I’m not associating with Wexford any longer.”

Someone else came into the retiring room, cutting off further conversation.

Cassandra straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.” She was more than eager to leave. Part of her wanted to go home, but again, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

In the moment that she’d stared at him in the drawing room, she’d seen a flurry of emotion in his eyes—regret, sadness, and perhaps even a glimmer of love.

When they were on their way downstairs, she leaned toward Prudence and whispered, “What did he do when I left?”

“He looked as though someone had kicked him in a very sensitive place.”

Cassandra appreciated Prudence’s dash of humor to lighten her mood. “He was pained?”

“Exceedingly.”

“Good.”

They collected their wraps and went to the waiting coach.

“Shall we return home?” Prudence asked.

“No. Let us go on to the next rout,” Cassandra insisted.

The coachman opened the door, and Cassandra climbed in first. She instantly gasped for sitting on the rear-facing seat was none other than the Earl of Wexford.

“What are you doing in my coach?” she demanded angrily.

“Isn’t it Aldington’s coach?” he asked.

“Don’t be an ass.” She glared at him then smirked. “Too late.” Because it would be awkward to back out of the coach, she sat down opposite him. “Get out.”

“What?” Sabrina asked in shock as her head poked into the coach. She gasped as Cassandra had. “Wexford! What are you doing in here?”

He turned his head toward the door. “I must speak with Lady Cassandra. Just for a moment. May I?”

Sabrina looked to Cassandra in question. Cassandra wanted to throw him out. And she would—after she told him exactly what she thought of him. Looking to Sabrina, she said, “Would you mind waiting outside for a minute? Leave the door open for propriety.” She turned her gaze to his, hoping she appeared icy and annoyed. “This won’t take long.”

He sat forward, moving to the edge of the seat so that his knees came far too close. Cassandra plastered herself back to the squab. Her heart raced as if the devil were chasing it.

“I had to apologize. I owe you that much.” He sounded so earnest. It was difficult to remain cool and unaffected.

“You lied to me. I don’t want your apologies. I want the truth.”

“I should have told you all of it.”

“The other women, you mean. The women you loved and left.”

His face creased with distress. “Because of the promise I made my father. Which seemed to be prophetic because, yes, my love for them wasn’t permanent.”

“You weren’t lying about the vow you made?” She had to ask.

He paled. “Of course not. Is that what you think?”

“What am I supposed to think when you give me half-truths?” She took a calming breath and lowered her voice, realizing she was speaking too loudly so that they’d be overheard. Not that she cared because she’d tell Prudence and Sabrina what transpired. “I wanted to believe you.”

“That was the absolute truth. I was an idiot for not telling you everything.”

“Now, that is the truth.” Cassandra felt no elation at the pain flashing in his eyes. It matched hers, and she took no pleasure in sharing that with him, even after he’d hurt her. “Did you truly love me?”

“I love you now. I may love you forever.”

She heard the doubt in his voice. It was small but present. “But you’re afraid you won’t.”

“That’s what I’ve always been afraid of. I never wanted to hurt you. I allowed my passion for you to override my sense. I am so sorry.” The emotions she’d seen in his eyes upstairs shone brightly, especially love. She didn’t doubt he felt that for her—at least for now.

She swallowed as emotion welled in her chest. “I don’t want to be angry or hate you. But I can’t wait for you to decide if what we share is worth the risk. Because it is a risk. Everything is. You may not love me next week, but if we’d made a commitment, I’d hope you would try. Maybe I’ll die tomorrow, and you’ll regret not taking the chance. I haven’t been in love before, but I never doubted for a moment that what I felt for you was right and true. I think we could have been happy, but I won’t wait any longer. I need to move on with my life.”

Anguish filled his gaze. “Promise me you won’t die, Cass.”

She almost laughed. If their relationship had changed so dramatically, she might have. “We have no control, Ruark. But we can decide how we feel. Now please go. You’ve made Sabrina and Prudence linger long enough.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he murmured. Sending her a small, sad smile, he left the coach.

Cassandra stared at the empty seat as Sabrina and Prudence climbed inside. No one spoke until they began to move.

“Did you hear any of that?” Cassandra asked, her voice sounding hoarse.

“Some,” Sabrina answered. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Perhaps we should go home.”

“No.” Cassandra blinked and tipped her head back for a moment. “Wexford is not the man for me. I thought he might be, but he doesn’t know his own heart. How can I possibly entrust him with mine?”

“A wise decision,” Prudence said.

“Let us continue to the next rout. I refuse to allow Wexford to ruin my evening.” Or my life.

“I’m so sorry things didn’t work out between you,” Sabrina said, lightly touching Cassandra’s arm.

“Glastonbury is likely a better match.” Except for the boxing, but she’d speak with him about that.

“You don’t love Glastonbury,” Prudence whispered.

“Love is no longer a requirement.” There was a sharp twinge in her chest indicating her heart didn’t agree, but she’d just keep building that wall around it.

“You said you couldn’t entrust Wexford with your heart,” Sabrina said, seeming to understand Cassandra’s thoughts. “That appears to indicate you’d like to entrust it to someone.”

Another twinge, perhaps because her heart agreed with Sabrina’s logic. “And I may. I’ll be frank with Glastonbury tomorrow. I don’t love him now, but I hope we will grow to share a deep affection for one another, if not love. If he doesn’t agree, then he isn’t the right man either.”

Sabrina actually smiled. “You were right when you said everything is a risk. Even speaking the truth. Especially that sometimes. I applaud you for speaking so directly. Open communication and honesty are an excellent way to start. If Constantine and I had done that, we may have saved ourselves a great deal of heartache.”

“Is that all it took for you to find love with one another?” Cassandra asked.

“Mostly, yes. We both had misconceptions and just completely wrong expectations. Once we cleared those up, it was astonishing how well we were suited.”

“How lovely,” Prudence murmured.

“Then I am doubly glad to begin this way with Glastonbury. Come tomorrow, I’ll know if he’s the man I should marry.” Too bad he wasn’t the one she wanted. But she’d get over that—she had to.

CHAPTER 21

A  heaviness weighed on Ruark as he trudged back into the rout after leaving Cassandra’s coach.

I need to move on with my life.

Of course she did, and he didn’t blame her. The blame was squarely his. Still, her words cut deep.

He went in search of his mother and sister, and they moved on to the next rout. His mother chatted gaily about the fashions, the pineapple, and, most effusively, the three eligible bachelors Kat had met.

Kat, on the other hand, said nothing as they traveled to the next stop. It wasn’t as if she could get a word in anyway.

Ruark suffered through the next rout, hoping he wouldn’t run into Cassandra again. But he couldn’t avoid her forever. Not unless he wanted to retreat to Ireland. He was beginning to think that might be his best course.

Lucien had made a fair point—why was Ruark even participating in the Season if he wasn’t interested in marriage? Because many gentlemen did, even if they weren’t yet serious about taking a wife. MacNair did, though he wasn’t as present as Ruark due to his penchant for traveling.

Catching sight of Lady Aldington across the drawing room, Ruark quickly shepherded his mother and sister to the next rout. Thankfully, after that, they returned home.

Kat went directly up to bed, but their mother lingered in the entry with Ruark. “Are you having a nightcap?” she asked.

“Er, yes.” If nightcap meant the better part of a bottle of brandy, definitely.

Ruark escorted her to his study where he poured two glasses. She perched on one of his chairs as she looked about the room. “Such a masculine space. Reminds me of your father.”

“How is that?” Ruark took another chair and sipped his brandy, eager to hear his mother’s recollections.

“The preponderance of green, probably. That was his favorite color. He was so very Irish, always going on about the green pastures and hillsides.”

Ruark remembered that his father spent most of his time there, instead of in England as Ruark had done since his mother had remarried. Though Ruark had managed to retain his Irish accent, he acknowledged that he was likely more English than Irish at this point. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that since his feet were firmly planted in both places.

His mother took a drink of brandy then let out a sigh. “Tonight gave me hope for your sister. If she can stop discussing animals and her study of them.”

“You may as well ask the sun to stop shining. Kat is who she is, and no amount of your browbeating will change that.”

“I don’t browbeat.” Her brow creased as she seemed to see the disbelief in his expression. “Do I?”

“Somewhat,” he said as kindly as possible. “I know you have her best interests in mind, but she’s not you or Iona. Her behavior in Gloucestershire should make that clear enough.”

“I suppose.” She sounded disappointed.

“Did it ever occur to you that she may have engineered that entire event so as to avoid your matchmaking?”

His mother sucked in a breath. “Did she say that?”

Ruark shook his head. “She did not. Why not leave her here with me and return to Gloucestershire with Iona? You’ll be back with her next Season, and by then, Kat may be entirely changed. London can do that to a person,” he added.

“Has it changed you?”

“I don’t know. I seem to be struggling with identifying exactly who I am.” He looked into his brandy before taking another drink.

“That sounds dreadfully introspective and dull, darling. You’re the Earl of Wexford, a charming and popular gentleman who could have his pick of brides. Perhaps that’s what you’re struggling with—you need a wife.”

“That is part of it,” Ruark admitted. “Not that I need a wife, but that I don’t know if I want one. At least not now.” He looked over at her. “Did you marry Da for love?”

“Yes, of course. Just as I married Fergus for love. Love is wonderful.” She frowned, little pleats of concern lining her features. “Have you not fallen in love?”

Ruark couldn’t stop the laugh that leapt from his lips. “Yes. Too many times, probably. Da loved you too?”

