“And she told me that interaction did not go well,” Emma chimed in.
Hugh jerked his face to her, trying to determine how much she knew. “Did she?”
Emma nodded. “She was vague, but she seems to find you terribly heavy-handed and…unpleasant.”
He pressed his lips together. That was a poor start, indeed, but what could he expect? He had made a bad attempt to crush every dream the young lady had. Why would she not despise him? And after tomorrow, she would hate him even more.
“Not everyone marries for the same reasons,” he said, not meeting the eyes of all those happy couples. Not looking at what he would throw away because he had protected his sister’s virtue and his own bloody pride.
“And what are yours?” Simon pressed, using that gentle tone that had come so naturally to him over the years. He was the peacekeeper of their group. The coaxer. The tamer of wild beasts.
Hugh let out his breath slowly. “There are advantages to the match for me. For her. She is very beautiful, of course. Intelligent. It’s a good match. And I’d be able to protect—”
Graham lifted his brows as Hugh cut that sentence off. “Protect her?” he repeated. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Hugh turned and walked away from them. Not far, but far enough that they couldn’t see his face. He didn’t want any of them to see his face.
“I know a great deal about protection,” Graham said, crossing the distance Hugh had placed between them. “What do you need? How can we help so that you don’t make some kind of well-intentioned mistake?”
Hugh shut his eyes. Held them there, like the dark could block out the truth. Block out the questions. Block out the future.
Then he opened them and speared first Graham and then the others with a stern look. “Just support me. And her.”
He could see the arguments on the lips of all the others. See that the remainder of the night would consist of them wearing him down and demanding the truth and perhaps eventually prying it from him.
And then Diana stepped forward. She crossed to him and took his hand, her bright eyes holding his for a long moment. Then she leaned up and bussed his cheek. “Congratulations, Hugh. You have our support.”
That silenced the murmurs. Quieted the questions. And his reluctant friends approached and gave him the same felicitations she had done. But it felt like a funeral rather than a celebration of his pending engagement.
And perhaps that was fitting, after all.
Chapter Six
Hugh stood in the same parlor where he had first met Lord Quinton less than a week before. Today he faced the door, feet widely spread, hands clenched behind him. He was waiting for an executioner. Waiting for the inevitable.
It had been a sleepless night of pondering this decision. Trying to see if there was a way out of it. Only there was none. That became clearer by the moment. If he did not marry this young woman, she would be caught up in the snare set for her by Aaron Walters. He would take her dowry, he would turn away from whatever false costume he put on himself for her, and she would suffer.
Hugh would watch it. He would not be able to look away. And he would know it was his fault. He would know he had not done the right thing. The good thing.
Perhaps, given time, he could have convinced Amelia of the truth of the man she believed she loved. She was bright—she would see it. Only he was not being given that time. Her father had a purpose in mind: marry her off. And whether he received Hugh’s good connections and money or Walters’ poor connections didn’t matter to him. He would have his announcement and his wedding, the good of his daughter be damned.
Now Hugh was left with this. Destroy her hopes. Kill her dreams. Steal her future. Marry himself to a lady he didn’t know, one who apparently thought very little of him.
But it would save her. In the end, perhaps she would come to appreciate that.
The door to the parlor opened and Quinton stepped in. As Hugh moved forward, the viscount stepped aside and revealed his daughter. Hugh caught his breath. She wore a blue gown that matched the cornflower of her eyes to perfection. She lifted those eyes to him, and for a moment he saw a flare of heat. Of interest.
Then it was replaced by contempt and she folded her arms in frustration. But he had seen the first. Her fleeting desire called to his own. If he married her, he could slake that. Drown in it.
And introduce her to pleasures untold.
“Your Grace,” Quinton said, his tone smug. “You’ve come. Very good. We can resolve this issue swiftly and move forward.”
Hugh shook his head slightly. God’s teeth, this man. He’d said Hugh was to follow his lead in convincing Amelia to wed him. He had no choice, but he hated it, for he didn’t trust the viscount in any way.
“Yes, I look forward to handling this matter,” he said. “Miss Quinton.”
She met his eyes briefly. “Your Grace. I shall leave you and my father to whatever business you have to attend to.”
