“And what of yours?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone as calm as his. “How can you dare speak to me of honor after what you’re doing right at this very moment?”
Despair flashed through his gaze, and she jolted as she recognized it. It was deeply sad and seeing him lose control even that tiny bit made her long, quite powerfully, to reach out and take his hand. Even though she hated him.
She hated him, didn’t she? She had to cling to that.
“Right now you despise me,” he said. “I deserve that, though it is not how I would ever choose to begin a union with any woman. But I assure you, there is more to the story of how we got here then you know. And, I hope, more to me.”
She held his gaze a long moment, then settled back against the carriage seat. “So who are you?”
He seemed surprised at the question. She was rather surprised she’d asked it. But since this marriage was happening, it behooved her to find out something about the man who would soon enough be her husband.
“I am Hugh Margolis, sixteenth of my line,” he began, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “And fifty-third in line for the throne, or so I am told.”
She shook her head. “Those things tell me nothing aboutyou.”
He hesitated, and then sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of man are you? What are your interests? Your pursuits? Your passions?”
He watched her, as he always watched her. “I am the older brother of one sister, Lizzie. I adore her beyond measure and would do…I would doanythingto protect her. To ensure her future.”
Amelia tilted her head. For the first time, something he said didn’t seem measured or careful. He truly loved his sister, that was evident in everything about his countenance and tone. And for a brief moment, she felt an odd connection that wasn’t like the physical draw she normally felt toward him.
“I hope I am a good friend,” he continued. “I am part of a club of other dukes—we have known each other since we were boys. They’re like my brothers.”
“Family is important to you,” she said.
He nodded, and it was clear he was uncomfortable with this kind of conversation. Still, he carried on. “I ride. I shoot. I read a great deal,” he continued.
Amelia pursed her lips. She wanted him to be the monster who had stolen her away from a future with her prince. But right now Hugh Margolis, Duke of Brighthollow, seemed very…normal. Even a bit likeable.
“As for my passions,” he said, and she jerked her head up at the thickness of his voice. The darkness that had entered into it and now called to the curling heat in her stomach that she had no concept of how to fight. “There are those, too.”
She licked her lips without meaning to. Suddenly the carriage felt close, the air between them thick. Something was going to happen. Something…
But before it could, the carriage turned onto the drive of her father’s estate and drew to a stop. As the rig rocked while the servants climbed down, the spell between them was broken. She turned her face, staring at her clenched hand on the seat. “I still strenuously object, Your Grace.”
“To the marriage,” he said.
She nodded and forced herself to look at him. “But I also acknowledge that thisisthe future for us both. And I promise you that I shall make the best of it.”
He inclined his head. “I appreciate that, Amelia. And for my part, I promise to make your future as bright as I can, while I hope that some day you will forgive me the circumstances that forced this terrible situation.”
Forgive him? Amelia stared into his handsome face and wondered…if he wanted to earn her forgiveness, why was he driving her so hard toward the altar? But there was no answering that question. Not yet.
Perhaps not ever.
“Good day,” she said as a footman approached to escort her from the carriage.
“Good day,” he repeated softly, and let her go without another word.
But as his carriage pulled away, she could not help but turn and watch him go. Whatever was happening here, whatever drove this man, it was not cruelty. At least not toward her. And right now she felt so many conflicting emotions that she feared she would never sort them all out.
Chapter Nine
Hugh tugged on his fitted waistcoat and smoothed the fabric reflexively before he turned on the room full of his friends and forced a smile. In a short time, the ball to announce and celebrate his engagement to Amelia and their sudden wedding the next day would begin. But for now he was alone with some of the people who mattered most to him.
His friends were clustered together in groups. The closest one contained Robert, the Duke of Roseford; Ewan, the Duke of Donburrow; and Lucas. Ewan’s and Lucas’s wives were off with the other duchesses. Robert, who was the rogue of their circle, was not married, and at present his face was drawn down and red with upset.
