“Congratulations, Your Grace. That was an impressive shot.”
“Thank you, my betrothed.” The words came out steadily. Practiced. Empty.
She held his gaze for a beat. Then she turned and walked across the field to where Wilfrey stood alone, his bow resting against his hip, his expression carrying the quiet dignity of a man who had come second and would not complain about it.
Hugo watched her touch Wilfrey’s arm. He watched her tilt her head and say something that made Wilfrey’s shoulders relax and his mouth curve into a small, grateful smile. He watched her do everything he had taught her, every gesture and every technique and every carefully calibrated response, deployed with flawless precision on the man she had chosen over him.
Hugo turned and walked off the field.
He did not stop when Edward called his name. He did not stop when a footman offered him a glass of lemonade. He crossed the south lawn, rounded the corner of the east wing, and keptwalking until the noise of the party faded and the only sound was his own breathing and the crunch of gravel beneath his boots.
He stopped at the garden wall. He set his palms flat against the warm stone and bowed his head and breathed.
He had hit the bullseye because he could not bear to let another man win in front of the woman he wanted.
He had walked off the field because he could not bear to watch her comfort the man who lost.
And the worst part, the absolute, unforgivable worst part, was that he had no right to feel any of it. He had built this arrangement. He had designed the lessons. He had selected the gowns, planned the house party, and invited Wilfrey into his home with the explicit purpose of delivering Lily into his arms.
And now the machine was working, and he wanted to tear it apart with his bare hands.
Hugo pressed his forehead against the stone and closed his eyes.
He stayed there until the anger cooled to something he could carry. Then he straightened, adjusted his cravat, and walked back toward the house with the expression of a man who had simply needed a moment of air.
No one questioned it.
No one except Edward, who watched him return with the quiet, knowing gaze of a man who had warned him and would not sayI told you so.
Not yet anyway.
CHAPTER 19
“Meet me at the back entrance. Quietly.” Lily read the note a second time by the light of the candle on her bedside table.
The handwriting was unmistakable, bold, and slanted. The penmanship suggested a man who wrote quickly because his mind moved faster than his hand.
No signature. No explanation. Just the single instruction and the paper it was written on, which had appeared beneath her door while she was brushing out her hair for bed.
She set the note on the table and stared at it.
She should ignore it. She should blow out the candle, climb into bed, and pretend the note had never arrived, because nothing good had ever come from meeting a man in the dark. And nothing good would come from meeting this man in particular, not after the opera, not after the balcony, not after the kissthat she had spent every waking hour since trying to forget and failing with spectacular consistency.
She picked up the note and read it a third time.
Then she pulled on her spencer jacket over her nightgown, slipped her feet into her walking boots, and crept out of her room.
The corridor was dark and silent. The house had settled into the deep quiet of a country estate after midnight. The only sounds were the distant ticking of a clock and the occasional creak of old timber shifting in its joints. Lily moved through the shadows carefully enough, trying to avoid any creaking floorboards.
She found the back entrance and slipped through it into the night.
Hugo stood in the darkness beyond the door. His coat was unbuttoned. His fair hair looked silvery in the moonlight. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, utterly still, as though he had been there for hours and would have waited hours more.
“You are quite mad,” Lily whispered. “If anyone sees us out here, the engagement will be the least of our problems.”
“No one will see us. My staff is loyal, and I have asked them to alert me if any guest stirs.”
“That does not make this appropriate.”
