Hugh pressed his lips together. “It is ludicrous to think that you would wish me to offer for her without speaking to her.”
“Well, you’ve spoken to her twice now, and where did it get you? I came out too late to hear the entire scope of your conversation, but it was evident it was not going well. My daughter is in a huff.”
“I thought I owed her the courtesy of allowing her to know the truth about her fiancé,” he admitted, thrusting his shoulders back when Quinton gasped in horror. He was not going to be pushed around by this man who seemed to not even care about his daughter’s well-being.
Quinton’s expression calmed slightly. “If you were as vague in that explanation as you were with me, I assume she did not believe you andthatis why you two quarreled.”
“She is loyal. That is a fine quality under every circumstance but this one, when I need to shake her faith in Walters and force her to protect herself. I question why you would not be just as concerned about her future as I am.”
“I am concerned,” Quinton said, his frown deepening. “Although I do see her connection to him, there is no doubt that Walters has an interest in her dowry. But there are many men who marry with money in mind. It’s the way of our world. He brings certain advantages to the match, himself.”
“And what are those?” Hugh asked, unable to mask his disgust with either man.
“Connections,” Quinton said softly.
Hugh stared at him. “I have made quite a study of Aaron Walters in the past year or so. He has nogoodconnections, that is certain. Do you truly want to involve yourself in the kind of men he could bring to you?”
“Money is money, Your Grace,” Quinton said. “Amelia’s dowry was provided by her mother’s family, in a way that I cannot touch.”
Money. It was all about money.
Quinton let out his breath in a deep sigh before he continued, “But now that you’ve stirred her up, Amelia could very well run off to Gretna Green with the man, and then neither of us get what we want. I will have no promises and you no revenge for whatever wrong you accuse him of.”
Hugh pushed his disgust about Quinton away at that thought. The viscount was right. After all, Lizzie had run with Walters when the man felt his future threatened. Why wouldn’t Amelia do the same? And the pain that would follow would also be similar. He knew what it would be like. He certainly didn’t wish it on the bright light that Amelia seemed to carry within her.
“You want me to offer for her,” he said softly as his options faded down, whittled away to only one.
“Yes. If we could come to terms about money and connection, I would much rather see my daughter so elevated to your title.” Quinton shrugged.
Hugh let out his breath slowly. “Fine. I will offer. But she despises me and she is engaged to another man. There is no way she won’t spit in my face if I try to persuade her.”
Quinton chuckled. “She would likely do that. She has fire in her that will have to be extinguished by whatever man takes her hand. And yet she can be manipulated, if the pressure points you apply are correct.”
“What pressure points?” Hugh asked.
Once again, Quinton smiled, almost a look of pride on his thin face. “You’ll see. Give her a night to settle down and come call on me tomorrow after lunch. Follow my lead and I assure you, you will have your prize.” He turned toward the house. “For now, I shall escort her home and do what I can to smooth her ruffled feathers.”
Hugh watched him go and bit back a curse. He did not like this, not one bit. But right now there seemed little choice. Not for him.
Not for her.
Amelia clenched her hands as she made her way through the ballroom and into the retiring room that was attached to the larger space. Inside, ladies could find smelling salts, cool water and a place to gather one’s thoughts in the midst of the chaos of a ball.
Tonight she needed the latter. Desperately. And she was pleased when she found the small room devoid of other guests who might insist on chatting with her. She threw herself onto a fainting couch that was pressed against one wall and folded her arms. Her mind buzzed with everything that had happened between herself and the Duke of Brighthollow since he had asked her to dance.
And not just the horrible things he’d said about Aaron. No, she was just as turned upside down by the way his hands had held her so tightly as they danced, by the way he looked at her when he spoke to her on the terrace…by the way her own heart quickened when he did both.
She hated him. And she hated herself when she was with him. For making her forget Aaron. For making her…well, for a moment she had doubted her fiancé. What did that make her?
The door to the retiring room opened and Emma—the Duchess of Abernathe—entered, her cheeks flushed and a wide smile on her pretty face. When she saw Amelia sitting on the settee, that smile fell. “Oh, Amelia, is everything well?”
Amelia tried to force a smile of reassurance but could not muster it. She shook her head. “I’m sorry to be rude, Your Grace, but I must say that your friend is a terrible, horrible man.”
Emma blinked, clearly in confusion and then gingerly sat on the opposite end of the fainting couch. “My friend? You’ll have to be more specific.”
“The Duke of Brighthollow,” Amelia huffed.
Emma’s expression softened slightly. “I noticed you two were dancing earlier. You do not like him?”
