Two people who think they love each other. Two children who have no concept of the consequences of their actions.
“They are not engaged,” he said coldly, pulling free from her grip. “Without my permission which has decidedly not been granted.”
“Papa, please,” Rosalie was sobbing in earnest now, her carefully arranged hair coming loose from its pins. “Don’t do this. Thomas is a good man. He makes me happy. He’ll be a wonderful husband?—”
“Lord Pemberton will be a dead man if he doesn’t learn proper respect for authority,” Hugo said grimly, his decision made and unshakeable.
“Your Grace,” Pemberton stepped forward, his face pale but resolute, “I accept your challenge without reservation. But I want you to know that I would never intentionally dishonor Lady Rosalie or your family. I love her with everything I am.”
Love again. Always love, as if emotion excuses everything.
“How remarkably touching,” Hugo replied with arctic courtesy. “Dawn, then. Hyde Park, by the Serpentine. Your seconds can arrange the details with mine.”
“Hugo, please,” Sybil’s voice was breaking now, desperate with fear. “This is madness. You’ll destroy them both. You’ll destroy Rosalie’s happiness for the sake of your wounded pride.”
“I’ll restore my family’s honor,” he corrected coldly. “Something that boy should have considered before taking liberties with my daughter.”
“But Papa—” Rosalie started forward, but Pemberton caught her hand.
“It’s all right, my darling,” he said quietly though his voice shook with emotion. “Your father is within his rights. I should have spoken to him before proposing. I should have been more careful of your reputation.”
“Thomas, no,” Rosalie whispered. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you risk your life for me.”
“I would risk far more than my life for you,” Pemberton replied, raising her hand to his lips in a gesture that was both tender and heartbreaking. “You’re worth everything to me.”
“How very noble,” Hugo said dryly. “I’m sure your nobility will be a great comfort to Lady Rosalie when she’s wearing mourning clothes.”
“Hugo!” Sybil’s voice was sharp with shock. “How can you be so cruel?”
“I’m being honest about the likely outcome of tomorrow’s meeting,” he replied with icy calm. “Perhaps Lord Pemberton should have considered such possibilities before he decided to compromise my daughter.”
As he turned to stride back toward the house, Hugo could hear the sound of Rosalie’s sobs mixing with Sybil’s desperate attempts at reason and Pemberton’s quiet words of comfort. But the roar of blood in his ears drowned out their words.
And if young Lord Pemberton didn’t survive the encounter, well… perhaps that would serve as a lesson to other young men about the importance of showing proper respect for the daughters of dukes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sybil found Hugo in his study at half past midnight, standing before the cold fireplace with a glass of brandy in his hand. The ride home from the Pemberton ball had passed in suffocating silence, broken only by Rosalie’s muffled sobs from the corner of the carriage.
He looks like a stranger. Like the cold, intimidating duke I first met all those months ago.
“Hugo,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “We need to discuss what happened tonight.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge her presence beyond a slight stiffening of his shoulders. In the lamplight, his reflection in the dark window showed a face carved from stone.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said finally, his voice flat and emotionless. “I will receive satisfaction for Lord Pemberton’s insult, and that will be the end of it.”
“Hugo, this isn’t the medieval ages. You can’t solve every problem with violence.”
“Perhaps that’s been my mistake all along. Being too soft, too willing to compromise.” He turned then, and the look in his amber eyes made her take an involuntary step backward. There was nothing of warmth there, nothing of the man who’d held her tenderly just that morning.
“I should have maintained proper discipline from the beginning,” he continued, moving to his desk. “Should have kept Rosalie on a tighter rein instead of listening to your advice about giving her freedom.”
The accusation hit Sybil like a physical blow. “You’re blaming me for what happened tonight?”
“You’re the one who convinced me to be less strict with her.”
“I said she needed guidance, not imprisonment. There’s a difference between discipline and tyranny.”
