He hated himself for causing that emotion, but the other option was to crush her down to her very soul. To make her doubt what she’d known about her father, about him.
“I love you,” he said instead, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
She was clearly fighting to stay on topic, but at last she sighed. “I know that. And I hope you know that my interference, such as it is, is also born from love.”
“I do,” he said, and meant it. “I will come tomorrow, though I think you should let go of any notions you have in your head about me and Miss Monroe. She is charming, as you say, but there is no future there. I have other obligations that I must fulfill.”
There was a flash of disappointment over her face, but she wiped it away. “Whatever you say, Baldwin. You are certainly well capable of making your own decisions. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Now I must go—I have to make a stop to call on Mama and then Ewan is expecting me.”
Baldwin barely stifled a sigh of relief that she would go. He loved seeing her, but she laid bare the problems in his life, without even meaning to. He followed her into the foyer where he kissed her cheek. But as she turned to go, he said, “And why don’t you let me talk to Brighthollow?”
“If you think Hugh will listen to you and accept our invitation, I shall do just that. Send word of his response, though, so I may plan accordingly.”
He nodded and she squeezed his hand one more time before she hurried to her carriage and left him in a cloud of sweet perfume and bitter worries. About the future. About the past. And about a woman he really couldn’t have.
Hugh Margolis, Duke of Brighthollow, looked up from the letter on his desk and smiled as Baldwin stepped around his butler and into the room. Baldwin returned the expression even as he studied his old friend’s face.
Brighthollow had always been stern. There was a hardness to him, an edge that none of their other friends had. Of course, it was bound to be there. He’d been duke the longest, taking on the title when he was just seventeen, after his father and mother died in a terrible accident. He’d been left with a sister in his charge, twelve years his junior.
Brighthollow had grown up very quickly.
“You look like hell,” Hugh said with a chuckle.
Baldwin glared at him. “Thank you. I appreciate the kind concern, you lout.”
“Come in, sit down, have a drink. I was happy to receive your letter and happier still to receiveyou.” Hugh moved to the sideboard as he spoke and splashed scotch into a glass that he handed over.
“The same from my side,” Baldwin said as they lifted their glasses. “There are fewer and fewer in our ranks who are bachelors—we must stick together.”
He had meant the quip as a joke, but Hugh’s expression darkened and he took a deep sip of his drink before he said, “Ah yes, our friends who are deep in the throes of true love.” He rolled his eyes.
The harsh words made Baldwin examine his face more closely. There was more than Hugh’s usual seriousness in his eyes. There was…anger there. Darkness.
“Are you so opposed to true love?” Baldwin asked, choosing each word carefully.
Hugh shrugged. “I’m certain some find it and one cannot find fault with our friends’ choices of wives thus far, but…”
He trailed off, and Baldwin leaned forward. “But?”
“Not everyone is what they seem,” Hugh finished. “I have doubts that something so flippant as true love can last.”
Baldwin flinched. “I cannot argue the idea that some people are not what they seem.” He shifted. “Charlotte said she saw you at Mattigan’s.”
Hugh lifted his gaze from his drink. “Yes, I saw her yesterday, I think it was. She mentioned it to you?”
“Yes, and that she was attempting to coax you to supper tomorrow with the group and some outside friends.”
“I’m not in much of a humor to be around people, I’m afraid.”
Baldwin chuckled. “She mentionedthat, too.”
Hugh pushed to his feet. “If I offended her—”
“You didn’t,” Baldwin said. “Worried her, I think is more accurate, and sitting here with you, I must admit you are worrying me a bit, too.”
Hugh speared him with a glance. “So this isn’t a social call, but a fishing expedition.”
“It won’t be a fishing expedition if you don’t make me fish,” Baldwin said, getting up, too. “Do you want to talk about what is troubling you?”