Her mouth twisted, and she sipped her brandy, seeming to contemplate her answer. When she returned her attention to him, she set her brandy on the small table next to her chair. “Yes, he loved me. Until he didn’t.”

“When was that?” Ruark’s voice sounded as if it were coming from the other side of the room.

“I don’t recall precisely.” She took a breath, thinking. “But it wasn’t long after you were born. It was rather stark—at least to me.”

“I only ever recall you bickering. Actually, I don’t remember you and Da being together much at all.”

“My goodness, how did you notice that at such a young age?” She cocked her head to the side. “I’m sorry you were aware of that.”

For some reason, Ruark decided to tell her the truth. He was tired of lying, even by omission, he realized. “Da told me something when he was dying. He made me promise not to marry young, that I must know my heart. I made a vow to him then that I wouldn’t wed until I was thirty.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. It was a long moment before she spoke. “That is why you haven’t married?”

He nodded before taking a long drink of brandy, relishing the thick heat as it washed down his throat.

She blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what to say. I never expected such a thing. How on earth did you keep that to yourself for so long? What a burden for a child to suffer. I’m quite angry with your father for telling you that.”

“Why? He knew he was dying and sought to impart whatever fatherly advice he could. I’m grateful he did.” It was all Ruark had.

“Just because your father fell out of love with me doesn’t mean you would do the same.” She clucked her tongue. “Your father was far too romantic.”

Again, Ruark couldn’t contain his laughter. “You’re calling him a romantic? What does that make you?”

A smile quirked her lips. “Also a romantic, but not as silly of a one as your father. Did you know he used to write me the most ghastly poetry? He was so very deeply in love with me. I had no choice but to be swept off my feet.”

“You were also swept off your feet by Fergus.”

“Not by lines of verse that barely rhymed. Fergus was my friend, a constant companion who gave me counsel and a warm shoulder to lean on. The love I have for him came from that.”

All the assumptions Ruark had made about his mother and love fell away, leaving him feeling like an ass. “I didn’t realize that about you and Fergus.”

“Do you think I wanted to fall in love with my steward?” She laughed but completely without humor. “I knew how it would look, what people would say, but I loved him. Far more fully than I did your father. Two very different kinds of love. I think there are many. You said you’ve been in love. How did you know?”

Ruark pondered how to describe it. “I became rather obsessed. I thought about her all the time and looked forward to when we would be together.”

“That sounds like infatuation. What of the woman herself? What drew you to her? What made you feel that obsession?”

Only one woman came to mind: Cassandra. “I liked her. She was, like Fergus, a friend. I anticipated seeing her…everywhere, and my insides would warm whenever I chanced to. She made me laugh, and she gave me hope.”

“That sounds like love to me.”

Did it? Ruark wished he could be certain.

“I can see you aren’t sure.” She smiled and reached over to lightly touch his hand. “Nothing in life is without risk, my darling boy. And life without that would be very dull indeed. It sounds to me as if you’re referring to a specific woman, despite saying you’ve been in love many times.”

“Yes, it’s a specific woman.”

“And is it too late with her?”

“Probably.” Unless she hadn’t yet accepted Glastonbury’s proposal. She would have said so in the coach, wouldn’t she?

“If that’s your answer, then I’d do whatever possible to change it. If you think you’ve been in love several times, but this one woman has stuck with you, that should tell you something.” She shook her head. “I would like to kick your father right now. He has filled you with a lifetime of doubt.”

Ruark didn’t argue with her. Whether his father had done that or not, he hadn’t been wrong to caution his son. If he hadn’t, Ruark might have married Freya at eighteen years old, and now he knew that he hadn’t loved her. Not like he loved Cassandra. She understood what it was like to lose a beloved parent at a young age and to miss them still. She’d also understood and appreciated the promise he’d made instead of telling him he should break it—even telling him not to when he’d suggested it himself. And she was quick to point out his flaws, something no other woman had done. There was also her unflinching positivity, even when he’d treated her badly, she possessed the courage to look forward and move on. This wasn’t obsession, it was total devotion and surrender. He wanted her with a ferocity that was simply unmatched. She lit his entire world, and when he contemplated the future without her, he saw nothing but darkness and a never-ending void.

“Actually, his counsel led me right here.” To the woman he loved. If it wasn’t so late in the evening, he’d go and tell her right now. Late? What did the hour have to do with it? If he could gain entrance to her house, he’d go right now. But her father’s stringent butler—or any of his other staid retainers—would never allow him in.

His mother finished her brandy. “Well, then I suppose it’s good that I can’t kick him after all.” She stood and took her empty glass to the cabinet where he kept his spirits. Crossing back to Ruark, who’d also gotten to his feet, she took his hands. “I only want you to be happy. I’ve always known you were romantically inclined. That’s why I urged you to get married.”

“Not because you wanted to see me wed?”

“That too,” she confessed with a light laugh. “Mothers want to see their children happily settled. That’s all I want for you—and for Kathleen.” She let him go and stepped back.

“When it comes to Kat, please remember the happily part.”

“I am trying.” With a faint grimace, she bid him good night before leaving.

Ruark strode to the window and looked into the dark back garden, his mind working. He could steal into Evesham’s house. Cassandra’s chamber was on the second floor. But where? He couldn’t very well go barging into every room looking for her. What if he encountered the duke?

Perhaps he ought to wait to see her until tomorrow. He’d show up at the earliest acceptable time before any other suitor could call.

And then what? Fight with her father, who would certainly try to throw him out? The duke didn’t want Ruark courting her, let alone marrying her.

Wait. He needed to woo the woman before he could even consider convincing her father. If he couldn’t win Cassandra, nothing else mattered.

Bartholomew appeared in the doorway. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but there is a Mr. Dodd here to see you.”

What the devil was Mort doing here? “Show him in.”

The butler left with a nod and returned a moment later with Fred, not Mort, in tow. When Bartholomew had gone once more, Ruark beckoned Fred into his study. “I hope you haven’t come to try to tell me I have to fight tomorrow. I know Mort found a replacement.”

“He did. However, I am in desperate straits.” His mouth pulled into a tight grimace. “Glastonbury’s opponent was injured tonight and can no longer fight tomorrow. Fight for me and I’ll pay you, win or lose.”

Ruark struggled to pull his brain from Cassandra and process what Fred was saying. “I don’t need the money.” In fact, he’d planned to give all his winnings to the Asylum for Orphaned Girls.

“Then what do you want?”

Cassandra’s face rose in his mind. But Fred couldn’t deliver her.

“Nothing.”

Fred scowled. “Damn it all, Wexford, I need a fighter to go up against Glastonbury.”

Ruark arched a brow at the man. “You recall that Glastonbury beat me very recently?”

“Yes, which is why I thought you might want vengeance.”

“Actually, there is something I want. Why did Glastonbury suggest this prizefight? I overheard the two of you talking.”

“That’s none of your affair.” Fred’s scowl deepened.

“Do you want me to fight or not?”

“I need a fighter.” Fred swore. “I didn’t tell you any of this, understand?”

“Tell me.”

Fred exhaled as he twisted his hat in his hands. “He came to me asking if I’d put on a prizefight with him as the fighter. I was shocked a viscount would want to do such a thing, but then he said he needed funds. We made an arrangement. It sounds as though you already know about that.”

“He’s getting substantially more than you’d offered to pay me. Was he going to get that amount win or lose?”

“Yes, but he was going to win.”

A prickle of unease dashed up Ruark’s spine. “Are you saying that because he’s an excellent pugilist, or because the bout was fixed?”

Fred didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Ruark saw the flash of discomfort in his gaze before he looked away.

“Am I supposed to lose to him?” Ruark asked incredulously. “What about my vengeance?”

“No, you can win!” Fred said earnestly, taking a step forward. “I’ve seen you fight. I don’t know what’s been wrong with you of late, but you can beat him.”

He’d been distracted by Cassandra. And he had no expectation that wouldn’t continue. But what if he was able to convince her to marry him? Perhaps then he’d be able to focus. Perhaps he could win. He had to admit to a certain desire to beat Glastonbury. Not because Ruark had lost to him before but because the man hadn’t been honest with Cassandra as to why he wanted to wed her.

Ruark’s hypocrisy was rather difficult to swallow.

“You’re considering it.” Fred watched him expectantly, his expression full of hope.

He was. Until he thought of Cassandra. She wouldn’t want him to do it, not with her difficulty with blood. She’d indicated it was a problem for her when she’d discussed Glastonbury’s suitability.

Fred applied more pressure. “You told Mort you’d do it if I couldn’t find anyone.”

Yes, he had, and he was a man of his word. Plus, Ruark loved boxing. Could he give it up for her? He imagined a life without fighting and realized it was nothing compared to a life without her. One last fight.

“I’ll do it.”

Fred exhaled loudly. “Thank you.” Fred crammed his hat over his nearly bald head. “Be in Croydon by two.” He turned and stalked out before Ruark could argue. If he had to be in Croydon by two, he couldn’t very well call on Cassandra. He could, however, send her something.

Anticipation curled through Ruark as he turned to his desk. Sitting down, he pulled out parchment and dipped his pen into the inkwell. “Let’s see if my poetry is any better than my father’s,” he murmured with a smile.

Dressed in her finest day gown, with her birthday garnet adorning her throat, Cassandra went to the drawing room ready to meet the callers who would arrive soon. She stopped short upon entering, for the largest flower arrangement she’d ever seen graced the round table near the windows. In fact, it took up the entire top.

