He arched a brow, and she waited for a storm to explode in him. Perhaps she wanted it, just to see that he was capable offeeling.
But he didn’t. Instead, he bent his head. “I’m afraid you will, my dear,” he said softly. “And quickly. It must…it must be this way. I’m sorry.”
She heard those words come from his mouth. Perhaps meant to soothe her. Comfort her. Absolve himself. She wasn’t certain. All she knew was that they inspired dark anger in her and desperation.
“If you are sorry…” she said, grabbing for his hand. When she touched him, that hateful awareness woke in her, defied her anger and pain. Still, she clung to him. “If you are sorry, then don’t do it!”
She stared up at him, then to her father. They were equally immovable, and she saw that she had no cards to play here. No way out. And with a sob, she dropped his hand and ran from the room, away from the cruelty that had stolen the hopes and dreams she had so carefully crafted.
Hugh was shocked at his reaction when Amelia burst into tears and ran from the room. The guilt of the action ripped through him, exposing all the nerves he normally protected and causing pain unlike any he’d felt in a very long time. He wanted, quite irrationally, to go to her. To comfort her. To help her somehow. Or at least to make her understand.
But he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t explain the reasons behind what she could only judge as his cruel actions. He couldn’t tell her the stakes. Because of Lizzie. Because of his own pride.
“You’ll take care of the special license,” Lord Quinton said, his tone lacking any of the empathy Hugh currently felt for the man’s daughter.
Hugh faced him. “Thatwas your way of convincing her? To tell her that I’m blackmailing you? She now hates me more than ever.”
“But she’ll do it, won’t she?” Quinton asked. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Not like this,” Hugh said softly, staring off again at the place where she had run. He glanced at Quinton. “You’ll watch her carefully during the next few days? To ensure she doesn’t run in her desperation.”
Quinton wrinkled his brow like he didn’t understand. “You think she would let me be destroyed?”
Hugh huffed out his breath. In this man’s mind, he was the center of the universe, certainly his daughter’s universe. The concept that she might put her own desires above his, that she was owed the right to do so, was utterly foreign to him.
“Will you watch her?” Hugh ground out through clenched teeth.
“Yes, yes,” Quinton said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Hugh shook his head. He certainly did not trust that answer, so he would have to take care of that himself. He strode to the door and out into the foyer, with Quinton trailing along behind him.
“I’ll have the special license in a day or two,” Hugh said. “We will marry as soon as it is done.”
“I’ll be sure she is ready, whether she likes it or not.” Quinton’s tone had a touch of laughter to it, as if forcing this woman to do what she did not like was humorous.
Hugh pivoted and speared him with a dark glare. “Be kind to her, my lord. Be extra kind to her during the next few days. If I hear you have been anything but that, I will be very angry and you do not want to see that, I assure you.”
Quinton drew back a fraction, and then he nodded. “Certainly, I can do that. Anything to have her in the right mindset, eh?”
Hugh rolled his eyes at the utterly selfish and stupid man who stood before him. One who had no understanding whatsoever at how to behave in a decent or loving manner.
So Amelia would come to Hugh with hate and desperation. With heartbreak and resistance.
And in that moment Hugh vowed, if only to himself, to do whatever it took to help her in that pain. To accept all her hate without reaction, and hope, one day, that she would no longer despise him.
Chapter Seven
Amelia hadn’t slept, and her entire body ached as she paced her chamber in a cloud of utter despair. When the door opened, she hardly registered it and did not greet Theresa as she entered the room and clucked her tongue gently.
“Oh, miss,” she said, and moved forward to fold Amelia into a brief hug.
Amelia sank into it, letting her emotions overwhelm her for the briefest of moments. They welled up, crashing over her like a wave from a stormy sea and she was going to drown in them. Which didn’t seem the worst end when she considered the alternative.
“Come sit,” Theresa said gently, helping Amelia to her dressing table where she began to brush her hair over and over in long, soothing strokes. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No,” Amelia croaked, looking at herself in the reflection. A few days ago she had done this and seen all her hopes and dreams. Today she saw only sorrow. Betrayal. Uncertainty.
“Your father went out,” Theresa said, her tone now thick with judgment. “He said there was much to do.”
