Tregarth arched a brow. “You can always throw Worthen out. And you cannot miss an opportunity to watch him squirm in discomfort. Surely you’re intrigued to know what he wants.”
Benedict sighed. Sparks of curiosity fired to life in his brain. Perhaps the earl had found the culprit and had come to make an apology. Perhaps the villain had concocted lies to incriminate the fool who’d been first to arrive at Hyde Park.
“If I’m to meet them, I shall do so on my own terms.” When his father frowned, Benedict added, “They think I’m a scandalous rogue and so a scandalous rogue is what they will get.”
* * *
Benedict kept the earl and Cassandra waiting for twenty minutes while he swallowed two glasses of claret and threw on his breeches and shirt. He mussed his damp hair. He didn’t bother with shoes or boots, a waistcoat or cravat and decided to let his shirt flap open, revealing his bare chest.
“You should wear boots,” Tregarth said, observing Benedict’s relaxed attire. “Bare feet suggests a certain submissiveness as opposed to a man who cares nothing for propriety.”
Feeling exposed without footwear, he took his father’s advice.
Benedict entered the drawing room to find the earl pacing, wringing his hands in frustration. Cassandra sat demurely in the chair flanking the hearth, her tired eyes and sullen face framed in a pretty poke bonnet. A fashionable cornflower blue pelisse and lemon kid gloves hid her bruises and scratches.
“About time.” Worthen blinked back his shock when he noted Benedict’s flagrant dishabille. He puffed out his chest in outrage and glared at his daughter. “Did I not tell you the shameless rogue was upstairs writhing with his mistress while we’re left waiting down here?”
“A rogue has no need of a mistress.” Benedict brushed his hand through his damp hair, aware of Cassandra’s intense gaze fixed on the opening of his shirt. “A rogue enjoys the freedom to bed any woman he chooses.”
Worthen sucked in a sharp breath. “This … this heathen isn’t worthy of our time or our regard.” His jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “His tainted blood makes him unfit for those in polite society.”
“Then leave.” Benedict gestured to the door. “As you say, I have more important matters that require my attention.”
Again, Worthen turned on Cassandra. “See, he doesn’t want you. He made that perfectly clear this morning. In your weak state, you’re allowing sentiment to cloud your mind.”
“Surprisingly, my head is clearer than it has been in years.” Cassandra’s confident voice supported her claim. She seemed different. Whoever had stripped her of her clothes and reputation had stripped away her arrogance, too. And she no longer sat rigid with fear in Worthen’s presence, no longer winced when the stern lord barked his commands. “Why would Mr Cavanagh want me when I have behaved so abominably?”
Shock stole the air from his lungs.
It was the first time Cassandra had admitted to her failings. Yet, regardless of how she behaved, a small part of him would always want the young woman he once knew. But surely they had not come expecting him to propose marriage. Worthen despised every bone in his body.
Benedict mentally checked the invisible suit of steel he wore to protect him from their endless taunts. The next few minutes would be unpleasant, to say the least.
“Why would I want you,” he agreed, “when you’re betrothed to Lord Murray, and you have already made it clear my lineage is lacking?” He couldn’t wait to hear Worthen explain that his beloved baron had failed to step up to the mark.
But it was Cassandra who spoke. “Timothy cannot marry a woman with a soiled reputation. His mother would never allow him to commit social suicide.”
“Then Murray doesn’t know a thing about love.”
“His love came with conditions,” she agreed with an air of indifference despite the fact her red-rimmed eyes bore the evidence of shed tears. “In the face of adversity, some people lack the heart to stand by their convictions.”
“Well, you would know.”
She took the verbal hit with equanimity. “Those who sow inconstancy reap it. Is that not how people learn and grow?”
“Education is all well and good as long as no one is hurt in the process.”
“Cease with this nonsense,” Worthen interjected. “I’ve heard enough pathetic talk to last a lifetime. Do you want to marry my daughter or not?”
“No.”
The earl looked flabbergasted. His cheeks ballooned. His eyes bulged, and he gasped like a fish out of water. “I told her all efforts to plead to your sense of honour were futile.”
Cassandra hung her head. It took a moment for her to gather her composure, and she rose gracefully to her feet. She closed the gap between them, captured Benedict’s hand and stared deep into his eyes.
“Where you’re concerned, I don’t deserve a second chance.” A sad sigh left her lips, though his body struggled to cope with the sudden surge of awareness that always accompanied close contact. “And you’re right to refuse. Had Timothy kept his oath, I would have married him and pushed all memories of the past aside.” Water welled in her eyes, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you for your assistance this morning. We shall leave you to attend to your guest.”
She released his hand, and he almost groaned at the loss. But he could not trust her motives, couldn’t trust her word. He could not live with seeing her every day, couldn’t risk joining her in bed. And yet his thoughts turned to her welfare. The earl must have exhausted every other suitor. Benedict must be her last hope. What would she do now? It shouldn’t matter to him. But it did.