The pub was warm, loud, and hazy with pipe smoke. Cassian spotted Tristan at once, lounging in a corner booth with a drink in his hand, his dark hair tousled, his grin far too amused by the surrounding chaos.
“You look dreadful,” Tristan observed as Cassian dropped into the seat opposite him.
“Good,” Cassian said flatly.
Tristan raised a brow.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” He said nonchalantly.
“Yet here I am.” Cassian began to question his decision as Tristan chuckled.
“Then you should be willing to indulge me. How come you’re here? I don’t believe I’ve witnessed such a scene ever in all my years; you walked into a pub alone.”
“I simply needed a drink,” Cassian grumbled and waved to the barman, who nodded.
Tristan seemed to consider his words for a moment and chuckled.
“Only a drink? Or perhaps you want something else?” He tilted his head to the side with a suggestive smirk.
Cassian let out a frustrated sigh, but it was his mistake. He should never have chosen the pub Tristan frequented to gain himself a semblance of privacy, but he didn’t think Tristan would appear out of the blue. Although in his defense, Cassianhadn’t been thinking when he left his house, as the situation didn’t give much room for thinking.
“I want nothing but for you to quit questioning me.” He sat back in his chair, throwing one arm over the back as he stretched out his legs beneath the table.
Before Tristan could reply, two women approached, one blonde, one dark-haired, both wearing flirtatious smiles and dresses cut slightly lower than respectable society permitted.
“Well, well,” the blonde cooed, leaning forward on the table until her breasts almost spilled from their cloth prison, “are you gentlemen in need of some company tonight?” Her voice was a little huskier than the average lady of the ton, a voice that hinted at the use of cigars, a practice not uncommon in women of leisure who frequented pubs.
Cassian opened his mouth, but Tristan beat him to it.
“Always,” Tristan said with a hungry grin.
The dark-haired woman trailed a finger along Cassian’s sleeve and up his arm. “And you, My Lord? You look rather tense. We could help with that.”
Cassian forced a polite smile. He had come here precisely for this reason. For the distraction he knew she would offer, for escape, for something that did not carry Isabella’s scent in the edges ofhis memory. But the moment the woman’s hand touched his, every nerve in his body recoiled.
He did not feel desire or interest. He simply felt nothing.
Nothing except the sharp, unwelcome image of Isabella’s flushed cheeks in the kitchen earlier. Her wide eyes, her trembling breath, and her lips. Always her lips. No woman he had ever seen had lips as kissable as Isabella’s.
The woman leaned closer, fingers brushing his collar, and Cassian snapped.
“I must apologize,” he said abruptly, rising from his seat. “I find that I am no longer in the mood.”
The woman stepped back sharply, her expression hurt and slightly embarrassed as she glanced at the faces now staring at them.
“Everthorne—” Tristan began uncertainly.
“Goodnight,” Cassian said sharply with a nod.
He did not wait for a reply. He turned quickly and strode out of the pub, ignoring the startled glances and Tristan’s loud voice following after him.
“Everthorne! What the devil?—?”
He pushed through the cold night air, temper hotter than when he’d found the shirtless performers in his ballroom. Tristan hurried out of the pub in his wake.
“Everthorne!” he called. “Stop a moment!”
Cassian did not stop.
