She drew a long breath and blinked at the tears that rushed to her eyes. His kindness didn’t make this easier.
“I-I came here because I must tell you in person. It is only fair.” She shook her head.
“Tell me what?” he asked, his brow knitting.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to be brave. “Aaron, I cannot marry you as we planned.”
The gentleness on his face departed in an instant, and he shook her hands away. “You are breaking our engagement?” he asked, his tone suddenly cold as an icy winter’s day.
She bent her head. “Not because of my desires, I assure you. It turns out my father owes a debt to a very powerful man. And they’ve made an arrangement that my marriage to him will settle it. They’re—” Her voice shook and she tried desperately to maintain control. “They’re making preparations even as we speak. I will likely be forced to wed him before the week is out.”
Aaron had been staring at her, his gaze even and cool and unreadable. Now he folded his arms. “Who?”
“The Duke of Brighthollow,” she whispered.
His nostrils flared slightly, and then he got to his feet. He paced away, stopping the sideboard where he splashed a generous amount of scotch into a tumbler and downed it in one angry sip. He shook his head, and then he let out a humorless laugh.
“That bastard. Always thwarting the best laid plans,” he said.
She stood and turned toward him, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What? What do you mean? Do you know the duke?”
He glanced at her, and then his expression grew sad as he set his glass away and sighed. “I’m afraid I do. I once lived in Brighthollow, myself. I certainly was not as elevated as the duke, but I knew of him. Talked to him in passing. He is a cold bastard, but what can you do when someone holds that much power? We had a disagreement over—”
He stopped and his mouth drew down deeply. She moved toward him. “Over what?”
“It hardly matters now,” he said. “It would be unseemly to discuss him, especially since it seems you will be forced to wed him. I would not want to poison your opinion of the man.”
She shook her head. “You could not. I already think him to be an ogre of the highest order. What he is doing to me is bad enough. But it seems he has some vendetta against you, as well.”
He nodded. “He does. And I fear you may have been placed in the middle of it. He despises me and would do anything to destroy my happiness. It is possible he…no, I will not speculate.”
She stared at him as the meaning of his truncated sentence became clear. “Do you think he bought my father’s debt as merely a means to lord it over him and force this marriage? Just to thwart you?”
Aaron searched her face, and she saw just how emotional this situation made him. Still, he did not touch her as he sighed. “Perhaps. I would not put it past him.”
Amelia lifted her cold hands to her suddenly hot face and shook her head in horror. “And I shall marry this man!”
“Is there no way out of it?” Aaron asked, his tone very soft.
“I cannot think of one that would be honorable,” she whispered.
He opened his mouth as if he would speak, but before he could they were interrupted by a sudden and horrifying arrival. As if he had been conjured by their whispers, Brighthollow himself stepped into the room. Amelia saw him before Aaron did, and she skittered backward in surprise at his presence there.
He was staring not at Aaron, but at her. Those dark eyes were stormy clouds, hiding an explosion that was yet to come. Then his gaze flitted to Aaron and there was no mistaking his hatred for the person she cared so deeply for.
Aaron froze at her expression and slowly turned. Fear washed over his face as he stared at the intruder.
“B-Brighthollow,” he stammered. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I didn’t knock,” Hugh said, his voice rough with emotion. It was the first time she’d heard such a thing in him. He was normally so controlled. He looked past him and toward her again. His tone was surprisingly gentle as he said, “Miss Quinton, go to my carriage. Now, please.”
Her lips parted. “No, I will not leave you alone with him.”
Aaron broke the stare between the men and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, my dear. I’m certain the duke would not be so foolish as to hurt me when he knows you are a witness to his barging into my home uninvited. You may go to his carriage.”
She jerked her gaze between them, once again stripped of any choice or power in this beastly situation. Then she did as she’d been told and left them alone. And feared what would happen once she was gone from the room.
Hugh’s hands shook with rage as he watched Amelia slide past him from the chamber, her shoulders trembling and her mouth a thin, white line of displeasure. When she’d gone, he reached behind himself and yanked the door shut. Then he turned on this man he had hated for over a year.
All of Walters’ false kindness and gentleness was gone now that his audience had departed, and he smirked at Hugh. “I can always depend on you to destroy my best plans, can’t I?” he said with a laugh. Like they were equals. Like they were partners. Like they were friends.
“You bastard,” Hugh growled, just barely containing himself.
Walters shrugged. “Not everyone has your advantages, Your Grace. You are quick to judge what you don’t know. One must make a way in the world however one can.”
Hugh glared at him. “You think your position in life can excuse your actions? You prey on decent women, you use them, ruin them and take what you want. All for a chance to earn their purse.”
“Do you think I ruined your…I suppose she is your fiancée now, isn’t she?” Walters smiled, and it was smug and ugly. “Do you think you’re getting my seconds, Brighthollow?”
Hugh’s stomach turned at the thought that this self-satisfied pig had laid so much as a hand on Amelia’s body. It must have reflected on his face, for Walters let out a chuckle that grated along Hugh’s spine. “You ask her.”
