And yet…
“There was only one thing missing, I suppose,” she mused, almost more to herself than to Theresa.
The maid hesitated. “Something missing? Whatever could it be? You have not mentioned it before.”
Amelia worried her lip and caught Theresa’s eyes in the mirror’s image. “I was trying not to be greedy. Trying not to look for where the moment lacked.”
“And where did it?” Theresa asked, and her face was lined with concern as she moved around to look at Amelia directly.
“A kiss,” Amelia whispered, and bent her head as heat flooded her cheeks.
“Miss Amelia!” Theresa burst out in surprise. “A lady ought not—”
Amelia got to her feet and fled across the room to escape the words coming from Theresa’s lips. “I know, I know what I ought not to want. And I suppose I’d rather he be proper with me. And yet I did want him to do it regardless. When else would a stolen kiss be more expected than when making such a proposal?”
Theresa sighed, and Amelia turned to find a still-troubled look on her face. She shook her head. “There will be plenty of time for kissing after. I’m certain he must want the same things you do. You’ll have your whole life to…learn what those things are.”
Theresa was blushing quite as dark as Amelia knew she herself was. She lifted her cold hands to her cheeks with a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Theresa insisted, and looked her up and down. “Now, you look lovely and ready to join your father for tea.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “I’ll go to him now.”
Theresa waved her off and turned to tidy up her dressing table. Amelia took her leave, heading into the hallway and down the long back stair that would take her to the parlor where her father likely awaited her arrival. He would be cross if she was late, so she scurried through the dim hallways. She was just turning down the last one and could see the parlor door when she came to a stop.
Their family butler, Fielding, was coming her way down the long hallway from the direction of the foyer. And he was not alone. Following him was a very tall, broad-shouldered man. His hair was bound back in a queue and his dark eyes were focused. He had a grim line to his mouth and did not seem to notice her as he followed the butler right into the parlor where her father waited.
She stared as they disappeared. She didn’t know the man. Not that she knew every person her father had a reason to interact with. But she had played hostess in this house for several years and she would have remembered the dark, very handsome stranger who had intruded in their halls.
She turned away from the door at that thought. She was engaged. It was not right to be calling him handsome. Thinking that he was. Noticing it…that was a betrayal, was it not? Certainly she would not want to hear of Aaron ogling some young lady who had come to call on his family.
Not that she had met his family or knew much about them.
She pushed all those jumbled thoughts away and approached the parlor as Fielding exited the room. He met her gaze as he shut the door.
“Good afternoon, Fielding,” she said softly. “Who was that man?”
He glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment she saw a nervous expression cross over the normally implacable butler’s face. “The Duke of Brighthollow, miss,” he said. “He arrived unexpectedly to see your father.”
“A duke?” Amelia repeated as she stared at the shut door. “How curious.”
Of course her father knew dukes—he’d taken her to plenty of balls and gatherings where those of rank were in attendance. But there was a marked difference between a lesser viscount and a man of such status. Normally they didn’t call.
“Quite, my lady,” Fielding said.
“Well, I assume that means my father will be busy for tea.”
“I believe so, Miss Amelia. I shall have a tray sent to the blue parlor if you’d like.”
She nodded. “Thank you, that would be perfect.”
The butler executed a smart bow and then hustled off to take care of his business. Amelia stared at the door. It was too thick to hear anything that was going on inside, of course. Not that it was a ladylike thing to eavesdrop. She sighed and turned to take herself to the other parlor for her tea.
Whatever this duke wanted with her father, certainly she would hear about it soon enough. And in the end, it probably wasn’t a visit of any consequence anyway. Nothing to do with her and nothing that would make any kind of difference in her already planned out life.
Hugh sat in a comfortable chair across from Lord Quinton, watching as the man poured them each a drink. He was having a hard time reading the man he had come to call upon. All he could truly tell about Quinton was that he was surprised to be visited by a man addressed as Your Grace.
And why wouldn’t he be? Hugh had spent the day since he discovered Aaron Walters’ engagement researching the family of the lady in question. Lord Quinton’s line was not a very important one and it was attached to only a modest fortune. He was part of Society, of course, but he tended to mix mostly with those of a slightly lower rank.
Perhaps that was why Walters had chosen them. To marry the viscount’s daughter was certainly an elevation for him, but not one that would cause too much of a stir as he began his pretended courtship of the lady.
Hugh swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat every time he thought of that bastard and forced a smile as Quinton brought him sherry.
“I thought you might want something a bit stronger than tea,” Quinton explained as he settled into the seat near Hugh’s. He looked confused, but not particularly nervous at present. He wasn’t a large man. In fact, he was rather thin and hawkish in his appearance.
A short bit of silence thickened the air between them. “While I am honored at your unexpected arrival, Your Grace, and welcome you wholeheartedly to my home, I do admit I wonder what you could want,” Quinton said at last.
Hugh felt the corner of his lips quirk slightly. “So you are a direct man. Certainly I appreciate that. I shall be as direct.” He cleared his throat. “Recently I have heard rumors that your daughter…Amelia is her name, yes?”