Cassandra went to the flowers, a smile curling her lips, and found a folded piece of parchment under the arching floral arms of the arrangement. Opening the missive, she realized at once it wasn’t from Glastonbury.

My dearest Cass,

I love you. Not just now, forever. How do I know this?

I am desperate when I’m not with you

Your humor and friendship are true

You make me smile and laugh

Your wit is greater by half

And my future without you is blue.

As you can see, I am not a poet.

Cassandra paused in reading to giggle.

I am, however, your eternal love.

She sucked in a breath, her heart beating hard and fast.

I know this because I have never bared myself to anyone the way I have with you. I have never felt the soul-deep connection that I believe we share—I hope we share. I have given you no reason to trust me, and I understand if you are hesitant. But know that I love you with every part of my being and that I will until the end of time. Please don’t agree to marry anyone else. I will call on you tomorrow.

Yours completely,

Ruark

She read it again and then a third time, devouring the words as if she hadn’t had sustenance in days.

“That is quite a spectacular arrangement of flowers,” Prudence said, joining her at the table.

“They’re from Ruark.” Cassandra touched one of the blooms, a pale pink rose. Then she handed his note to Prudence.

Prudence was quiet while she read. “He is a terrible poet.” She looked over at Cassandra. “Are you happy?”

“So happy,” Cassandra said softly. “But why didn’t he come today?”

“He must be occupied?” Prudence suggested.

He had to be. So he’d sent flowers and the wonderful note, specifically asking her not to become betrothed. Did that mean he meant to propose? It seemed so.

Prudence handed the note back to Cassandra. “How is he suddenly so certain he loves you and that his love isn’t fleeting?”

“You think I can’t trust him?” Cassandra asked.

“I think he said it best himself—he’s given you no reason to.”

Her father walked into the drawing room, stopping abruptly as he caught sight of the flowers. “Did Glastonbury send that?”

“No.” Cassandra didn’t offer the name of the responsible party, though she expected he would ask.

“Good.” The duke came toward the table. “I would have been most irritated after the message I sent him first thing this morning.”

Cassandra turned toward him, her hackles rising. “What message?”

“The one telling him his courtship is no longer welcome. I’m afraid he hasn’t been entirely truthful regarding his interest in you. It has come to my attention he’s in desperate need of funds. His father apparently mismanaged things—poor bloke has too many female relatives to care for—which has left Glastonbury rather cucumberish. He’s far more interested in your dowry than you.”

“He told you that?” Cassandra thought back over the past several weeks and her many encounters with the viscount. Had he moved more slowly in his courtship because he didn’t really want to marry her?

“I haven’t spoken to him. Lucien came to me with this information late last night. This morning, I informed Glastonbury that he was not an acceptable suitor for your hand.”

Lucien had told him—and he’d listened? Her mind scrambled to make sense of any of it. She was certain of one thing: that her father took every opportunity to meddle in her life.

“You must stop dictatorially deciding who my suitors should be. First, you drive off Wexford with your horrid behavior, all while nattering on about how perfect Glastonbury is, only for you to now say Glastonbury is also not worthy. I thought you said I could choose my husband.” Cassandra’s chest heaved as she finished, glaring at her father. Her gaze drifted toward Prudence who was watching her with admiration.

The duke’s eyes widened briefly. “You’d want to marry Glastonbury, even after learning he wasn’t honest about his motivations?”

“No, I don’t want to wed Glastonbury, but that is my choice to make. And it has nothing to do with his motivations. I told you yesterday that I wanted to marry for love, and I won’t settle for less than that.”

“You’d already decided about Glastonbury then.” He sounded a bit deflated. “Who are the flowers from? Is he the one?”

Cassandra hoped so. Before she could respond, Bender entered. “You’ve a caller, Lady Cassandra. Mr. Mansfield.”

“Please show him up, Bender,” her father responded with a smile. The butler departed and the duke puffed up his chest. “Not titled, but a good family. I’ll get out of the way, so I don’t put anyone off.” He winked at Cassandra as if he hadn’t just behaved like an autocrat. Then he departed while Cassandra gaped after him.

“I want to find Ruark,” she muttered before summoning a bright smile. Thankfully she had Prudence at her side to help her suffer through what felt like an endless parade of gentlemen who had no hope of winning her heart. It was firmly in the possession of one devastatingly charming Irish rake.

CHAPTER 22

“I don’t care how it looks,” Cassandra said as the coach arrived at Ruark’s house. “Give me credit for not bringing the one with the ducal crest.”

“I’m a companion, not a chaperone,” Prudence said with a slight frown.

“I know, and I appreciate you accompanying me despite being against my coming here.” She looked up at the charming façade of Ruark’s house on George Street and imagined living here. It was surprisingly easy. She smiled.

“How could I refuse when I knew you’d come anyway. Or when you smile like that,” Prudence added softly.

Cassandra cast her an excited glance before climbing out of the coach. She strode up to the front door and didn’t even need to knock before it opened.

“Good afternoon.” She addressed the butler with a nod. “Please tell Lord Wexford that Lady Cassandra is here to see him.”

The butler possessed a round, plump face that made him appear younger than he likely was. He looked a bit flummoxed, likely because it was highly irregular—not to mention improper—for a lady to pay a call on a gentleman. “I’m sorry, but he is not at home.”

Though she’d expected that response, she was still disappointed and blurted, “Where is he?” She was desperate to see him.

“Er, I don’t think it’s my place to say.” Pink bloomed in his cheeks.

“Please tell me?” She pushed past him and moved into the entry hall. “I won’t leave until you do.”

“Do what?” Ruark’s mother bustled into the hall.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaughnessy. I’m looking for Ruark.” Cassandra stepped toward her, uncaring if her anxiousness shone in her face. “Do you know where he is?”

His mother’s blue eyes took on a hopeful glimmer. “Are you the woman Ruark’s in love with?”

Blinking, Cassandra struggled to respond. His mother knew about her? “Yes?”

“Why do you sound uncertain?”

“Because he only just sent me a note this morning, with a ridiculous poem, along with the most monstrously huge arrangement of flowers.”

Mrs. Shaughnessy grinned. “A poem? Was it awful?”

“Quite.”

“That’s my boy,” she murmured, still smiling. “You may be certain that he loves you. He was quite a blockhead about it at first, apparently, until I explained that he shouldn’t have listened to his father’s counsel.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “My former husband filled poor Ruark’s head with doubt.”

“He talked to you about me?”

“Not you specifically, but I guessed that he was in love. A mother knows these things, even if their child can’t recognize it.” Mrs. Shaughnessy gave her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t judge him too harshly. As I said, he was a blockhead with a mind full of doubt.”

Cassandra was even more eager to see him. “Do you know where he is? I want to speak with him.”

“I only saw him briefly before he left. He was going to a boxing something or other.” She looked to the butler. “Isn’t that right, Bartholomew?”

“Yes.” He was still quite pink in the face. “There is a prizefight this evening, and he has agreed to participate.”

He had? Her stomach roiled at the thought of him fighting. She needed to get to him. “Do you know where it’s located?”

Mrs. Shaughnessy shook her head then moved toward the butler. “Do you know? It would be most helpful to Lady Cassandra. And to his lordship.”

“I do not, but it will be outside London.”

Botheration! Who would know its location? Glastonbury probably. But she couldn’t ask him.

Lucien would know, wouldn’t he? Except she was annoyed with him for going to her father about Glastonbury’s financial situation and not her. Still, he was her best hope.

“Thank you. I deeply appreciate your help.”

Mrs. Shaughnessy came toward her. “Can I assume you return my son’s affection?”

“I do. He already knows that—I’d offered to wait for him until he was ready to wed.”

His mother’s eyes rounded. “You did? And he didn’t propose right then?” She scowled. “He really is a blockhead.”

“It seems as though he’s come to his senses.” Cassandra imagined the woman as a mother figure and felt emotion well in her throat.

“It will be wonderful to have you in the family, dear. I could tell you were special.”

Before she did something foolish, such as cry, Cassandra turned and nearly ran into Prudence who’d been standing behind her. “We’re going to Lucien’s. He’ll know where this fight is taking place.”

They went back to the coach and were shortly on their way to Lucien’s terrace on King Street.

Prudence turned her head toward Cassandra as they drove through Mayfair. “Your plan is to find the location of this boxing match and…do what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You could just wait until he calls on you tomorrow.”

“I could, but he said he was my ‘eternal love.’ I want that eternity to start as soon as possible.” She clutched Prudence’s hand. “You likely think I’m being foolish, but I know in my heart this is right.”

“I don’t think that, actually.” Prudence squeezed Cassandra’s hand before letting her go. “I just want to see you happy.”

Cassandra thought of going to the prizefight. Her stomach turned, and a cold sweat dappled the back of her neck. “Prudence, I’m going to need your help. If there’s any blood on display, I may faint.”

Prudence paled. “I’d forgotten. You shouldn’t go. And not just because of that. I don’t think you should be seen at such an event.”

“There will be ladies there. Some are patronesses.” Her aunt had been to one that Cassandra knew of.

“But you’re unmarried. Surely the ladies who attend are wed.”

Prudence was right, but Cassandra didn’t care. “I’m going.”

She had to get to Ruark and settle their awaiting future.

M uch to Cassandra’s disappointment, Lucien wasn’t at home. She was relieved to learn, however, that he was just down the street at Evie Renshaw’s. Cassandra and Prudence departed the coach and were quickly escorted to Evie’s drawing room, where she and Lucien were meeting.

