by Julia Quinn
“The leg,” Hugh said. “It doesn’t hurt right now.”
“Oh.” It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that she had not inquired about his leg, but even she knew when good manners called for restraint. “The wine, I imagine,” she finally said. He hadn’t had much, but if he said that it helped with the pain, who was she to doubt him?
“It is difficult to bend,” he said. And then he did look at her, full straight and green. “In case you were wondering.”
“Of course not,” she said quickly.
“Liar,” he said softly.
Sarah gasped. Of course she had been lying, but it had been a polite lie. Whereas his calling her out on it had been most assuredly not polite.
“If you want to know about it,” Hugh said, cutting off a small bite of cake with the side of his fork, “just ask.”
“Very well,” Sarah said sharply, “are you missing any great big chunks of flesh?”
He choked on his cake. This gave her great satisfaction.
“Yes,” he said.
“Of what size?”
He looked like he might smile again, which had not been her intention. He glanced down at his leg. “I’d say about two cubic inches.”
She gritted her teeth. What sort of person answered in cubic inches?
“About the size of a very small orange,” he added. Condescendingly. “Or a somewhat massive strawberry.”
“I know what a cubic inch is.”
“Of course you do.”
And the bizarre thing was, he didn’t sound the least bit condescending when he said that.
“Did you injure your knee?” she asked, because drat it all, now she was curious. “Is that why you cannot bend it?”
“I can bend it,” he replied, “just not very well. And no, there was no injury to the knee.”
Sarah waited several seconds, then said, primarily between her teeth, “Why, then, can’t you bend it?”
“The muscle,” he said, letting one of his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “I suspect it doesn’t stretch the way it ought, given that it’s missing two cubic inches of, what did you call it?” His voice grew unpleasantly droll. “Ah yes, a chunk of flesh.”
“You told me to ask,” she ground out.
“So I did.”
Sarah felt her mouth tighten. Was he trying to make her feel like a heel? If there were any official society rules for how a gentlewoman was meant to behave with a partially crippled man, they had not been taught to her. She was fairly certain, however, that she was supposed to pretend that she did not notice his infirmity.
Unless he required assistance. In which case she was supposed to notice his limp, because it would be unforgivably insensitive to stand aside and watch him flounder. But either way, she probably wasn’t supposed to ask questions.
Such as why he couldn’t bend his leg.
But still. Wasn’t it his duty as a gentleman not to make her feel awful about it when she flubbed?
Honoria owed her one for this. Honoria probably owed her three.
Three of what, she wasn’t sure, but something large. Something very large.
They sat there for another minute or so, then Hugh said, “I don’t think your sister is coming back with cake.” He motioned very slightly with his head. Frances was waltzing with Daniel. The expression on her face was one of utter delight.
“He has always been her favorite cousin,” Sarah remarked. She still wasn’t really looking at Hugh, but she sort of felt him nod in agreement.
“He has an easy way with people,” Hugh said.
“It is a talent.”
“Indeed.” He took a sip of his wine. “One that you possess as well, I understand.”
“Not with everyone.”
He smiled mockingly. “You refer to me, I presume.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Of course not, but he was too intelligent for that. Instead she sat in stony silence, feeling very much like a fool. A rude fool.
He chuckled. “You should not chastise yourself for your failure. I am a challenge for even the most affable of people.”
She turned, staring at his face with utter confusion. And disbelief. What sort of man said such a thing? “You seem to get on well with Daniel,” she finally replied.
One of his brows rose, almost like a dare. “And yet,” he said, leaning slightly toward her, “I shot him.”
“To be fair, you were dueling.”
He almost smiled. “Are you defending me?”
“No.” Was she? No, she was simply making conversation. Which, according to him, she was supposed to be good at. “Tell me,” she said, “did you mean to hit him?”
He froze, and for a moment Sarah thought she’d gone too far. When he spoke, it was with quiet amazement. “You are the first person ever to ask me that.”
“That can’t be possible.” Because really, didn’t everything hinge on that one detail?
“I don’t believe I realized it until this moment, but no, no one has ever thought to ask if I meant to shoot him.”
Sarah held her tongue for a few seconds. But only just. “Well, did you?”
“Mean to shoot him? No. Of course not.”
“You should tell him that.”
“He knows.”
“But—”
“I said that no one had asked me,” he cut in. “I did not say that I had never offered the information myself.”
“I expect his shot was accidental as well.”
“We were neither of us in our right minds that morning,” he said, his tone utterly devoid of inflection.
She nodded. She didn’t know why; she wasn’t really agreeing to anything. But it felt as if she should respond. It felt as if he deserved a response.
“Nevertheless,” Lord Hugh said, staring straight ahead, “I was the one to call for the duel, and I was the one who shot first.”
She looked down at the table. She did not know what to say.
He spoke again, quietly, but with unmistakable conviction. “I have never blamed your cousin for my injury.”
And then, before she could even think about how to respond, Lord Hugh stood so abruptly that his injured leg bumped into the table, splashing a bit of wine out of someone’s forgotten glass. When Sarah looked up, she saw him wince.
“Are you all right?” she asked carefully.
