Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“There you are, my friend.” Cassian groaned, rolling his eyes as his friend, Tristan Willingham, the Marquess of Haskett, approached him with a wave in his direction.
He’d gone in search of liquor to soothe his troubled mind and ended up in a pub filled with dozens of people, who smelled like ale and stale cigars. He had already begun to regret his decision to come when familiar whispers had followed his path all the way to his table.
The stolen duke.
He hated the name almost as much as he hated the incident that had caused it.
Men stole glances in his direction with veiled expressions of concern. It did not seem to matter how long it had been since his return to London; the stories of his past still followed him day and night.
He could not quite pinpoint exactly what troubled him, yet he had not been able to sleep ever since that night of the fencing match. For some reason, his nightmares had grown worse.
More so, he did not want to think of it, because deep down, he knew that behind the many issues he had at hand, he would most definitely find a certain blue-eyed lady with thick brown curls, staring up at him as though he were a raging beast.
What does she think of me?
The thought troubled him more than he cared to admit.
“I must say, I was quite worried when you sent word to my residence to meet with you here. However, gazing upon you so, it seems your heart must be greatly troubled if you couldn’t wait and began drinking without me,” Tristan observed and took the seat on the right of Cassian, his light brown hair flopping to the side as he took a seat, his lean frame strikingly smaller than his friend’s.
Cassian didn’t confirm or deny Tristan’s words. He simply finished the remains of his drink, clenching his fingers around the glass as the amber liquid burned his throat.
“I’ll take that as a confirmation, my friend.” Tristan nudged his side and continued, “Tell me then, what troubles you? Can I be of any help?”
His boyishly young face turned into a helpful smile. At thirty-one, Tristan was one of the most desired men of the ton. Yet he preferred to spend his time flirting rather than settling down.
“Lady Kendrick is going to turn Everthorne House into a meeting place for her ladies’ club,” Tristan grumbled irritably.
The words hung between them for a second, but the silence was broken the moment Tristan burst out in laughter.
Heads turned to look at them, but quickly minded their own business when Cassian met their gazes with an icy glare.
“Yes, go ahead, laugh at my misery.” Cassian rolled his eyes and poured himself some more whiskey into his glass while Tristan recovered.
He was beginning to think that asking his friend to meet him was a bad idea, but what else could he have done when there was nobody else to talk to?
The fresh glass of whisky did little to ease his irritation as he once again glanced around the room.
When will they leave me be?
He wondered bitterly when the ghosts of his past and his father’s mistakes would cease haunting his present.
“Pardon my manners, Everthorne; however, you must understand my laughter is a result of initial shock. What is this club about anyway?” Tristan scoffed in an attempt to still his continued mirth.
“I know nothing about it, other than it is a recipe for disaster,” he grumbled, frown lines marring his forehead at just the thought.
“Well, it shall be quite the spectacle, then,” Tristan jested, raising his hand to catch the attention of a passing barman.
The barman approached, his eyes as lazy as his stance, yet Tristan seemed to pay no mind to him as his order rolled off his tongue flawlessly. The man listened intently for a moment before sauntering off again with as much enthusiasm as a stick in the mud could muster.
“I can but imagine the swarm of ladies that will grace the townhouse, each as fair as the last with their blushing cheeks and delicious curves,” Tristan said with a hungry look in his eyes. Being a notorious rake was something that Tristan leaned into rather than shied away from.
Blushing cheeks.
The phrase transported Cassian back to his workshop, standing before a certain dark-haired woman, her chest heaving as her milky skin gleamed in the candlelight.
Her lips had parted ever so slightly with hot air spilling from them.
Her gaze had reached his face, her cheeks so red she could’ve caught a fever…
What he would have done to those lips if given half the chance.
Damn it.
Her beauty had struck him at once, but it was more than that.
The deep, vivid hue of her eyes, the spark of indignation that flared whenever she defended herself, whether that night or earlier in the day, lingered in his mind.
She was certainly breathtakingly beautiful, yet the fire in her soul burned just as bright, dangerously alluring.
He could not deny the pull of that subtle defiance in her voice. She had spoken to him with confidence that left him momentarily disarmed. Unafraid, unyielding, even after he had revealed himself. She had not bowed or flinched; she had met him head-on, ensuring her opinions were heard.
And in that, he found himself both irritated and captivated.
Cassian had met his fair share of ladies, but he hadn’t met one quite like her.
Lady Isabella.
She was a force to be reckoned with, beautiful and fierce.
Cassian halted his train of thoughts, choosing instead to drown them with whiskey as the fire in his chest made him shift on his stool.
The barman appeared again, bringing with him a welcome reprieve from Cassian’s tortured thoughts. He placed the bottle of whisky between the men with a clean glass and sauntered back off.
“Those ladies will probably be on a hunt for your attention. I say there is no harm in indulging in a little debauchery.” Tristan wiggled his brows, making Cassian scoff.
“Even you should see through this. It’s nothing more than a ruse to catch my attention and drag me into marriage. I know it’s my grandmother’s scheme,” he growled, his jaw tightening, unwilling to dwell on the earlier memory that stoked his desires.
His focus snapped, however, the moment Tristan’s irritating laughter cut through the air once more. Cassian had always admired his friend’s carefree ways, but he wasn’t a fan of his reactions and comments when Cassian himself was the topic of discussion.
