“Well, he hasn’t cowed you,” she said. “So certainly, he can’t have intimidated every man in the city, and yes, a carriage ride would be lovely, thank you.”
Robert nodded. Her cheerful smile and innocent compliments lightened his mood. She was right. A carriage ride would be lovely. Because he and Cinthia used to take them almost daily didn’t mean he could never enjoy one again.
He parted ways with Miss Glasbarr in the front hall. She fell in with a stream of young women headed above stairs. Once she was out of sight, Robert exited into the Edinburgh evening to await his carriage. Miss Glasbarr’s smile lingered in his mind and evoked one of his own.
Robert paced the curb in the cool night air, in no mood to speak with the other gentlemen waiting for their carriages. He’d had enough of the lot of them for one evening. Watching Miss Glasbarr dance with so many eligible, yet wholly unworthy, men had soured the sociable side of his nature.
He would not misconstrue his protectiveness as affection, however. She was beautiful, kind and sweet, but that didn’t mean he was drawn to her. He had to exorcise Cinthia from heart and mind before he flung himself impulsively at another girl. He wouldn’t repeat the mistake he’d made with Kitty.
His carriage pulled up, the stately, four-horse one he generally used when he attended society events, not the open curricle he would use tomorrow to take Miss Glasbarr around the park. Robert frowned. Every stray thought shouldn’t lead back to her.
“Where to, sir?” his coachman asked.
“My club.” Robert climbed in.
The carriage moved slowly until they finally broke free of the crush of traffic leaving Lady Peddington’s School. When the vehicle lurched into a faster pace, he leaned back against the cushion and watched the bright square of light that entered, crossed and left his carriage at each passing streetlamp. Each time the lamplight glinted off the gold threaded cord that tied back the window curtains, he was reminded of Miss Glasbarr’s curls. When they reached his club, he disembarked, annoyed by a journey that had only emphasized his inability to put her from his mind. He stomped up the four steps and entered the elegant, three-story structure with a frown.
Once at his usual table, he sent for a glass of whisky. He awaited the solace the smooth liquor offered with impatience but somehow, when the glass arrived, the dark liquor didn’t seem worth drinking. Idly, he turned the tumbler in his hand and stared into the russet depths. If he angled the cut crystal the right way, the surface of the whisky caught the candlelight and gleamed the color of her hair.
“Very well, Banbrook, what will it take to make you go away?”
Robert looked up as Dunreid pulled out the chair across from him and settled into the cushioned seat.
“Your presence is enough.” Robert set his glass down and stood.
“For God’s sake, sit down,” Dunreid said, tone friendly. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“You’re the one who posed the question.” Robert didn’t bother to conceal his animosity as he looked down at Dunreid. “I’m simply giving an honest answer.”
The viscount scowled, neck craned backward to look up. He stood, and placed his stocky form between Robert and the rest of the room. “I want that girl, Banbrook. You don’t.”
“I might.”
Dunreid snorted. “What happened to your honesty? The world knows you’re still pining for my wife.”
Robert’s hands balled at his sides. The muscles in his arm twitched. He longed for the satisfaction of burying his fist in Dunreid’s fleshy face.
“I’ll ask again, nicely, for old times’ sake.” Dunreid’s voice was low, but still convivial. “What will it take for you to go away? You should accept something, because I’ll have her in the end, either way.”
“I’m not a horse trader and she is not a mare at market,” Robert said, echoing Miss Glasbarr’s words.
Dunreid shrugged. “She may as well be.”
Robert answered that with a glower.
Face bright with an evil glee, Dunreid leaned closer. “You can’t be bought, I know. You’re even wealthier than I am, but I have one thing you want. What about a trade? One night with Cinthia for a go at the lass. I’ll give her back when I’m done. I’m sure you’re used to other men’s—”
Robert swung. Dunreid dodged the punch. Hi fist plunged into Robert’s middle. The air drove from his lungs. Pain doubled him over. Dunreid’s rasping breath penetrated the blood surging in his ears. Robert straightened and loosed a wild punch. His fist connected with something solid.
“Bloody hell.” Dunreid fell back several paces.
Men closed in around them. Voices rose. Hands fastened on Robert’s shoulders, though he made no move to pursue the viscount. He blinked tears of fury from his vision and yanked against the men’s hold.
Dunreid collapsed into a chair, one hand clutched to his left eye. With the right, he glared at Robert. “You bastard. This will blacken. What am I supposed to tell Cinthia?”
“That’s not my concern,” Robert bit out. “Use whatever lies you normally tell your wife.”
He shook off the hands and tugged his jacket straight. He turned and cast a glare around the room, lest anyone decide to avenge Dunreid. Most of the assembled gentlemen had adopted neutral expressions, though some looked amused.
Several large footmen crowded the far doorway, eyeing him. The club’s proprietor kept them on hand, for there was no fighting permitted. Robert offered the footmen a grimace of apology and strode toward the exit.