Quinton’s brow wrinkled in deeper confusion. “Yes, Amelia is my only child.”
Hugh jerked out a curt nod. “Very good. I have heard rumors of her recent engagement to a—” He broke off for he was not about to call her fiancé a gentleman. “—a person named Aaron Walters.”
Quinton’s face faltered and annoyance flared in his eyes. “That girl. I give her one directive, to keep quiet, and she chatters incessantly like a foolish romantic. Where did you hear this rumor?”
Hugh narrowed his eyes at the dismissive way the man referred to his daughter. There was little affection there, it seemed. Could that mean this Amelia was even less protected than his own sister had been? After all, Hugh adored Lizzie—he was quick to protect her.
It did not seem Quinton was of the same mind.
“I did not hear this news because of anything your daughter said or did, I assure you,” he said softly. “As for where I came by the knowledge, it doesn’t really matter at this point. I know they are engaged.”
Quinton examined him closely and then threw up his hands. “Well, soon it will all be announced, so I suppose this murmuring you’ve heard matters little. I cannot imagine why it interests you, though, Your Grace. I am not exactly in your sphere, nor is the gentleman in question.”
“Quite,” Hugh said, still trying not to physically recoil at the concept that Walters was a gentleman of any quality. “I am here to discourage the match.”
All the color drained from Quinton’s face and he rose to his feet slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
Hugh stayed seated, allowing the other man to have the higher ground in his upset. There was no reason to be challenging, at least not yet. Quinton simply didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“The engagement must be ended,�
�� Hugh said, keeping his tone neutral. Calm. As if it meant nothing to him, when it most certainly did. “And before the public announcement in order to reduce the impact on your daughter’s reputation.”
Quinton shook his head. “You must be in jest, Your Grace. This man has made a reasonable offer for my daughter. She seems to care for him, as is in fashion at present. Why would I end it? And once again, why would you care? Do you have some kind of tendre for my daughter?”
Hugh pressed his lips together. “No, of course not. If I wished to press my own suit, I would have done so. As for why…”
He trailed off. The why of this situation was still devilishly sensitive. To tell it was to expose his own sister to gossip, rumor, innuendo. He had no desire to do this, even if he was driven to protect this unknown woman from a predator he had not stopped when he had a chance.
“Go on,” Quinton said, folding his arms. “Give me a good reason.”
“I have had dealings with Walters,” Hugh said carefully. “And I can assure you that he is not a good…person. I guarantee he does not have your daughter’s best interest at heart.”
The viscount’s gaze flicked over Hugh, and a shrewdness entered his gaze. “You and I have shaken hands at parties probably three times in the last decade. I doubt we’ve shared more than a minute’s conversation until today. And yet you want me to throw over the intentions of a man who has made himself known to us nearly every day for two months. You wish me to cast him aside as ungentlemanly based upon the most vague of accusations.”
“I can be no more specific,” Hugh said, and now he did rise, towering over the other man. “But my word is my bond—you may ask anyone who knows me. I am not a man to slander another lightly. What else can I say to convince you that this is not the best match for your daughter?”
Quinton observed him, and then he smiled just slightly. “You are not married, Your Grace.”
Hugh shifted as his meaning became clear. “I am not,” he admitted.
“Losing this match will cause me…troubles,” Quinton said with a scowl. “Are you willing to offer me a better option to consider?”
Hugh jerked back and staggered away. “What are you asking me?”
Quinton shrugged. “I need to marry my daughter away. This year is best. Trading an engagement to an unranked man for one to a duke seems quite beneficial to me.”
Hugh could not mask the shock from his face, no matter how hard he tried. “I have come here to warn you that your daughter is in danger and you try to…bargain with me?” he managed to grind out.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Quinton asked. “I have no idea if what you imply about Walters is true. You ask me to go on faith and destroy whatever arrangements I’ve already made with the man. And my daughter will be miserable if I do not allow her this marriage. Why should I not benefit and be able to present her with some kind of boon for herself to soften the blow?”
Hugh glared at the man as he tried to picture how he would have reacted if someone had come to him before Lizzie ran away with Walters. What he would have done and said in reaction if he could have shielded her from harm long before the damage was done.
And this man had none of those responses. He looked at Hugh only in terms of profit versus disadvantage to himself. Just as he must look at Walters, though Hugh could not picture what Quinton believed he was buying with his daughter’s dowry.
This woman—Amelia—she was in just as much peril at the hands of her father as she was with Walters, it seemed. But the idea of marrying her, a stranger…how could Hugh agree to it? Even the idea of placing a scandal on Walters’ doorstep, making it clear Hugh had stolen her away from him…even that did not lessen his hesitation. Though the idea of it was comforting, indeed.
“Let me meet her,” Hugh said softly. It was really the only way to know what to do next. And if he had a chance to speak with the young woman, perhaps he could convince her to break the engagement herself and that would end all this foolishness.
