The Phoenix Club: Books 1-4 by Darcy Burke

Author:Darcy Burke [Burke, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 2

Ruark Hannigan, Earl of Wexford, whistled as he strode into Grosvenor Square. The day was overcast, but it didn’t smell like rain. Not yet anyway.

Inhaling, he tried to determine the scent of the tulips he carried but decided they didn’t have a particularly floral fragrance. Ah well, they were available and pretty, and the yellow ones reminded him of the gown Cassandra had worn at the ball the other night.

Lady Cassandra is how he ought to think of her. But that was rather impossible given the incident that had occurred between them several weeks ago now. The incident he was supposed to forget but couldn’t manage to—not entirely anyway.

And he had tried. There were a handful of courtesans who could attest to that fact. Frowning, he suddenly realized they had been, to a one, blond and pale, as unlike Cassandra as one could get with her lush, dark hair and sultry, sherry-colored eyes. Had he done that on purpose?

Probably. She wasn’t the first woman Ruark had needed to work to forget.

The Duke of Evesham’s residence came into view. The house was one of the largest in the square, a model of opulence and wealth. It was a far cry from Ruark’s rambling medieval pile in Gloucestershire, where his mother, stepfather, and half sisters lived, and much larger than his house over on George Street. And there was simply no comparing it to his estate in Ireland, an old, ramshackle farm that would horrify every single member of the ton.

The butler answered the door, and Ruark presented his card. Smiling, he raised the flowers to chest height. “I’m here to call on Lady Cassandra.”

“Very well, come in.” The butler was perhaps twice Ruark’s twenty-seven years. Thick around the middle with a head of wiry, gray hair, he possessed a thoroughly stoic air. Very London butleresque.

“Thank you,” Ruark said cheerily as he stepped into the gleaming marble entry hall.

“The footman will show you to the drawing room. His Grace will meet you shortly.”

“Lady Cassandra too, I hope.” Ruark gave the man a wink before turning his attention to the footman who’d come forward.

Immaculately garbed in sharp livery of dark gray, the footman led Ruark into the wood-paneled stair hall and up the stairs at a maddeningly sedate pace. At this rate, he might arrive by tomorrow. He supposed the snaillike progress was designed to allow the duke and Lady Cassandra time to join him. If he made it to the drawing room.

On the journey—for it felt as long as the time required to travel from London across Wales and over the Irish Sea to his home on the west coast of Ireland—Ruark studied the portraits lining the wall above the staircase. He recognized one of his friend, Lucien, and his older brother, Constantine. They were young boys, perhaps five and seven, and even then, one could see that Constantine possessed the more serious nature, while Lucien was clearly full of mischief.

At last, they reached the top of the stairs, and the footman slightly increased his pace.

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