It was enough. Too much. With a growl of feral anger, Hugh launched across the room and caught Walters by the lapels. He might have slammed him through the wall if the door behind them hadn’t opened. They both turned as a half-dressed, bed-messed woman stepped inside. She was haggard-looking, tired. A lightskirt—Hugh would lay a bet on it and know he’d win.
She glanced at them, seemingly unworried about the two men fighting in the parlor. “Is she gone? Can I take my money and go now?”
Hugh glanced back at Walters, who shrugged. “I get what I want when I want it,” he explained.
Hugh shook his head as he released him and backed away. “The circumstances of this situation keep me from destroying you. But I’m pleased to have bested you.”
Walters’ eyebrow arched. “Did you? You’ve disrupted me at most. And now you’ll marry my leftovers and I will go on to find a better, richer heiress to woo. While you are forever locked in a trap of your own honor.”
Hugh wanted to be the bigger man. The better man. But he couldn’t. He swung on Walters and connected squarely against his cheek, sending him flying backward across the room and into the wall beside the fireplace. Walters grunted in pain as he reached up to touch his already swelling eye.
“Stay away from my sister,” Hugh panted as he shook out his tingling hand. “And my…my wife.”
He said nothing more, but pushed past the bored prostitute and out of the house. Toward his carriage, where he’d now have to deal with Amelia. And hope he could recover the calm than he had lost with Walters.
Chapter Eight
Amelia jumped as the carriage door opened and Hugh climbed inside. His face was drawn and grim as he settled in across from her and lightly tapped on the wall behind him to indicate that they should move.
She glared at him and folded her arms like a shield in front of her. One he could so easily pierce that it was almost a joke. “Where is Cherr
y?”
His brow knitted. “Cherry?”
“My horse,” she explained.
He stared at her a beat, and some of the darkness bled away from his expression. “Of course you would worry about her. My man rode her back to your home,” he said. “So that we might talk.”
Relief flooded her, for at least she didn’t have to worry about her animal. Just herself.
“What is there to talk about?” she asked, happy her voice sounded braver than her body felt. “You followed me.”
Now his jaw set again, his dark eyes flashed with the anger he was controlling below the surface. “You dare be annoyed with me over that fact?”
“I’m angry with you for a great many things,” Amelia snapped, losing her own control in the face of his.
He leaned in. The action was sudden and she had no moment to brace herself for it. He was just there, closer, bigger in the small carriage. She had searched for that heated awareness when she found Aaron half-dressed a short time before. Searched and not found.
But here Brighthollow was fully dressed, not even touching her, and that despicable, heated feeling flowed through her without any trouble at all. She hated herself for it. Hated him even more.
“I’m certain you are very angry. Would you like to go ahead and vent all that right now?” he asked.
She wrinkled her brow. “What?”
“You’ve been holding it back. Why not just say what you feel? It’s better than keeping it in, I would say.”
“You want me to rail at you?” she asked. “I suppose so you can lord it over me like you’re lording my father’s debts over me?”
He turned his head and his lips pursed. “I will not.”
“And you think I believe any promise you make to me?” she asked, and the anger he demanded came right to the surface instantly. “After you lied to me about my fiancé, spreading scurrilous things about him. And when it didn’t work, you then manipulated a situation with my father so that I would have all my hopes and dreams stolen out from under me?”
To her surprise, he did not react to her anger, but sat still, allowing her to pour it out. Now that she had started, it was difficult to stop.
“I despise you down to my very core,” she continued. “I think you are a pompous, cruel person. Someone who would take whatever he liked with no thought for the consequences or damage he leaves behind. I hate you for forcing me to marry you. I hate how you make my stomach feel so odd when you just stare at me like you are. I hate…I hate you.”
His gaze fluttered just a fraction and swept over her face before he said, “Anything else?”
She swallowed. In truth, she did feel better getting to rail at him. Only she knew he would likely punish her for it. She braced herself for that. “No.”
He nodded slowly. “You are daring. It is not the worst quality a person can have. But I must ask, did you come here to run away with Walters?”
She recoiled. “No!”
“No?” There was no mistaking the surprise in his question. “Then why?”
She folded her arms all the tighter. “You think me to have no honor because you have so little? My father made a bargain with you, Your Grace. I have no intention of breaking it, especially considering the circumstances. But I did think I owed my fiancé—” She broke off and dipped her head. “My—my former fiancé, the truth. Before you and my father make your devil’s bargain public. Before our marriage takes place and he hears about it through Society whispers.”
Hugh did not respond immediately, he just watched her. Her heart thudded with anxiety. She kept going too far and she waited for him to grow angry or defensive. But he didn’t. His expression was neutral, unreadable, but he didn’t lash out at her. Not verbally, certainly not physically.
Finally, he said, “Your honor recommends you, Amelia.”
Her eyes went wide. That was the first time he had not addressed her formally as Miss Quinton. Truth be told, she liked Amelia better, but hearing him say it was still a shock.
