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. “Ifwe 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.Saveher, 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.Hehad 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 door to the parlor opened and the duchess stepped inside. Up close, she was even prettier, with thick, auburn hair, stunning green eyes and a mischievous tilt to her lips. Amelia smiled at her and watched as the lady’s gaze flitted over her from head to toe. She suddenly felt as though she was being sized up, and she shifted with discomfort at the idea.
But then the duchess smiled and crossed to Amelia with her hand extended. “Miss Quinton, welcome. Thank you for coming to share tea with me. I greatly appreciate it.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Your Grace,” Amelia said as the two women shook hands. “Your home is lovely.”
“As are you. And you must call me Diana.” With that stunning request made, the duchess turned away and moved to the sideboard where she began preparing the tea.
Amelia blinked at her hostess. “D-Diana? Your Grace, I do not think that would be—”
“Appropriate?” Diana finished with a laugh. “I’m certain not, but I care little about that. I did not come up in Society, and I think so many of their rules so silly. If we’re to be friends, why wouldn’t we call each other by our given names? Anyway, when someone addresses me as Your Grace, it puts me to mind of my mother-in-law, and she is not a very nice person. Let her have the formality, for she revels in it.”