Cassandra pinned an expectant stare on her brother and wasted no time getting to the purpose of her visit. “I’ve come to find out where the prizefight is being held tonight,” she said without preamble.

He’d stood as she entered and now took a small step forward. “What prizefight?”

“The one Ruark is fighting in. I must get to him at once.”

Lucien frowned at her. “I thought you were finished with Wexford.”

“Just as I should be finished with Glastonbury?” She arched a brow at him before fixing her hand on her hips and taking a few menacing steps toward him. “You’ve proven to be as meddlesome and irritating as Papa. Tell me where the fight is.”

He hesitated. “No.”

Cassandra hadn’t wanted to hit her brother in many years. Now, she wanted to push him backward onto his arse. “You owe me.”

“What did you do?” Evie asked, facing Lucien. She abruptly turned to Cassandra. “What did he do?”

“He found out Glastonbury is in dire financial straits and only wants to wed me for my dowry. Instead of informing me of that fact, he told our father.” She glowered at him. “Were you trying to win Papa’s favor?”

Lucien snorted. “That’s rather pointless.”

“That’s precisely why you did it,” Evie said softly. She came toward Cass. “Ignore your brother. The fight is in Croydon. You must leave at once if you want to get there in time. In fact, you may arrive too late for the bout.”

Cassandra wiped the back of her hand over her brow. Had she hoped to stop Ruark from fighting? She hadn’t thought about it, but she supposed she might have tried. The thought of him being hurt made her ill.

“You’re right,” Lucien said, exhaling. “I told Father hoping he’d find it helpful. Find me helpful.”

Some of Cassandra’s anger slid away. “I understand.”

He looked at her with regret. “I’m sorry, Cass. I should have told you. Why do you want to see Wexford after everything I told you?”

“Because he wrote me a note.”

“And sent a rather astonishing floral display,” Prudence put in.

Cassandra nodded in her direction. “Yes, it’s enormous. He loves me—not just for now but forever. I believe him.”

“Are you sure you should?” Lucien asked.

Rather than explain why, she simply looked her brother in the eye and said, “Love is worth any risk. I love him, Lu, and I’m going to find out what our future holds.”

He stared at her a moment then gave a slight nod. “I’ll take you.”

“Forgive me, but I’d rather not go with you,” Cassandra said. She forgave his wrongheaded behavior, but she didn’t want him to accompany her on this particular errand. “Prudence will be with me.”

His brow creased, and he flung his arm in the air. “It’s a prizefight. There will be thousands of people in attendance. You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Prudence.”

“She isn’t a chaperone, let alone someone who can protect you.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “Take my coach with my coachman and footman. The footman will accompany you to the fight and keep you both safe.”

“I have Father’s coach.”

“I’ll take care of it. You’re taking my coach and my retainers, or you won’t go.” He looked to Evie. “Please convince her.”

Evie nodded. “He’s right, Cassandra. You must go with an escort. I wouldn’t go without one.”

Cassandra had to admit she’d feel better about the trip with Lucien’s retainers. Her father’s would likely object to taking her. “All right.”

“You should also wear something to disguise yourself,” Evie said. “While ladies often attend these events, you should not. I’ll fetch something for you.” She hastened from the drawing room.

“You should spend the night there,” Lucien said. “Though it’s nearly a full moon and fortunately clear, returning at night is inadvisable. I’ll instruct the coachman to find lodging while you and Miss Lancaster go to the prizefight. I would tell you to accompany him to the lodgings first, but I know you won’t.”

“You are correct. Shouldn’t you go fetch your coach? I need to be on my way.”

“Yes.” He moved to take her hand, and she let him, despite her lingering annoyance. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t just trying to impress Father. I thought I was helping you too. But I should have told you in addition to him.”

She let out a breath, and with it, the remnants of her ire. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you. Are you certain Wexford deserves you?”

“I am. He had good reasons for believing he should wait to marry. I believe those reasons made it possible for him to realize he really does love me.”

Ruark cocked his head. “How is that?”

“In his note, he described how he felt about me, and it sounded like how I feel about him. If we both think it’s love, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Put like that, I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I think he must love you. Why else would he risk our friendship?”

Cassandra laughed. “That’s a rather pompous thing to say.”

“I only meant that he didn’t choose to fall in love with you. He wouldn’t have, not knowing how I felt. It must have been completely out of his hands.” A smile lifted his lips. “I’ll go fetch my coach.” He bussed her cheek and left.

“Your family is very complicated,” Prudence said with a shake of her head.

“Brothers can be a nuisance.” Cassandra smiled at the doorway where Lucien had left. “But they can also be wonderful.”

Evie returned with a purple cloak. “This will suffice, I think. It has a generous hood that should shield your face.” She handed the garment to Cassandra then turned to Prudence. “And one for you.”

Prudence took the dark blue cloak. “Thank you.”

“I appreciate your intervention with Lucien,” Cassandra said. “He’s gone to get his coach.”

“He can be a dolt, but he’s well-meaning” Evie said. “Just promise me you’ll be careful in Croydon.”

“We will.” Cassandra wasn’t going to let anything stop her from getting to Ruark.

CHAPTER 23

Ruark stood in his corner of the ring, anticipation and tension swirling through him. Mort was at his side, whispering the occasional word of encouragement.

Looking at Glastonbury across the ring, Ruark wondered if he’d called on Cassandra, if he’d proposed. Or had Lucien done nothing with the information Ruark had given him?

Shaking his shoulders out, Ruark reminded himself not to think of her and what he hoped was the start of their life together. He had to focus completely on this fight. He had to win. Losing to Glastonbury again was completely unfathomable.

Mort moved close and spoke near his ear in a low tone. “Move fast, aim for his arms first then his gut. With luck, you’ll tire him out. He’s not as good at conserving his energy. He’ll throw most of what he has at you to start.”

Ruark nodded. He went to the scratch and met his opponent. They shook hands and took their positions. The bell rang.

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 was you.” 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.

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.

“No. Mort will get the rest of my clothing. The Red Fox is close. Come.” He held her close against his side as he navigated them through the crowd.

Less than ten minutes later, he escorted her up the stairs of the inn to his large room with a wide window that looked over the mass of people milling about outside. Cassandra went to stand in front of it as he closed and bolted the door.

She pushed the hood back from her head. “How long will the revelry go on?”

“All night probably. I hope you aren’t planning for a peaceful sleep.”

She turned from the window, her brow arching. “Are we sleeping?”

He sat down in a chair near the hearth where someone had lit a modest fire. “What did you want to do?” He removed his shoes and wiggled his toes, eager to strip his stockings away, but not wanting to shock her. Perhaps she did want to sleep.

Unclasping the cloak, she slipped it from her shoulders and moved to hang it from a hook near the door. “Since we’re to be married—tomorrow, did you say?”

“As soon as I can get a special license.”

She hesitated, and he hated that he’d planted that doubt in her brain. “You’re certain?”

Shooting to his feet, he strode to take her hands. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I thought I’d loved before, but I didn’t really. Not like this.” He cupped her cheek.

“How can you be sure I’m different?”

“Because I am.”

“You aren’t afraid your emotions will change?”

He shook his head firmly. “Not anymore. I can’t see the future, but I can feel it. I expect to love you more in fifty years than I will in five and more than I do today.”

“Oh, Ruark.” She grinned up at him, unabashed happiness shining in her eyes and making his heart flip.

He bent his head and kissed her, pouring all his emotion into her. It was a long moment before he lifted his mouth from hers. “Now, shall we sleep, my almost-countess?”

She gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged him back down to her. “Not on your life.”

C assandra wasn’t going to lose another moment with Ruark. “And I’m not agreeing to your no sexual intercourse rule. We’re getting married tomorrow—or close to that. Please don’t make me wait. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He clasped her back of her neck, his eyes glittering. “I’ve waited a lifetime for you. And it was worth every moment.”

He swept his lips over hers, claiming her in a way he hadn’t a moment before. That kiss had been sweet and giving. This kiss was passionate and demanding, his tongue spearing into her mouth and taking what he wanted. She was more than happy to take in return, clasping his shoulders and pressing her body to his.

One of his hands caressed down her shoulder then over to her breast. “You are wearing far too many clothes,” he murmured against her lips. “At last, I’m going to see you completely bare.”

“You are fortunate that I am still dressed for callers. This gown is far less complicated than evening wear.”

“That is fortunate.” He found the fastenings on the front that, once unclasped, allowed the bodice to fall to her waist, exposing her undergarments beneath.

Providing assistance, she guided him to help her from the gown and soon it was adorning the back of a chair instead of her person. Turning, she presented her back so he could untie her petticoat and it soon joined the gown on the chair.

She began to pluck at the laces of her corset, but he quickly took over, his fingers moving with deft precision. “You’ve done this before.”

“Not like this,” he assured her, brushing his lips against her neck. “Never like this.”

He tossed the corset away, leaving her in chemise and stockings—and the one change she’d made to her costume before going in pursuit of him: her shoes. She’d swapped slippers for walking boots, a decision she was now grateful she’d taken time to effect.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind unlacing my boots with the same skill and speed as my corset?” With a saucy look, she went to perch on the side of the bed.

He quickly stripped his stockings away before crouching down before her. His gaze found hers as he loosened first one boot and then the other. Then he gently removed them, setting them aside.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind removing your shirt?” she asked, her throat dry as anticipation curled inside her. “I rather liked the view of your naked chest.”

“Did you?” He swept the garment over his head and let it fall behind him. “Better?”

