“Your Grace,” Pemberton began, his voice admirably steady despite the circumstances. “I can explain?—”
“Can you?” Hugo’s voice was deadly quiet as he approached, each step measured and deliberate. “Can you explain why you’re taking liberties with my daughter in a public garden? Where any member of society might have witnessed such… impropriety?”
Impropriety. Such a mild word for behavior that could ruin her reputation forever.
“Papa, please—” Rosalie started, her voice small and frightened.
“Silence!” Hugo’s gaze never left Pemberton’s face, cataloging the young man’s pallor, the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides. “I’m waiting for this explanation.”
He’s afraid. Good. He should be afraid.
Behind him, he could hear Sybil’s quick footsteps on the gravel path, but his attention remained fixed on the boy who’d dared to compromise his daughter.
“Your Grace,” Pemberton swallowed hard but met Hugo’s gaze directly, “I assure you my intentions toward Lady Rosalie are entirely honorable?—”
“Honorable?” Hugo’s laugh was harsh, without any trace of humor. “Honorable men don’t steal kisses in gardens, boy. They declare their intentions through proper channels with appropriate respect for a lady’s father and family.”
“Papa, you don’t understand—” Rosalie stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something that looked dangerously like defiance. “Thomas has already declared his intentions. He’s asked for my hand in marriage.”
Asked for her hand. Without consulting me. Without showing proper respect.
The fury that had been simmering in Hugo’s chest exploded into white-hot rage. The boy hadn’t just taken liberties with his daughter—he’d completely circumvented Hugo’s authority as her father.
“Asked for your hand,” Hugo repeated slowly, his voice soft with menace. “And when, exactly, did this proposal occur? Before or after you decided to make free with my daughter’s person?”
“Before,” Pemberton said quietly though his voice wavered. “Just tonight, actually. I was overcome with emotion when Lady Rosalie accepted?—”
“Emotion.” Hugo’s tone could have frozen the Thames in July. “How convenient. And it never occurred to you that a gentleman seeks the father’s permission before proposing?”
“Your Grace, I fully intended to speak with you tonight. After the ball concluded. I wanted Lady Rosalie to have a chance to answer first?—”
“What you wanted was to circumvent my authority entirely.” Hugo’s voice was climbing now, his control slipping.
“Hugo,” Sybil appeared at his elbow, her voice urgent. “Perhaps we should discuss this more privately?—”
“Privately?” He spun to face her, amber eyes blazing. “You want me to discuss privately the fact that this boy has compromised my daughter’s reputation?”
“I haven’t compromised anyone,” Pemberton protested, stepping protectively in front of Rosalie. “I love her more than my own life, and she’s accepted my proposal of marriage.”
“Papa, I kissed him,” Rosalie said desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thomas didn’t force anything. I was so happy?—”
“That you forgot every lesson in proper behavior I’ve ever taught you?” Hugo’s attention snapped to his daughter, his fury ratcheting higher. “That you decided to behave like a common?—”
“Hugo!” Sybil’s voice cracked like a whip. “That’s quite enough.”
“Is it? Because my daughter has just admitted to initiating improper behavior with a man who had no right to accept such advances.”
“It was just a kiss, Papa,” Rosalie sobbed. “One kiss, because I love him?—”
“You thought wrong.” Hugo’s voice was flat and final, carrying the full weight of ducal authority. “Lord Pemberton, you will meet me at dawn in four days time.”
A duel. Yes, that’s what honor demands. Satisfaction for the insult to my family’s name.
The color drained completely from Pemberton’s face, but he nodded stiffly, his jaw set with grim determination.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll arrange for seconds immediately.”
“Hugo, no!” Sybil grabbed his arm with both hands, her grip desperate. “You can’t be serious. A duel? Over a kiss between two people who love each other?”