Quinton stroked his chin as he seemed to ponder that request. “You may see her,” he said, and stepped to the bell. He rang for the butler, who arrived shortly. Quinton shot Hugh a look before he said, “Fielding, ask Amelia to go pick some flowers for the hall.”
The butler glanced at Hugh with confusion. “Miss Amelia is having her tea in the—”
“Tell her to do it now,” Quinton insisted.
Fielding nodded and left the room. Slowly Quinton turned to Hugh, a smug expression on his face. Hugh stared. “You will not let me speak to the young lady. The woman you wish me to agree to wed.”
“Once you see her you will not need to talk to her, I think.” Quinton left the room, calling after himself. “It’s now or never, Your Grace. Let’s have this done.”
Hugh clenched his fists at his sides and followed the man from the room, his rage bubbling up in him with every step. He was steered down the winding halls of the viscount’s estate and out through a parlor that led to the veranda behind the house. As they exited the room, Quinton caught up a spyglass and strode to the edge of the terrace.
Hugh stepped up next to him and looked down into the garden. A young woman was strolling through the flowers, basket in hand, plucking a rose here, a daisy there. She had dark hair and a lovely figure, but she was too far away to make out any other features.
Quinton smiled and handed over the spyglass. Hugh took a deep breath and stared down at her. She had turned, and he caught his breath. Amelia Quinton was…stunning. That was the only way he could describe her. She was the kind of woman men would turn to look at if she passed them in the park. Her dark hair framed a pale face with full, pink lips that were naturally quirked into a half-smile. But what stood out, above all else, were her eyes. He had never seen such a blue before.
There was a stir of desire in his stomach that he had not felt in a very long time. A need that reared its head and made him want to get closer to this woman.
He lowered the glass and glared at her father, who had a mightily smug expression on his face. “She favors her late mother,” Quinton said at last.
Hugh handed over the glass and shook his head. “She is lovely, which of course you know since you are trading on that fact. But you cannot truly expect me to make an offer for her without knowing her. Without her consent.”
“She’ll give it,” Quinton said as he motioned Hugh back toward the parlor. When they stepped inside, Quinton turned toward him. “If we handle this situation very carefully.”
Hugh stared. “Handle it? What do you mean by that? You’ve told me she fancies herself in love with Walters.”
He flinched as he thought of Lizzie’s broken expression that night he’d found her with the bastard. Some version of that heartbreak had never gone away. It was always with her now. And he would do something similar to the woman outside.
“She also loves me,” Quinton said. “She’s always seeking my approval. Tell the right lie and she’ll come to heel quickly enough.”
Hugh’s stomach turned. “You are as bad as her fiancé.”
Quinton didn’t seem offended by that accusation. “You’re a man of the world, Your Grace. I’m surprised you do not understand how it works. We trade on relationships, we trade on what we can. If you do not like how you think Walters will treat her or how I treat her, you can save her.”
Hugh walked away, pinching his lips together. If he married this woman, it would do just that. Save her, even if she wouldn’t see it that way. And it would buy Hugh some time to expose Walters without revealing Lizzie. To keep that bastard from ever having the power to do this again.
But marry? A stranger? Under these circumstances? Everything in him chafed at the idea.
“She has a fine dowry,” Quinton said, and there was something harsh in his tone. “Her mother’s family made certain of it. You would lose nothing by marrying her. My name is respectable. It would be no different than if we arranged the union in a more traditional way.”
Hugh turned his face. He’d watched seven of his best friends fall madly, passionately and permanently in love with their wives in the past two years. He’d almost forgotten that wasn’t the way of the world, in truth. That arranged marriages unfilled by affection or passion, perhaps troubled by resentment and regret, were more common than love matches.
Not that he’d been looking for a love match to begin with.
“Let me think about it,” he said, his voice odd as it said those words almost against his very will.
Quinton threw up his hands in frustration. “You must think quickly, Your Grace. I have no reason not to carry on with arrangements just as they have been made. Amelia’s engagement will be announced in less than a week. Once that happens, your chance may be lost.”
Hugh stared at this man’s expression, and for a moment he felt incredibly sorry for the young woman in the garden. Did she know how little her father cared for her welfare? Did she know who her fiancé truly was at his core?
“Good day,” he growled as he pivoted on his heel and strode from the parlor toward the foyer. But as he walked away from Lord Quinton, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to images of Amelia Quinton. And wonder what the hell he should do now that the choices before him were so jumbled and so uncertain.
Chapter Three
Amelia did not know the Duchess of Willowby, at least not beyond the rumors that circulated in Society about the lady and her husband. He had resurfaced in good company after a long and mysterious absence just a year before and had swiftly married her. As for the lady, well, everyone knew she had not come from a house with a title or even a link to the nobility. Amelia’s father had grumbled a bit about that at the time.
Amelia had seen the lady once at a party, and she thought the duchess quite beautiful. She and the duke were also very clearly in love, which warmed Amelia to her even further. Now she smiled just thinking about it. Marrying for love certainly looked like a very good endeavor from the outside, and here she would soon do so herself.
The Duke Who Lied Page 3