“Infinitely.” She looked her fill, recalling their night in the stable at the Crimshaw ball. Over the past few days, she’d never thought to experience that bliss again.

He lightly clasped her ankles then skimmed his hands up the backs of her legs. She shivered as his hands moved over to the insides, sliding just beneath the ties of her stockings.

“Should I leave these on?” he mused. “I think not, alluring as that would be. Next time. Tonight, as I said, you will be completely bare when I sink into you at last.” He loosened the garters and she exhaled in soft, eager pants.

He slid one stocking from her leg and leaned forward. His lips pressed to the inside of her knee, and his tongue danced over her flesh upward toward her thigh.

Quivering with desire, she grasped his shoulder. He made a sound and twitched.

Straightening, she let go. “Are you hurt?” She looked down at his shoulder but only saw reddened flesh. “Perhaps we should postpone this occasion. You were just in a fight. I can’t imagine you feel up to this task.”

In answer, he pulled the other stocking from her leg and rose up between her knees, gesturing to the unmistakable arousal tenting his breeches. “As you can see, I am more than up for this. There is no way we’re postponing this on my account. Unless you’d rather wait?”

Seeing his obvious desire for her, she licked her lips. “Heavens no. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

If you continue to do things like lick your lips and look at me as though I’m an elaborate pineapple flummery.”

“Flummery?” Cassandra practically spit the word out in laughter.

“That’s my favorite dessert.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, eager to touch him and be touched by him. “Well, then that’s a perfect description because you are my favorite dessert.”

“Cass.” The word came out a dark rasp, scraping over her skin with a stirring sensuality.

Wriggling her hips, she clasped the hem of her chemise and pulled the garment over her head. “There. Now I’m bare, just as you wanted.” She wadded the cotton and threw it from the bed. “What do you plan to do?”

“Just…let me look for a moment.” His gaze dipped to her breasts, and now he licked his lips. Need pulsed within her, radiating from her nipples, which tightened beneath his perusal, down to her sex, now warm and desperate for him.

His eyes swept over her, pausing at the apex of her thighs. Cass widened her legs to show him more. She shook from desire and trepidation, worried that she shouldn’t be so eager.

“Lie back.” He didn’t look up at her face, just focused on her sex.

She hesitated, too caught in the spell weaving between them to move quickly.

He reached for her breast, his thumb moving roughly across her nipple. She arched into his touch, letting out a soft cry as sensation spiraled through her. Then he moved his hands to her hair and swiftly pulled the pins away, collecting them in his hands then transferring them to the table near the bed.

When he came back to her, his eyes were dark and his face taut with want. He speared his fingers into her hair, cupping her scalp and pulling the strands to cascade over her shoulders and back. Then he tipped forward, pushing her back as he kissed her savagely, his lips and tongue commanding her to do what he wanted. What she wanted.

She gripped him, careful not to touch that spot on his right shoulder. His mouth didn’t remain long on hers, instead sliding down her jaw and neck until he found her breast. He held her flesh as he feasted on her nipple. The pleasure winding through her was unmatched, making her writhe with desperation.

“Ruark, please,” she moaned, her body twisting beneath his.

“Tell me. What do you want?” He nipped her gently, his teeth grazing before he suckled her once more.

“This. More.”

He pulled on her breast, tugging her nipple as he kissed her neck beneath her ear. “You can be more specific, can’t you? What do you want?”

“I want you.” Her breath came in rasps, her pulse fluttering wildly. “All of you. I want you to take me where you did before. Touch me, please.”

“Where?” he demanded, his tongue caressing her neck and collarbone while he continued to fondle her breasts. “Is this touch not enough?” He tweaked her nipple again, making her arch up and cry out.

“Yes. No. Touch me lower.” Embarrassment threatened to steal her words, but why should she give in to such a ridiculous emotion? “My sex.”

“Ah.” He traced his hand down slowly over her abdomen, building her anticipation with his sweep and graze of his fingertips. “Down here?” He barely touched the curls between her legs. His mouth was against her ear as he whispered, “Your pussy. If you want to be crude. I am feeling rather crude at the moment.”

His words enflamed her, her rampant lust overriding any hint of shame. “Be as base as you like.”

He stroked the folds of her sex. “The question is how base you’d like me to be.”

She thrust her hands into his thick, dark hair and looked up into his blue, blue eyes. “Do whatever you please. I know it will please me too.” Forcing the coiled tension from her muscles, she sprawled beneath him, letting her legs fall completely open and flinging her arms out to the sides.

A wicked smile lifted his lips. “Grasp the coverlet, and don’t let go.” He moved down her body and moved one hand beneath her backside. “Lift up for me. Give yourself to me, Cass.”

His tongue moved along her flesh, teasing and enticing. She rose from the bed, her fingers twining in his hair. Then she lost all semblance of thought or reality as he drove her into a state of pure sensation and bliss. Mindless, she arched and twisted, her body moving without volition as she pursued the release he’d given her before.

With mouth and fingers, he pushed her to the edge, arousing and coaxing until she quivered and moaned, her lips blathering an endless stream of nonsense.

He squeezed her backside, and she came in a torrent, her legs wrapped around his shoulders. Before she fell back to earth, he rotated her on the bed and was climbing on beside her. Then his body covered hers, and she felt his sex nudging hers.

“Ready, my love?” he murmured, his lips caressing hers.

In response, she curled her legs around his hips. “More than. I love you, Ruark.”

“I love you.” He kissed her, distracting her—somewhat—from the way he stretched her as he pushed inside.

Discomfort warred with the rapture she’d still been basking in.

“Just one more moment,” he breathed against her, guiding himself into her until she felt full. He stopped then, kissing her cheek. “Does it hurt? I have never…not with a virgin.”

“It’s not painful, just…awkward perhaps?”

His hips twitched, and she felt a spark of pleasure. “Tell me when to move.”

“I think…now?” She forced herself to relax. “Kiss me.”

He obliged, sliding his tongue against hers as he retreated from her slightly only to inch forward again. He did this several times, and with each gentle thrust, she grew more and more accustomed to having him there—where she wanted him. Where he belonged. Part of her. Forever.

“Can you go faster?” she whispered.

He laughed softly against her neck. “I can do whatever you want. But definitely faster. Just tell me what you need—slower, faster, harder, anything.”

Harder snared her interest, but then he was moving faster, and it swept her breath away. Pleasure built and lifted her, carrying her toward that delicious explosion. Could she feel that again after just reaching that pinnacle?

“Faster,” she breathed, wanting to feel that fullness again along with the friction of his captivating strokes. “And deeper.”

“Hold on to me, Cass.” He thrust hard—now she knew what that meant—and deep, and lights danced behind her eyelids. It didn’t take long for her world to break apart again, and she had her answer. Why yes, she could feel that again.

She squeezed her legs around him and dug her fingers into his back as she cried out her release. Then he joined her, his body going taut while he shouted her name.

“Shhh.” She giggled against his neck, reveling in joy and wonder.

A few moments later, he collapsed over her, careful not to crush her. “You are magnificent, and I don’t deserve you.” He kissed her again.

“Don’t say that. You deserve love—everyone does—and as it happens, I have plenty. It’s all for you.” She cupped his cheeks and looked up into his beautiful eyes.

“I will never take for granted how lucky I am.”

“We are. From now on, we are a pair. Inseparable.”

CHAPTER 24

Dawn crept over the room silent and gray, rousing Ruark from the best sleep he’d ever had. His body ached from the fight, but there was contentment and bone-deep happiness. There was also persistent arousal as Cassandra gently wriggled her backside against his now fully erect cock.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” he murmured against the nape of her neck, sweeping his hand beneath her arm and cupping her breast.

“Doing what?” Her voice, dark and sleep-heavy settled over his awakening limbs, stirring him to a completely desperate state.

He didn’t want to bother her again after last night’s activities. Besides, they needed to get on the road to London. First, they’d go and collect Miss Lancaster. He rolled to his back and willed his body to relax.

His betrothed apparently had other ideas. She turned over and snuggled against his side. “Why did you leave? You were quite warm. And delightful.” She splayed her hand over his chest and skimmed her fingertips over his flesh until she found his nipple. Then her mouth closed around it, and he groaned.

“We need to get going, Cass.”

“Surely we have a few minutes to spare.” Her hand trailed down his abdomen, moving with distinct purpose until she closed her palm around his cock.

At this rate, he wouldn’t need more than a few minutes. “I thought to give you a respite after last night. Aren’t you sore?”

“Not particularly. But perhaps you are. You did win a fight last night.” She stroked him as she spoke, making it very difficult for him to form a coherent response. Not that she’d asked a question.

“If you insist.”

She rose over him and kissed him. “I do.”

He guided her leg over his hips, dislodging the coverlet and exposing them both to the cool morning air. She gasped and her nipples pebbled.

When she was straddling him, he reached up and cupped her breast. “Come closer,” he urged, tugging on her until she bent over him, bringing her nipple close enough for him to taste.

Pushing up on his elbow, he took her into his mouth and sucked, drawing a delightful moan from her throat.

“Rogue,” she teased, cupping the back of his head and encouraging him to continue.

He used his tongue and teeth, provoking her to press her hips down against his. Her sex dampened his cock, and he had to fight to keep himself from grasping her hips and thrusting into her.

“Can we…like this?”

“Yes.” He fell back on the pillow, keeping his hand on her breast. “Take my cock and guide it into you, just as I did last night.”

“I think you must help me.” She leaned back and repositioned herself.

