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 hermilky 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 thereceiving end of such glares for years, so it had lost most of its effect on him.