And she reacted to the shock and the awareness and the interest she felt for this man by clinging to the anger and other darker feelings that boiled inside of her.
“And what of yours?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone as calm as his. “How can you dare speak to me of honor after what you’re doing right at this very moment?”
Despair flashed through his gaze, and she jolted as she recognized it. It was deeply sad and seeing him lose control even that tiny bit made her long, quite powerfully, to reach out and take his hand. Even though she hated him.
She hated him, didn’t she? She had to cling to that.
“Right now you despise me,” he said. “I deserve that, though it is not how I would ever choose to begin a union with any woman. But I assure you, there is more to the story of how we got here then you know. And, I hope, more to me.”
She held his gaze a long moment, then settled back against the carriage seat. “So who are you?”
He seemed surprised at the question. She was rather surprised she’d asked it. But since this marriage was happening, it behooved her to find out something about the man who would soon enough be her husband.
“I am Hugh Margolis, sixteenth of my line,” he began, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “And fifty-third in line for the throne, or so I am told.”
She shook her head. “Those things tell me nothing about you.”
He hesitated, and then sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of man are you? What are your interests? Your pursuits? Your passions?”
He watched her, as he always watched her. “I am the older brother of one sister, Lizzie. I adore her beyond measure and would do…I would do anything to protect her. To ensure her future.”
Amelia tilted her head. For the first time, something he said didn’t seem measured or careful. He truly loved his sister, that was evident in everything about his countenance and tone. And for a brief moment, she felt an odd connection that wasn’t like the physical draw she normally felt toward him.
“I hope I am a good friend,” he continued. “I am part of a club of other dukes—we have known each other since we were boys. They’re like my brothers.”
“Family is important to you,” she said.
He nodded, and it was clear he was uncomfortable with this kind of conversation. Still, he carried on. “I ride. I shoot. I read a great deal,” he continued.
Amelia pursed her lips. She wanted him to be the monster who had stolen her away from a future with her prince. But right now Hugh Margolis, Duke of Brighthollow, seemed very…normal. Even a bit likeable.
“As for my passions,” he said, and she jerked her head up at the thickness of his voice. The darkness that had entered into it and now called to the curling heat in her stomach that she had no concept of how to fight. “There are those, too.”
She licked her lips without meaning to. Suddenly the carriage felt close, the air between them thick. Something was going to happen. Something…
But before it could, the carriage turned onto the drive of her father’s estate and drew to a stop. As the rig rocked while the servants climbed down, the spell between them was broken. She turned her face, staring at her clenched hand on the seat. “I still strenuously object, Your Grace.”
“To the marriage,” he said.
She nodded and forced herself to look at him. “But I also acknowledge that this is the future for us both. And I promise you that I shall make the best of it.”
He inclined his head. “I appreciate that, Amelia. And for my part, I promise to make your future as bright as I can, while I hope that some day you will forgive me the circumstances that forced this terrible situation.”
Forgive him? Amelia stared into his handsome face and wondered…if he wanted to earn her forgiveness, why was he driving her so hard toward the altar? But there was no answering that question. Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
&
nbsp; “Good day,” she said as a footman approached to escort her from the carriage.
“Good day,” he repeated softly, and let her go without another word.
But as his carriage pulled away, she could not help but turn and watch him go. Whatever was happening here, whatever drove this man, it was not cruelty. At least not toward her. And right now she felt so many conflicting emotions that she feared she would never sort them all out.
Chapter Nine
Hugh tugged on his fitted waistcoat and smoothed the fabric reflexively before he turned on the room full of his friends and forced a smile. In a short time, the ball to announce and celebrate his engagement to Amelia and their sudden wedding the next day would begin. But for now he was alone with some of the people who mattered most to him.
His friends were clustered together in groups. The closest one contained Robert, the Duke of Roseford; Ewan, the Duke of Donburrow; and Lucas. Ewan’s and Lucas’s wives were off with the other duchesses. Robert, who was the rogue of their circle, was not married, and at present his face was drawn down and red with upset.
With a sigh, Hugh moved to that small circle and waited for the barrage. It didn’t take even a breath to start.
“This is foolishness,” Robert snapped, glaring at Hugh like he was doing something to personally offend him.
Ewan, who had been mute since birth, rolled his eyes and reached out to grasp Robert’s arm gently. His message was clear, even without his writing on the silver notepad he always carried in his pocket.
But Robert shook off the hand and continued, “It is one thing to marry for love—” He waved his hand at the room at large. “Like all these other idiots have done. But this? This sudden thing that no one can explain?”
“Robert.” It was Lucas who had spoken, soft but firm.
“Everyone stop Roberting me,” Robert said with a glare for the two of them. “I want to hear Brighthollow explain himself.”
Hugh cast a quick look at Lucas, the only one who knew the truth, and then sighed. “There are situations that crop up in a man’s life that sometimes require…sacrifices.”
The Duke Who Lied Page 8