“I’m fine,” he said in a curt voice.
“Of course you are,” she muttered. Men were always “fine.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
“Nothing,” she lied, coming to her feet. “Do you need assistance?”
His eyes blazed with fury that she’d even asked, but just as he started to say, “No,” his cane clattered to the floor.
“I’ll get that for you,” Sarah said quickly.
“I can—”
“I’ve already got it,” she ground out. Good Lord, the man was making it difficult for her to be a considerate human being.
He let out a breath, and then, even though he was clearly loath to do so, he said, “Thank you.”
She handed him the cane, and then, very carefully, asked, “May I accompany you to the door?”
“It’s not necessary,” he said brusquely.
“For you, perhaps,” she shot back.
That seemed to pique his curiosity. One of his brows rose in question, and Sarah said, “I believe you are aware that I have been tasked with your welfare.”
“You should really stop flattering me, Lady Sarah. It will go to my head.”
“I will not shirk my duty.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then sent a pointed glance toward the twenty or so wedding guests who were currently dancing.
Sarah took a steadying breath, trying not to rise to his bait. She probably shouldn’t have abandoned him at the table, but she had been feeling merry, and she liked to dance. Surely Honoria hadn’t meant that she must remain at his side for every moment of the wedding. Besides, there h
ad been several other people left at the table when she’d got up. And she’d come back when she’d realized he’d been all alone with only Frances for company.
Although truth be told, he did seem to prefer Frances.
“It is strange,” he murmured, “being a young woman’s duty. I can’t say I have ever before had the pleasure.”
“I made a promise to my cousin,” Sarah said in a tight voice. To say nothing of Iris and her judgmental ways. “As a gentleman, you should allow me to at least attempt to fulfill that promise.”
“Very well,” he said, and his voice was not angry. Nor was it resigned, or amused, or anything she could discern. He held out his arm, as any gentleman would, but she hesitated. Was she supposed to take it? Would it set him off balance?
“You won’t knock me over,” he said.
She took his arm.
He tilted his head toward hers. “Unless, of course, you push.”
She felt herself flush.
“Oh, come now, Lady Sarah,” he said, looking down at her with a condescending expression. “Surely you can take a joke. Especially when it’s at my expense.”
Sarah forced her lips into a tight smile.
Lord Hugh chuckled, and they headed for the door, making faster progress than she would have expected. His limp was pronounced, but he had clearly figured out how best to compensate for it. He must have had to relearn how to walk, she realized with amazement. It would have taken months, maybe years.
And it would have been painful.
Something akin to admiration began to flutter within her. He was still rude and annoying, and she certainly did not enjoy his company, but for the first time since that fateful duel three and a half years earlier, Sarah found that she admired him. He was strong. No, not in that watch-how-effortlessly-I-can-toss-a-young-lady-onto-a-horse way, although for all she knew he was that, too. She did have her hand on his arm, and there was nothing soft about him.
Hugh Prentice was strong on the inside, where it truly counted. He’d have to be, to come back from such an injury.
She swallowed, her eyes finding focus somewhere across the room even as she continued in step next to him. She felt unsettled, as if the floor had suddenly dropped an inch to the right, or the air had gone thin. She had spent the last few years detesting this man, and while this anger had not consumed her, it had, in some small way, defined her.
Lord Hugh Prentice had been her excuse. He had been her constant. When the world tipped and changed around her, he had remained her steady object of disgust. He was cold, he was heartless, he was without conscience. He had ruined her cousin’s life and never apologized for it. He was horrible in a way that meant nothing else in life could ever be that bad.
And now she had found something within him to admire? That was unlike her. Honoria was the one who found the good in people; Sarah held the grudge.
And she did not change her mind.
Except, apparently, when she did.
“Will you dance to your heart’s content once I’ve left?” Lord Hugh suddenly asked.
Sarah started, so lost in the tumult of her thoughts that his voice hit too loudly at her ears. “I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” she said.
“You should,” he said quietly. “You’re a lovely dancer.”
Her lips parted in surprise.
“Yes, Lady Sarah,” he said, “that was a compliment.”
“I hardly know what to do with it.”
“I’d recommend accepting it gracefully.”
“And do you base this upon personal experience?”
“Certainly not. I almost never accept compliments with grace.”
She looked up at him, expecting to see a sly look, maybe even a mischievous one, but his face remained as impassive as ever. He wasn’t even looking at her.
“You’re a very odd man, Lord Hugh Prentice,” she said quietly.
“I know,” he said, and they steered around Sarah’s enormous great-uncle (and his remarkably tall wife) to reach the ballroom door. Before they could make their escape, however, they were intercepted by Honoria, who was still radiating such happiness that Sarah thought her cheeks must ache from smiling. Frances was standing at her side, holding her hand and basking in the bridal glow.
“You’re not leaving so soon!” Honoria exclaimed.
And then, just to prove that it was impossible to make an unnoticed exit in a room full of Smythe-Smiths, Iris suddenly materialized on Honoria’s other side, flushed and out of breath from the Scottish reel that had just ended.
“Sarah,” Iris said with a tipsy giggle. “And Lord Hugh. Together. Again.”