“That would be a sight worth every penny, I dare say. Perhaps I should time my visits to coincide with the club’s meetings. One could hardly resist such prime entertainment,” he said in a teasing tone before taking a sip of his whisky.
Cassian shot him a death stare capable of making a grown man soil his trousers, but this was Tristan. He’d probably been on the receiving end of such glares for years, so it had lost most of its effect on him.
“I apologize,” Tristan chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender, drinking before he paused, as though a light had passed through his consciousness.
“If I recall correctly, you just said that I should see through this. What did you mean?” He paused with the glass raised halfway to his lips again.
“Lady Isabella.” The name rolled off Cassian’s tongue without restraint, easy and smooth like a droplet of honey. Just the way he imagined her lips would taste.
Like he’d been waiting for a sliver of opportunity to say her name all this while, as though the name had haunted his sleep and the only way to appease it was to say it out loud.
Perhaps then he would be able to shake her from his thoughts.
Banishing her from his conscience would at least help to assuage some of his troubles.
What is becoming of me?
He berated himself for allowing her to become such a big topic in such a short lapse of time. It was almost as if she had cast a spell on him with her bewitching eyes.
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. “Lady Isabella. Lady Isabella Hunton, the Duke of Ironstone’s eldest daughter?”
“Yes. The very same.” Cassian swallowed hard, recalling the attraction that hung in the air when he closed the distance between them. Of course, Tristan would know who she was. He had not known himself, but a quick chat with the butler and some of his staff had answered all of his questions.
“Was it her, or her twin sister?” Tristan raised his eyebrows in interest.
Almost slamming his glass down on the table, Cassian grimaced. “Good Lord, do not tell me that there are two of her walking around London? I could scarcely cope with one.”
Apparently, his servants had failed to mention that tiny detail to him.
Peals of laughter escaped Tristan’s chest as he shook his head in an attempt to stop the onslaught. “I am afraid so. She has a twin sister, but do not fret. I have it on good authority that the younger is already married.”
Thank goodness.
Cassian let out a breath of relief. He did not know how he would have coped with two defiant and fiery young sisters traversing the halls of his home. One had already enraged him; two would have spelled his doom.
His friend grinned before taking another sip of his whisky to ease his mirth. “How did she get roped into such a situation as this? And more importantly, how did you get roped into allowing it?” His eyes glinted mischievously, thoroughly enjoying Cassian’s discomfort.
“How else? She’s my grandmother’s partner in crime. They schemed together to shove me into agreeing to host the meetings at Everthorne House,” Cassian complained, his jaw tight, eyes narrowing as he recalled the encounter.
“So, Lady Kendrick didn’t use her infamous guilt-tripping methods?” Tristan added knowingly.
“Oh, she did. She very much did.” Cassian almost growled bitterly. His grandmother was notorious for pulling on his heartstrings when it suited her best.
Her first stunt that had made him privy to her methods had been when she had faked a cardiac episode.
He had been of two minds about moving to London, but she had quickly persuaded him to move in with her during her illness.
He had not mentioned to her that she had recovered far too quickly to make her ruse plausible.
He had, after all, enjoyed living with the grandmother who had raised him like a son.
Tristan leaned back, rubbing his bottom lip with a smirk. “Well, I’ll give them credit: two ladies managing to outwit the mighty Duke of Everthorne? That’s no small feat.” He seemed impressed as he lifted his glass in a silent salute to them.
Grumbling under his breath, Cassian once again threw back the final remnants of his drink. “They did not outwit me. I simply allowed it rather than bothering to fight it. I have bigger concerns than halting the social progression of eager young ladies.”
The corner of Tristan’s mouth hooked into a teasing smile. “And would one of those matters be finding a wife?”
Cassian’s fingers instantly tightened around the glass, threatening to crack it if he applied even an ounce more pressure. “You know very well that I do not wish to take a wife.” He let go of the glass for fear of breaking it.
Tristan sighed heavily. “I know, I was just hoping that you had perhaps changed your mind. Life can be a lot more fun when you let go of the past. Take it from me, even if you do not wish to marry, indulging young ladies can be a great deal of fun.” He winked conspiratorially before smiling.
Silence filled the air as the sounds of the patrons in the bar faded into the background.
Fun?
There was nothing fun about the nightmares that plagued him in the dead of night. His past had made it almost impossible for him to move on, and he refused to drag another person into the abyss alongside him.
Tristan drew his attention back to the present with another defeated sigh.
“Just consider my words, Your Grace. Lady Isabella could provide you with a much-needed distraction. And who knows, she could be the very person that sways your decision to be celibate for the rest of your life.” He swung his legs around, spinning himself on the stool before leaning back and resting his elbows on the table behind him.
Cassian didn’t respond; his attention elsewhere, the memory of Isabella and the Dowager’s ploy replaying in sharp relief.
There was no chance that any woman on earth would be able to change his mind. Yet he would have to put up with the woman until his grandmother came forward with her scheme.
He had asked his grandmother the day after the fencing competition if she had sent a young lady to his workshop. She had denied it, of course, yet the way she and Lady Isabella interacted suggested otherwise.
Pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey, Cassian downed half of it in one hard swallow. His jaw clenched.
He would uncover the truth. Whatever scheme his grandmother had orchestrated with Lady Isabella, he intended to find it.
And put an end to it. On his terms.
There was no possible way that he would allow himself to be roped into their schemes, no matter how beautiful and alluring the young lady was.