The moment she wrapped her hand around him, he dropped his hand to the bed and gripped the bedclothes to keep from losing control. With his other hand, he showed her what to do. Together, they positioned him where he needed to be.

“Come down on me,” he rasped, his body tight with need.

She lowered herself over him, sheathing him into her body, moving slowly, but so erotically. He closed his eyes. “Cass, I can’t—”

He moved his hand to her waist, squeezing her.

“Can’t what?”

“It’s so hard not to lose my mind. I don’t want to frighten you or hurt you.”

“You could never do either.” She fell over him, her hair grazing his shoulders. “Show me.”

He opened his eyes and locked on her, pushing her back up. “Ride me. Hard.” Then he let go, driving up into her with a frenzy.

Her thighs gripped his sides as she moved with him. She was an exquisite vise around him, sending him quickly to the precipice. He held back, not wanting this to be over. Not yet.

He slid his hand between them and found her clitoris. Stroking her, he leaned up and suckled her breast once more, drawing hard on the tip. It was all she needed for she cried out over and over as her muscles clenched around him.

That was all he needed—her release. He thrust three more times and poured himself into her, grunting like an animal until he was sated. And, dear heaven, how he was sated.

She collapsed over him, her panting breaths mingling with his. He caressed her back and kissed her shoulder, murmuring words of love and gratitude and wonder.

After a few moments, she abruptly left him. “I suppose we must hurry. Pru will be waiting.”

He watched, bemused as she went to pour water into a basin on the dresser. Then he pulled himself up and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Have you given any thought to what we should say to your father?”

“I’ve had many thoughts,” she said. “None of them pleasant. We’ll simply inform him that we will wed. He may choose to join in our happiness or be a curmudgeon.”

“What do you think he’ll choose?” Ruark slid from the bed and joined her to tidy himself.

Giving him a swift kiss, Cassandra went to gather her clothing. “I honestly don’t know. We actually had a rather nice conversation the other day. He seemed ready to allow me to marry at my own speed—and to the man I choose. Then he went and warned Glastonbury off without a care as to what I might want.” She scowled as she sat and pulled her stockings on. “Not that I wanted to marry him. The point is that it is supposed to be my choice. If I want to wed a man who only wanted me for my dowry, so be it.”

Ruark finished his ministrations and turned toward her. “Did you know that?”

“I did not. I was quite angry with Lucien for telling my father instead of me. He had no compunction about telling me that you were unworthy.” She tied her stockings above her knees then pulled the chemise over her head, blocking his lovely view. “Yet, he didn’t give me the same courtesy when it came to Glastonbury.”

Stepping toward her, Ruark grimaced. “I hope you won’t be angry with me too. I’m afraid I’m the one who learned about Glastonbury’s financial state. I would have told you myself, but Lucien said you didn’t want to see me. So, I told him—I thought it imperative that someone find out the truth.”

She stood, holding her corset, and went to him. “Of course I’m not angry with you. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to hear that from you,” she said quietly.

“I’m so sorry about what I put you through.”

Cupping his cheek, she shook her head. “Don’t. Doubt, especially self-doubt, is a terrible thing. And the promises we make to our dead parents are important, even if they don’t make sense.”

“Did you make a promise to your mother?”

She lowered her hand to his chest. “In a way. I hoped I would make her proud. I think that’s why I put off my Season for so long. I was afraid I’d make a hash of it.”

He smiled, pushing her hair, which was in quite a disarray, away from her face. “You could never do that. I didn’t know your mother, but there is no way she wouldn’t be proud of you.”

“Even considering my behavior last night?” She glanced toward the bed and let out a wry laugh.

“She would be so glad you are happy and loved.” He kissed her, and she shoved at his chest.

Eyes sparkling, she backed away. “You’re going to distract us even further. We need to hurry.”

He gaped at her as she danced away from him, her eyes alight. “Me? You were the one who detained us in bed.”

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her gaze utterly provocative, making him groan. “I didn’t hear you complaining.

Laughing, he finished dressing, helping her with her clothing when she needed it. A short while later, they accepted a basket of bread, cheese, and ale from the innkeeper’s wife for their journey.

Ruark discussed their plans for departure with his coachman, that they’d stop at the King’s Arms first, then handed Cassandra into the coach. She tucked her cloak around herself as Ruark sat down beside her.

As the coach rumbled from the yard, Ruark pulled Cassandra against him. “We’ll go directly to your house.”

“In your coach or Lucien’s?”

Ruark considered her question. “Does it matter? You choose.”

“We’ll take your coach,” Cassandra said decisively. It sends a message to my father—if he sees it.”

“Always so bold,” Ruark murmured before pressing a kiss to her temple. “How I adore that about you. Will he be awake, or is he a very late sleeper?”

She pressed herself more tightly against him. “He gets up far too early for someone who stays as late as he does at his club. Sometimes I wonder if he sleeps enough. We’ll be able to see him immediately, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I can hardly wait.”

She laughed. “Liar. Don’t let him bother you. If he insults you even slightly, we’ll leave immediately. I’ll stay with Con and Sabrina until the wedding.” She turned her head toward him. “Do you really think you can get a special license?”

“It might be easier with ducal support, but I’m sure it will all work out. Hopefully we’ll be able to wed tomorrow or the next day.”

“My brothers will help if you think that can aid your cause.”

“I’ll take whatever support I can get.” He kissed her forehead. “Where would you like to marry?”

She leaned her head back against the squab. “I haven’t given it any thought. I suppose at home. Unless Papa is obnoxious. Then at Con and Sabrina’s, I suppose? We could stand in the cupboard under the stairs.”

Ruark shouted with laughter as the coach entered the yard at the King’s Arms. “You go inside to meet Miss Lancaster, and I’ll fetch Lucien’s men. That way, they’ll have no idea you weren’t in the inn all night.”

“Brilliant of you.”

He leapt from the coach and helped Cassandra down. They parted, going about their allotted mission. Ruark assumed the coachman and groom would have lodged in the stables. When he got there, he asked one of the inn’s grooms for their direction.

“The coachmen sleep up there.” He jabbed his thumb toward a narrow stair in the corner.

“Thank you.” His step light, Ruark climbed the stairs and entered the long, dim room. Several bunks stood against the walls, most of them full. Some men were still snoring, while others were moving about in preparation to leave. About midway down, he found Lucien’s men and informed them Lady Cassandra and her companion would be returning to London in his coach.

“His lordship won’t like that,” the taller of the two coachman said, referring to Lucien.

“His lordship will need to accommodate himself because his sister and I are to be wed.” Before Ruark could say more, a shrill cry sounded from the other side of the room.

“Ruark!” Cassandra ran toward him, her cloak and skirts billowing about her ankles. “She’s not here!”

“Slow down, love.” He gently clasped her arms, trying not to grow alarmed. “Miss Lancaster isn’t at the inn?”

Cassandra shook her head violently. “I went to her room, and her bed hasn’t been slept in!”

Ruark looked to the coachmen in concern. “When was the last time you saw Miss Lancaster?”

“Who’s that?” the shorter coachman, who Ruark believed was called Bridger, asked.

“The woman you brought here after the fight last night,” Ruark explained know what would come next.

Bridger’s eyes widened as he looked at Cassandra. “We thought that was her ladyship.”

Cassandra’s face was drawn tight with apprehension. “It wasn’t. I was with Lord Wexford. Miss Lancaster and I swapped cloaks. You delivered her to the inn.”

“She went inside, and we haven’t seen her since.” Bridger paled as he exchanged a look with the other coachman.

Ruark clasped Cassandra’s hand. “Let’s go back to her room. Perhaps there’s a clue of some kind.”

They hurried to the inn, the coachmen following, and made their way upstairs. Cassandra opened the door and led them inside.

Ruark glanced about the room. Just as Cassandra had said, the bed hadn’t been slept in. “Look carefully for any signs that might help us determine what happened. Did she have a traveling case?”

“Yes, we both did and I didn’t see either of them,” Cassandra replied. “Ruark, there’s a note.”

He turned from the bed where he’d been about to look under it. Cassandra stood at the hearth holding a piece of parchment.

Do not worry about me. I have gone to meet my love so we can be married. I know this is shocking to all of you, but please know I am very happy. Please don’t look for me. It isn’t necessary for I will see you in a few short weeks.

Cassandra stared at him, her hands clutching the paper in front of her chest. “She eloped?”

Ruark was as aghast as Cassandra looked. “With whom?”

“I have no idea. Prudence never mentioned anyone. Ever.” Her arms slowly lowered, and she clutched the note in one hand. “She was always gone on Saturday mornings—it was her private time. I suppose she could have been meeting someone?”

“She was quite happy to suggest you spend the evening with me last night.” Ruark moved closer to Cassandra. “Do you suppose she had this planned?”

“It’s possible but coming here was spontaneous. After my final caller left today, we went to your house because I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

Ruark smiled in spite of the situation. “Did my butler know where the prizefight was located?” Ruark hadn’t told him.

“No. I had to track Lucien down at Evie’s house. She’s actually the one who told me.”

“And that’s when Lucien insisted you bring his coach and men.” Ruark nodded toward the two coachmen who stood just inside the door. He looked back to Cassandra. “I don’t know how she would have planned this.”

“I don’t either, but apparently she did.” Cassandra’s gaze dimmed. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. Especially after I finally told her about you.” Her eyes met Ruark’s. “Then again, she also understood that I didn’t want to break my promise to you to keep things between us. Perhaps she and this man made a similar vow to each other.”

