He laid down a card, and Cassian said, “That only brings you to nineteen.”
“It is close enough,” Gabriel blustered.
“Well,” Cassian laid down his card and saw how the last blob of blood drained from Whitmore’s face. “Not good enough. I’ve won.”
Throwing back the rest of his drink, Cassian pushed from the table and said, “I look forward to seeing your apology.”
He was halfway to the door when Gabriel threw at his back, “I will do the retraction, but there is no apology forthcoming. Nothing I have said is untrue!”
Irked, Cassian turned on his heel, “You gave your word.”
“Did I?” Gabriel said with a pompous drawl. He reached for his drink. “Your wife had fallen from grace because of her own hubris and disgraceful lustful desires for a woman. The way she tried to persuade me into bed was outrightly disturbing.”
Cassian fought for calm. “Be careful of your next few words, Whitmore.”
“Or what?”
“Or, you will be meeting me at dawn,” Cassian muttered darkly, his tone as warm as arctic ice. “Do youwantto die, Whitmore?”
Gabriel stood, his form bristling. “Your wife is a budding who—"
Cassian’s blistering punch sent Gabriel flying into the wall, and a loud crash echoed in the room as a bottle splintered on the floor. While the burn radiated through his arm, Cassian ignored the aghast looks from the other men, deciding deep down that he had absolutely nothing to lose if they scuffled.
The whole of London already thought he was an irredeemable scapegrace; they did not expect much from him, and he did not care to give them any.
Flexing his wrist, Cassian intoned, “I told you to mind your mouth, Whitmore. Now I have every reason to destroy everything you hold dear.”
“Good god, man,” Patterson hauled Gabriel up. “There is no reason to resort to fisticuffs.”
“Bullets then,” Cassian said coldly. “I will oblige. Rotten Row, Whitmore, at dawn.”
As he turned to walk away, Gabriel shouted, “Tressingham!”
He turned, and a fist met his cheekbone. It was a feeble, passing graze—as weak as Cassian knew Whitmore was—but it was enough cause to make the dam of constraint inside Cassian burst.
Furious with Whitmore’s hypocrisy and cowardice, he unleashed a barrage of blows that hit Whitmore to the abdomen, chest, andthe face in rapid succession that sent the man back flying into the wall.
Cassian then had his forearm across Gabriel’s throat, fury radiating from every pore. “I willenjoyruining you, Whitmore.”
A set of hands pried him away, and Cassian spun to meet Benjamin’s calm gaze. “We need to leave, Fitzroy.Now.”
Whitmore looked a fright, his skin mottled with bruises already forming, and with the way he was holding his chest, Cassian wondered if he had broken a rib. He was not particularly sorry about it—God knew the man deserved it, but a twinge of remorse did flicker in his chest at the potential consequences of his actions.
“Let’s see how you spin this one, Whitmore,” Cassian warned.
He turned and strode out of the building, passion still sizzling up his spine and hot under his breastbone. The cold air blasted over him in a wave, but it did nothing to stall the anger coursing back and forth through his veins.
As they waited for the carriage, Cassian paced, and Ben did not dare stop him. When the vehicle arrived, he stepped in behind Cassian and yanked the shutter down.
“What in the blazes of seven hells happened?”
Cassian’s jaw jumped, and a blue streak left his mouth before he told Ben what had happened to spur on the fight. “He called Cecilia a whore, Ben. Well, almost. My fist hit him before the word could come out of his mouth.”
Ben was silent for a long moment, and Cassian cocked a brow, “Are you considering the size of the lawsuit he is going to levy at me?”
“No,” the part-time solicitor replied. “I am wondering when it was that you fell in love with Lady Cecilia.”
CHAPTER 17
