He slid a finger beneath her chin and tilted her tear-streaked face toward his. “No. Sweetest Lizzie, if you believed he cared for you and he took advantage, it is he who is the fool, not you.” He cleared his throat. “But I do wonder why you thought you could not tell me about him.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “He encouraged me to sneak out. Said he’d tried to talk to you and that you were uncertain based on his lack of title.”
Hugh pursed his lips. Lies. But ones his sister had somehow believed. “You thought I would be so cruel as to separate you from someone you truly loved, even if I believed he had your best interests at heart?”
She worried her lip, and that was his answer. “You are protective. I know you wish for me to be safe. To be settled well.”
He sighed. He’d had his part in this, it seemed. By not watching closely enough. By not pursuing the trouble he sensed when Lizzie withdrew. By not behaving in a way that made her feel she could speak to him about anything.
“Oh, and now I’ve ruined everything,” she said, putting her head back into her hands and returning to the sobs. “And after you’ve taken care of me for so long.”
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and smoothed a hand over her hair. “You’ve ruined nothing. I adore you, and being your older brother and your guardian has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Even if I have made a muck of it, it seems.”
Her sobs slowed and then ceased. She rested her head on his chest and let out her breath in a long sigh. “You haven’t made a muck of it. I thought he loved me. But he didn’t. So what will happen now?”
Hugh let out his own long sigh. He was pushed into a corner, a position he did not allow himself to take. Not ever. But for the first time since his parents’ deaths, his power could not save him. Or her. In fact, his power was an element in their demise if he wielded it too swiftly or strongly or harshly.
“I will pay him a handsome sum,” he said, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect.
“Take it from my inheritance,” she suggested as she pushed from his arms and used the edge of the bed to get back to her feet.
“I shall do no such thing.” He followed her up and shook his head. “I have more than enough money. Once he is paid, we will…move on. If you think you can do that.”
She lifted her chin ever so slightly, and he smiled, for he saw in her the strength of their mother, long buried in a cold grave beside her husband. When he caught her likeness in Lizzie’s face, it always lifted his spirits.
“Yes,” she said.
He watched her fix her hair swiftly, shoving pins from the bedside table in here and there until it was a messy bun. He hated that it reminded him of what had been happening when he entered. He didn’t know if she had truly surrendered her innocence to the man. In the end, it wouldn’t matter to the gossips. Ruin was ruin in these cases. The particulars were only fodder for the height of the flames of the destruction.
She faced him and swallowed hard. “I will do my best, Hugh. And I promise I will never do anything ever again that will force you into such a situation. I will look for respectability. I shall never seek out love. I promise.”
With that, she turned toward the door and moved outside to his horse. He watched her go, but her declaration gave him no pleasure. In the past year, he had watched several of his best friends find the deepest love. The idea that Lizzie would never seek it due to this unfortunate incident broke his heart.
And made him more determined than ever to fix it. He had to fix this. For her sake. For his own. And for whatever future both of them had laid out before them.
Chapter One
Late Summer 1812
Hugh swung down from his horse, jerking out a nod at the servant who rushed down to take the animal. With a long sigh, he looked up at the fine estate before him. His London estate, though it had never fully felt like his. None of the estates felt like they were, no matter how long he had been duke. It still felt like he was living a stolen life. A fraud who would be discovered at any moment when his own father returned from the dead.
How disappointed he would be in his son. Hugh knew that more than he knew anything in the world.
The door to the house opened and his longtime butler, Murphy, stepped out. Hugh forced himself out of the melancholy that had tracked his every move for over a year and climbed the steps two at a time to reach his servant.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” Murphy intoned as he took Hugh’s hat and gloves. “I hope your trip to Brighthollow was most excellent.”
Hugh barely contained his flinch at the benign words. He’d been at his country estate in Brighthollow for the past fortnight, tending to a bit of business and checking in on Lizzie. He’d begged her to come to London with him. She had refused.
After her ordeal the previous spring, she had not been the same. It felt like she was folding up into herself and there seemed to be nothing at all he could do about it.
“Uneventful,” he choked out, since Murphy was awaiting the barest politeness of a response. “Is there anything to report here?”
He began to walk toward his study, the butler keeping up with him at his heels. “You’ve several invitations from the members of your club, Your Grace.”
Hugh nodded. Of course he would. Since he was a boy he’d been the best of friends with a small group of men all destined to be dukes. The 1797 Club, they called themselves. He adored them all, but he could see the concern on their collective faces when he called on them. They knew something was wrong—he just hadn’t the heart yet to tell any of them the truth.
How could he? How could he reveal his sister’s deepest shame, how could he tell these men of honor that he had done nothing to the bastard who had hurt her? They’d say they understood, of course. They would, on some level. And yet he would feel his failure all the more if he dared speak it out loud.