“It sounds as if she’s about to make more vows than that,” Ruark said.

“I’m sad I won’t be there. Nor will she be at our wedding.”

Ruark took his future countess’s hand. “We will celebrate when she returns.”

“And meet her husband.” Cassandra smiled up at him. “I suppose we should return to London then.”

He kissed the inside of her wrist. “Our future awaits, my lady.”

CHAPTER 25

Instead of going straight to Grosvenor Square, Cassandra thought it would be wiser to bring reinforcements. To that end, they’d first gone to Constantine’s and Sabrina’s. Thankfully, they were already awake and receiving visitors.

Sabrina was thrilled to hear of their wedding plans while Con was a bit surprised.

Standing in the drawing room of his house, he narrowed his eyes at Ruark. “I thought Lucien said you wouldn’t wed.”

“I hadn’t met the right person. Cassandra is the right person.” Ruark took her hand and looked into her eyes with so much love that Cassandra felt as though she might burst from happiness.

“Does he know about this?” Con asked.

“Not that we’re getting married,” Cassandra said. “We’re going to tell him now. I thought it best if both you and he were with me when I break the news to Papa.”

“Why? He’ll be thrilled that you’re betrothed.”

“Not to me,” Ruark said with a grimace. “I, ah, pretended to court Cassandra a few weeks back, and it didn’t go well.”

“He insulted Ruark at every turn. Because he’s Irish.”

“Don’t forget that my mother married an Irish steward,” Ruark added.

“Yes, that too.” Cassandra looked to her brother. “See why I need your support?”

“I do.” He put his arm around Sabrina. “We’ll meet you there.”

Relief and joy flooded Cassandra. “Thank you.” She rushed forward and kissed her brother’s cheek then hugged her sister-in-law.

A few minutes later, she and Ruark were on their way to Lucien’s house. His butler showed them into his sitting room at the back of the ground floor.

Ruark stroked his jaw. “I hope he doesn’t hit me again.”

“He hit you?” Cassandra moved close to him and touched his face.

“When he banished me from the Phoenix Club.”

She gaped at him. “He banished you from the club? Can he do that?”

Lifting a shoulder, Ruark kissed her forehead. “He says it’s his club, that he can do anything.”

“Yet, he had to move heaven and earth to extend Glastonbury an invitation.” Cassandra scoffed. “His rules are awfully convenient.”

“I believe Wexford said something similar.” Lucien strode into the room wearing a dark blue banyan over a shirt and pantaloons, his slippers moving soundlessly over the carpet. “Should I expect news?”

“We’re getting married,” Cassandra stated without preamble. “Tomorrow, if possible. As soon as Ruark can get a special license.”

“Did Father agree to help with that?”

“He doesn’t know yet. You’re coming with us to tell him.”

Lucien laughed. “How on earth will my presence help you?”

“Because you’re my brother, and I want to know you support me.” She stepped against Ruark’s side, and he slid his arm around her. “I know you think I shouldn’t marry Ruark, but we love each other, and it really isn’t any of your business anyway.”

Frowning, Lucien prowled toward them, his narrowed gaze fixed on Ruark. “If you hurt her, I will make your life very unpleasant.”

“I would never. I truly love her, Lucien. More than anything.”

Cassandra would never grow tired of hearing him say that. “Please Lucien? Con and Sabrina are meeting us in Grosvenor Square. We need to hurry.”

“This is bloody awkward. My best friend and my sister.” Lucien shuddered.

“Just think—you’ll be Uncle Lu to our children,” Cassandra said, hoping there would be several of them.

Lucien held up his hand. “Stop. Please. First Con and now you. I’m being suffocated by overly happy people.” His mouth broke into a wide smile. “I am very happy for you.”

Cassandra stepped away from Ruark to hug her brother who swept her tightly against his chest.

“If you ever need me—for anything—I will always be here,” he whispered.

She pulled back and smiled with gratitude. Then she gasped as Lucien lifted his hand as if he was going to hit Ruark.

Instead, he embraced his friend, thumping his hand on Ruark’s back. “I lied about the banishment. MacNair was right—you can’t be banished. I believe he said, ‘once you’re in, you’re in.’”

Ruark returned to Cassandra’s side. “I must admit I’m relieved. Although, I won’t be spending any time there unless my wife receives an invitation.”

Cassandra’s breath stalled in her chest. To be a member of the Phoenix Club… where she would be included and on any given day she could go there to find camaraderie and friendship…

“As you know, membership decisions are not completely up to me, but I think I can assure you that Cassandra will receive an invitation. I’ll do my best to ensure it happens quickly.” He winked at Cassandra, and she hugged him again, laughing with joy.

This was all she’d ever wanted—a family who loved her, friends who cared about her, a sense of belonging. Now, she hoped her father would complete the circle.

C on and Sabrina had arrived at Evesham House just before Cassandra and Ruark with Lucien in tow. They made their way to the drawing room while Bender summoned the duke.

Everyone sat except Cassandra. Ruark watched her pace near the hearth. He could feel her anxiety from where he sat nearby. Why was he sitting? He should be at her side when the duke entered.

Ruark rose and went to her just as her father came in.

“What on earth are you all doing here together?” the duke asked before his gaze settled on Ruark. His eyes widened, and it seemed the butler hadn’t informed him of Ruark’s presence. The sly old man. Or perhaps he hadn’t noticed Ruark and needed spectacles.

Either way, the look of shock was gratifying. The sheen of disdain that followed was not.

Cassandra had stopped pacing and now stepped toward her father. “Papa, the very large flower arrangement was from Lord Wexford. He has asked me to marry him, and I’ve said yes.”

Surprisingly, the duke’s attention snapped to Aldington. “Did you facilitate this while she was at your house last night?”

Aldington glanced toward his wife and then at Cassandra. “Er…”

“She wasn’t at Con’s,” Lucien said, standing from his chair. “I only told you that to cover for the fact that she was in Croydon with Wexford.”

The duke sputtered, his gaze moving from Lucien to Cassandra then to Aldington. Finally, his focus settled—rather menacingly—on Ruark. “You ruined my daughter?”

Cassandra moved in front of Ruark. “No, Papa. We are in love, and he’s the man I choose to marry. You did say I could choose.”

“Not him,” the duke growled.

“I swear your coat of arms needs a wolf,” Ruark muttered. He stepped around Cassandra. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I should have spoken with you before proposing to your daughter.”

“No, you should not have.” Now Cassandra was growling. “As I said, this was my decision. I choose Ruark, Papa. I hope you will be happy for us.”

The duke stared at her a moment. “I told you what love—” He cut himself off and turned away.

“What exactly is your objection to Lord Wexford?”

Everyone turned their heads toward Sabrina.

“Be careful, Father,” Con warned. “If it’s because he’s Irish or who his mother married, you’re going to have to move past that. He’s a good man and he loves Cassandra.”

“He also has wealth and a good reputation,” Lucien put in. “Everyone likes him. He and Cassandra will likely be one of London’s most sought after invitations—when they decide to entertain.”

The room was silent as the duke seemed to fume. He turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Lucien started after him, and Con jumped to his feet.

“Don’t,” Cassandra said, rushing to cut them both off. “Let me talk to him.” She looked to Ruark and smiled.

“I love you,” he mouthed. She turned and left, and Ruark hoped things turned out the way she wanted them to. He knew one way or the other they would be married. But for her sake, he wanted her father to be at her side.

C assandra took a deep breath as she followed her father from the drawing room. He stood at the top of the stairs, his brow furrowed.

She slowly made her way to him, not wishing to upset him further. When he’d mentioned love, she’d wondered if his true opposition to her marrying Ruark was because they were in love. He didn’t want her to be hurt.

She went to him and took his hand. His flesh felt cool and dry. “I know you want me to be happy, that you don’t want me to experience pain or suffering. When Mama died, it felt like my world had ended. I was very lonely for a long time after that. You did your best, but for the first time, I feel as though I belong with someone. I have the chance for a large, loving family. And now that my brothers are no longer blockheads, I have my family too. Please tell me you will be part of that. I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t.”

His features softened. “I have never been able to deny you.” He sent a narrow-eyed glance toward Ruark. “You’re sure he’ll make you happy?”

“Completely certain.”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “Then I give you my blessing.”

“Thank you, Papa. That means the world to me.” She hugged him, but he was still stiff. He needed time to accept this. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have long. “Ruark is going to seek a special license. Would you mind if we married here?”

“I, ah, all right.” He frowned. “I’ll lose you sooner than I expected.”

“I thought you were in a rush for me to marry!”

“I was, but now that the moment is here, I suppose I realized how much I enjoy your presence. I should have told you that more often. I should have done more after your mother died. I’m sorry, Cass.”

Her heart squeezed. He hadn’t called her that since she was small. “You did your best, Papa. Just love me. That’s all I need.”

“I can do that.” Then he took her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

This was the best day Cassandra had ever had.

Until her wedding day two days later.

EPILOGUE

The Phoenix Club

The wedding of Lord and Lady Wexford took London by surprise. They’d received a flurry of invitations since marrying three days prior—the most blissful three days of Ruark’s life. Now, as he walked into the Phoenix Club with his wife on his arm, he didn’t think he could ever be happier. And yet, when he looked over at Cassandra’s radiant visage, he knew he hadn’t even begun to feel the joy that their life together would bring.

On the one hand, he appreciated his father’s counsel, for it had ensured that Ruark was still unwed when he encountered Cassandra in that cupboard. On the other, he wished he hadn’t doubted himself—or his love for Cassandra.