“Still,” Hugh corrected, much to Sarah’s mortification. He gave Iris a polite bow, then turned to Honoria and said, “It has been a delightful wedding, Lady Chatteris, but I must go to my room for a rest.”
“And I must accompany him,” Sarah announced.
Iris snorted a laugh.
“Not to his room,” she said quickly. Good Lord. “Just to the stairs. Or maybe—” Did he need help on the stairs? Was she supposed to offer it? “Er, up the stairs if you—”
“As far as you wish to take me,” he said, his benevolent statement clearly meant to tease.
Sarah tightened her fingers on his arm, hopefully to the point of pain.
“But I don’t wish for you to leave yet,” Honoria exclaimed.
“They do make a lovely pair,” Iris said with a smile.
“You are too kind, Iris,” Sarah ground out.
“It was lovely seeing you, Lord Hugh,” Iris said, with a slightly too-fast curtsy. “I’m afraid you will have to excuse me. I promised Honoria I would find Cousin Rupert and dance with him. Must keep my commitments, you know!” She gave a jaunty wave and scooted away.
“Thank heavens for Iris,” Honoria said. “I don’t know what Rupert has been eating this morning, but no one wants to stand near him. It is so comforting to know that I can count upon my cousins.”
And the dagger that Iris had just thrust into Sarah’s heart got a neat little twist. If Sarah had thought she might divest herself of Lord Hugh anytime soon, she was clearly mistaken.
“You should thank her later,” Honoria continued, directing her words toward Sarah. “I know how much you and Cousin Rupert don’t . . . ah . . .” Her voice trailed away as she remembered that Lord Hugh was standing across from her. It was never polite to air family differences in public, even if she had made him aware of the rift just the day before. “Well,” she declared, after clearing her throat. “Now you don’t have to dance with him.”
“Because Iris is,” Frances put in helpfully, as if Sarah had not quite grasped that.
“We really must be going,” Sarah said.
“No, no, you can’t,” Honoria said. She took Sarah’s hands in her own. “I want you to be here. You are my dearest cousin.”
“But only because I’m too young,” Frances sotto-voiced to Hugh.
“Please,” Honoria said, then turned her face toward Hugh. “And you, too, Lord Hugh. It would mean so much to me.”
Sarah gritted her teeth. If this were anyone else, she would have thrown up her arms and stalked off. But Honoria wasn’t trying to play the matchmaker. She wasn’t that sly, and even if she were, she would never be that obvious. Rather, the bride’s bliss was such that she wanted everyone to be just as happy as she was, and she could not imagine that anyone could be happier than they were right here in this very room.
“I am sorry, Lady Chatteris,” Lord Hugh murmured, “but I fear I must rest my leg.”
“Oh, but then you must make your way to the drawing room,” Honoria replied instantly. “We are serving cake there for guests who do not wish to dance.”
“Sarah hasn’t had cake!” Frances exclaimed. “I was supposed to get some for her.”
“It’s all right, Frances,” Sarah assured her, “I—”
“Oh, you must have cake,” Honoria said. “Mrs. Wetherby worked with the cook for weeks to get the
recipe just right.”
Sarah did not doubt it. Honoria was mad for sweets; she always had been.
“I’ll come with you,” Frances said.
“That would be lovely, but—”
“And Lord Hugh can come, too!”
At that, Sarah turned to Frances with suspicion. Honoria might simply be trying to make the entire world as ecstatic as she was, but Frances’s motives were rarely so pure.
“Very well,” Sarah acquiesced before she realized it was really Lord Hugh’s place to do so.
“Marcus and I will be going to the drawing room soon to greet people there,” Honoria said.
“As you wish, my lady,” Hugh said with a little bow. Nothing in his voice betrayed irritation or impatience, but Sarah was not fooled. Strange that she’d got to know him well enough in the last day to realize that he was absolutely furious. Or at the very least, mildly annoyed.
And yet his face was as stony as ever.
“Shall we?” he murmured. Sarah nodded, and they continued toward the door. Once in the hall, however, he paused and said, “You need not accompany me to the drawing room.”
“Oh, I do,” she muttered, thinking of Iris, who was rubbing it in, and Honoria, who was not, and even Frances, who fully expected her to be there when she arrived with cake. “But if you wish to leave, I shall make your excuses.”
“I promised the bride.”
“So did I.”
He looked at her for a moment longer than was comfortable, then said, “I don’t suppose you’re the sort to break your promises?”
He was lucky she’d released his arm. She’d probably have snapped his bone in two. “No.”
Again, he stared at her. Or maybe it wasn’t a stare, but it was very strange the way he so frequently let his eyes linger on her face before he spoke. He did this with other people, too; she’d noticed it the night before.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I believe we are expected in the drawing room.”
She glanced at him, then returned to face forward. “I do like cake.”
“Were you planning to deny yourself merely to avoid me?” he asked as they continued down the hall.
“Not exactly.”
He gave her a sideways look. “Not exactly?”
“I was going to return to the ballroom once you left,” she admitted. “Or have some sent to my room.” A moment later she added, “And I wasn’t trying to avoid you.”