Such reasonableness was annoying.
“And I meant those words. I will not allow a duel to be fought onmybehalf. Dueling isbarbaric.”
“Cass, return to your bed.” He started forward.
“I’m not some child you can order about. And my name isCassandra. Cass-an-dra.”
Soren gave a small salute acknowledging his error, and then he and the duke walked right around her, one on either side, and continued down the hall. She took a step after them, and then realized she couldn’t go anywhere in her current state of undress. They turned the corner and went out of sight.
Her temper exploded. A rage the likes of which she’d never known gripped her. How dare he patronize her? Did her desires, her wishes account for anything? If there was any “defending” to be done, she would defend herself. Modern men—rational, intelligent men—did not resolve differences by carving pieces off each other, especially in her name.
Meanwhile, she was being shuttled off to the country to be a nobody. And Soren believed he was doing her favor?
He was wrong.
Nor would she leave it be. At this point, her reputation was in tatters. Her convictions were all she had and they were worth the fight.
She rushed into her room, tore off her nightclothes, and scrambled into the dress hanging there. She didn’t even bother to fuss with her hair. She was going to stop a duel. Artful curls were unnecessary to such an endeavor.
Chapter 7
Of course Cassandra had ambushed him in the hall.
Soren had almost expected it.
He’d also known they needed to hash out what had happened last night. He was not put off by her anger this morning. That seemed to be the way she was most comfortable communicating with him... and he didn’t believe it was because of some childish insult.
No, there was something else between him and Cass—
“Miss Holwell is certainly fetchingen déshabillé,” Camberly observed. “Perhaps I should rethink this idea of marrying an heiress.”
They were going down the stairs heading toward the front door. He spoke half in jest, but the stab of jealousy Soren experienced brought him to halt. “Cass Holwell is not for you.”
“Cassandra,” Camberly corrected. “Like the seer warning the Trojans.”
“You are full of nonsense,” Soren shot back, sorely conscious that Cass would have known what he was talking about. Soren hadn’t been one to pay attention in school.
He marched down the remaining stairs uncaring of whether the duke followed him or not, although he knew he would.
“You are quite testy this morning,” Camberly said. “One would sense you are angry with me. And for what? I’ve been up all night in your service.”
Was he truly that obtuse? “If you wish to play fast and loose with women, that is your choice. However, youwillleave Miss Holwell alone.”
“I don’t play fast and loose with women.”
Soren gave him a look of disgust.
“I don’t,” Camberly insisted. “You are talking about Letty, aren’t you? Soren, I worship her. She is my goddess. I’m not interested in your Miss Holwell.”
Soren liked hearing those words. He walked on. A footman opened the front door for them.
Once outside, the duke continued, “The problem is that Letty is married to the wrong man. Bainhurst cares more for his pride than his wife.”
“Funny how pride is all a man has when his wife is cuckolding him,” Soren said under his breath, but he was heard anyway.
“Is it cuckolding if one has found love?”
“Do you hear yourself? How would you feel if you were in Bainhurst’s boots?”