They’d heard nothing from Miss Lancaster, but they weren’t worried. She’d been quite clear in her note that she was happy. Cassandra looked forward to when she returned.

“It feels so different now that I’m a member,” Cassandra said as they walked through the foyer on the men’s side of the club. Since it was Tuesday, she was allowed access to the entire premises.

“Does it?” Ruark tipped his head up toward the painting of Pan and pointed, drawing Cassandra’s attention. “If you look in the corner there, you can see your brother along with me, Deane, and MacNair.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s you? How clever!”

“Your brother is a sentimental sort.”

“I came to that conclusion when he gave me the miniature of my mother.” It sat on her nightstand in their bedchamber.

Ruark wished he’d been able to know her mother, just as he was sorry she couldn’t meet his father. He was quite glad that his mother and sisters were able to attend the wedding and welcome Cassandra into the family, which they’d done quite happily. Ruark didn’t know who was happier—his mother or Kat.

At last, he’d convinced their mother that Kat should remain in London. He credited the fact that he’d finally taken a wife. She was happy to claim one victory, at least, even if she’d had nothing to do with it.

“Where shall we go first?” Ruark asked. “I would offer to give you a tour, but you’ve been here before.”

“I saw very little of it. Mostly just the inside of a cupboard.” Her gaze was suddenly filled with heat. He nearly turned around and took her back home.

“Then allow me to show you.” He led her from room to room, exploring all of the ground floor then escorting her upstairs. The members’ den was bustling, as it typically did on Tuesday evenings.

Mort was seated in his favorite chair but rose as Ruark and Cassandra approached. “Good evening, Lord Wexford, Lady Wexford.” He bowed.

“Cassandra, allow me to introduce my former boxing coach, Mr. Mortimer Dodd. Mort has been something of a father to me.”

She smiled broadly and curtsied to Mort. “It’s a true pleasure to make your acquaintance. I didn’t realize Ruark had someone like you in his life.” She glanced toward Ruark, murmuring, “How lovely.”

“I will miss him at the boxing club,” Mort said with deep regret. “At least your last time in the ring was absolutely brilliant.”

“Has Glastonbury been to the club?” Ruark asked.

“No one’s seen him since the fight. I wonder if he’s gone back to Wiltshire to lick his wounds.”

Ruark suspected as much. He’d lost the fight—and the money that would have come with it—and Cassandra’s dowry. More than licking his wounds, he was likely trying to come up with a new scheme to come up with the funds he needed.

They spoke with Mort a few more minutes before moving on into the library. Evie met them just as they came in. “How wonderful to see you both. My goodness, but marriage agrees with you, but then I’m not surprised.”

“Why is that?” Ruark asked with a smile.

“Aside from the incident at Cassandra’s birthday party?”

Ruark stifled at laugh at her use of the word incident. He glanced toward Cassandra and noted she was doing the same.

“There always seemed to be an undercurrent of…something between you,” Evie continued. “But I suppose it’s because I knew you’d been closeted in a cupboard together all those weeks ago.”

Cassandra gasped. “You knew?”

“A maid saw Ruark leaving the cupboard. I added things up and came up with the only answer.” She smiled at Ruark. “Ada would be so proud.” Ada was the bookkeeper at the club.

Ruark couldn’t help but laugh. “You are marvelous at keeping secrets.”

“In my position, one has to be,” she said wryly. “If you only knew what trouble people got into within these walls.” Her gaze moved to the doorway. “Excuse me a moment.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t believe she knew all this time.”

“Shall we finish our tour?” he asked.

“Why, yes we shall.”

Ruark escorted her from the library and finished showing her the first floor. They lingered outside the cupboard—their cupboard—but there were too many people about to steal inside.

Instead, he took her upstairs to the much quieter second floor where there were several bedrooms—and at least two cupboards. He led her to the far corner where he slipped a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We’re on a tour, remember?” He brought her inside and closed the door behind them.

A lantern illuminated a small but well-appointed bedchamber.

Cassandra went to the bed and curled her hand around the post. “Ruark, are you trying to seduce me in every room in the club?” She turned and gave him a provocative stare.

“I thought we might steal a few minutes alone.” He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto a chair before prowling toward her.

“But we just got here.”

“I showed you the entire club. We’ll only be a few minutes.” He took her hand and tugged her against him.

“You are never only ‘a few minutes,’” she said with exasperation but also with heat.

“I promise this time I’ll be quick. Or I’ll try to be—it’s up to you, really.” He kissed her, and she met him eagerly. Clasping her waist, he lifted her onto the bed. “You see, I’m going to toss up your skirts and bury my tongue inside you. Now, I can draw it out or I can aim for expedience if that’s what you truly desire.”

She tugged up her gown and laid back. “Surprise me.”

Grinning, Ruark lowered his head between her parted legs. He licked at her sex, but she sat up abruptly, disrupting his plan.

She clasped his neck and kissed him fiercely. “I love you. And I hope you’ll always surprise me.”

“I will do my best for I love you too. Beyond measure. I can’t imagine what my life would be without you.”

She smiled seductively, her thumb tracing along his lip. “Well, that’s easy. It would be positively intolerable.”

Want to find out where Prudence went and who she eloped with? Don’t miss the exciting next book in the Phoenix Club, INDECENT! Preorder today and read January 25, 2022!

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Need more Regency romance? Check out my other historical series:

The Untouchables

Swoon over twelve of Society’s most eligible and elusive bachelor peers and the bluestockings, wallflowers, and outcasts who bring them to their knees!

The Untouchables: The Spitfire Society

Meet the smart, independent women who’ve decided they don’t need Society’s rules, their families’ expectations, or, most importantly, a husband. But just because they don’t need a man doesn’t mean they might not want one…

The Untouchables: The Pretenders

Set in the captivating world of The Untouchables, follow the saga of a trio of siblings who excel at being something they’re not. Can a dauntless Bow Street Runner, a devastated viscount, and a disillusioned Society miss unravel their secrets?

Wicked Dukes Club

Six books written by me and my BFF, NYT Bestselling Author Erica Ridley. Meet the unforgettable men of London's most notorious tavern, The Wicked Duke. Seductively handsome, with charm and wit to spare, one night with these rakes and rogues will never be enough...

Love is All Around

Heartwarming Regency-set retellings of classic Christmas stories (written after the Regency!) featuring a cozy village, three siblings, and the best gift of all: love.

Secrets and Scandals

Six epic stories set in London’s glittering ballrooms and England’s lush countryside.

Legendary Rogues

Five intrepid heroines and adventurous heroes embark on exciting quests across the Georgian Highlands and Regency England and Wales!

If you like contemporary romance, I hope you’ll check out my Ribbon Ridge series available from Avon Impulse, and the continuation of Ribbon Ridge in So Hot.

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I appreciate my readers so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

ALSO BY DARCY BURKE

Historical Romance

The Phoenix Club

Invitation

Improper

Impassioned

Intolerable

Indecent

Impossible

The Matchmaker Chronicles

The Rigid Duke

The Bachelor Earl (prequel to The Untouchables)

The Runaway Viscount

The Untouchables: The Pretenders

A Secret Surrender

A Scandalous Bargain

A Rogue to Ruin

The Untouchables

The Bachelor Earl (prequel)

The Forbidden Duke

The Duke of Daring

The Duke of Deception

The Duke of Desire

The Duke of Defiance

The Duke of Danger

The Duke of Ice

The Duke of Ruin

The Duke of Lies

The Duke of Seduction

The Duke of Kisses

The Duke of Distraction

The Untouchables: The Spitfire Society

Never Have I Ever with a Duke

A Duke is Never Enough

A Duke Will Never Do

Love is All Around

(A Regency Holiday Trilogy)

The Red Hot Earl

The Gift of the Marquess

Joy to the Duke

Wicked Dukes Club

One Night for Seduction by Erica Ridley

One Night of Surrender by Darcy Burke

One Night of Passion by Erica Ridley

One Night of Scandal by Darcy Burke

One Night to Remember by Erica Ridley

One Night of Temptation by Darcy Burke

Secrets and Scandals

Her Wicked Ways

His Wicked Heart

To Seduce a Scoundrel

To Love a Thief (a novella)

Never Love a Scoundrel

Scoundrel Ever After

Legendary Rogues

The Legend of a Rogue

Lady of Desire

Romancing the Earl

Lord of Fortune

Captivating the Scoundrel

Contemporary Romance

Ribbon Ridge

Where the Heart Is (a prequel novella)

Only in My Dreams

Yours to Hold

When Love Happens

The Idea of You

When We Kiss

You’re Still the One

Ribbon Ridge: So Hot

So Good

So Right

So Wrong

Prefer to read in German, French, or Italian? Check out my website for foreign language editions!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her Reader Club newsletter for the latest updates from Darcy.

A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, incredibly talented artist daughter, and imaginative son who will almost certainly out-write her one day (that may be tomorrow). They’re a crazy cat family with two Bengal cats, a small, fame-seeking cat named after a fruit, an older rescue Maine Coon with attitude to spare, and a collection of neighbor cats who hang out on the deck and occasionally venture inside. You can find Darcy at a winery, in her comfy writing chair balancing her laptop and a cat or three, folding laundry (which she loves), or binge-watching TV with the family. Her happy places are Disneyland, Labor Day weekend at the Gorge, Denmark, and anywhere in the UK—so long as her family is there too. Visit Darcy online at www.darcyburke.com and follow her on social media.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Intolerable

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Also by Darcy Burke

About the Author