‘Look at me, Bell,’ Hugo ordered.
When she did not, he reached for her, but caught himself in time. She finally turned back to him. ‘Do you really believe you might not be the father?’
He shrugged. ‘It is possible. As you know, I take precautions. Not every man does.’
She flushed. ‘Hush, Hugo. There are people around us.’
He glanced around, a haughty look on his face that dared someone to approach them. No one did. ‘They are too far away to hear what we are saying, and if you do not give us away with your blushes they will never know.’
She continued to look at him, not sure if his blunt speaking was irritating her or if she was just in a bad mood because of the entire situation she found herself in. She decided it was a combination of everything.
‘Very well, Hugo. I will try and control my body better.’ She did not try to keep the trace of sarcasm from her tone.
He sighed. ‘I am sorry, Bell. I do not like this situation any better than you do. I wish there was some way I could find out if St. Cyrus is really the father but, short of Elizabeth telling me that, I can’t. I even—’ he looked from her to the couple ‘—brought her with me tonight, hoping he would be here and she would go to him—as she has.’
Annabell laid a cautioning hand on his arm before she realised it. He looked down at where she touched him and she jerked away.
‘This is not the place, Hugo, no matter if no one is near. What you are talking about is too private, too important.’
He sighed in exasperation. ‘You are right. What do you suggest?’
She bit her lip. There was no easy answer. No right answer. She wanted to see him, and she wanted to talk this through. More than anything she wished Elizabeth Mainwaring carried St. Cyrus’s child and could be brought to admit it—provided the woman even knew. But to see Hugo in private—that was risking much.
‘I…’ she took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she spoke ‘…I don’t think we should see each other again. What you are talking about is between you and Lady Mainwaring. I have nothing to do with it. If, by some chance, she calls off your engagement, then…then I no longer know.’
She could see that her answer angered him. His eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned.
‘Annabell,’ Dominic said imperiously, ‘it is time to take Miss Lucy home.’ His face hardened as he glanced at Sir Hugo.
She nodded, casting one last look at Hugo. His face was stony, but he said nothing. She followed Dominic and Miss Lucy from the rooms.
Hugo watched her go and wondered that it could bother him so much to see her and not possess her. He had never felt this way. And now, he had lost her and all because of past indiscretions.
He watched his fiancée with the man he knew she preferred and wondered if Elizabeth had approached St. Cyrus and been denied. From the look on her face and the way her body swayed toward him, she wanted him.
He turned his attention to St. Cyrus. The man was a dandy, but had also been a soldier and done well from all reports. He was considered a man of honour. Then why would he not take on the burden of marriage to Elizabeth? Because she did not think he was the father. That was all he could think of.
He no longer wanted to stay. It was hot and too many dowagers with their wagging tongues watched him. He made his decision.
He sauntered toward Elizabeth and her companion, nodding to acquaintances but keeping his expression closed. The last thing he wanted was to be approached and forced into conversation. That was not his purpose for being here.
He reached the two and drawled, ‘Elizabeth, St. Cyrus, I believe it is time to leave. Anyone who is anyone already has.’
Elizabeth’s violet eyes sparked and she opened her mouth in what Hugo knew would be a protest. St. Cyrus laid his hand lightly on her arm for a moment, no longer, and she composed herself. Interesting.
‘I believe you are correct, Sir Hugo,’ the other man said. ‘I was just telling Lady Mainwaring that I must be leaving. I have another engagement.’
Elizabeth’s cupid-bow mouth thinned, but that was the only sign that she was not happy. Hugo found himself admiring her ability to keep her feelings to herself. It was a skill he had always prided himself on possessing. Now it seemed he was slipping. He did not like that.
He extended his arm. ‘If you will, Elizabeth? My carriage should be brought ’round shortly.’ He nodded to St. Cyrus. ‘I hope to see you around.’
St. Cyrus bowed to Elizabeth and nodded to Hugo. ‘I am sure of it. We do frequent the same clubs.’
Hugo studied the other man for a long minute, wondering if there was more to his words. When St. Cyrus remained sanguine, he decided the man meant exactly what he said. Apparently he had shared Elizabeth’s bed simply for the pleasure with no emotional ties. Just as he had. Hugo almost found it in himself to feel sorry for her. And he might have, if she had not picked him to be her sacrificial goat.
He nodded curtly to St. Cyrus, put a palm to the small of Elizabeth’s back and escorted her outside to his closed carriage. He helped her into the carriage but, instead of joining her, closed the door and rapped on the side of the vehicle, telling the coachman to take her home. Here in London, Elizabeth stayed in her own town house.
She stuck her head out of the window the instant she realised what he was about. ‘What are you doing?’
He looked at her beautiful face, so perfect in every detail even though she was pouting. ‘I am doing as I please, Elizabeth. We may be engaged, but that does not require me to squire you everywhere.’
It was obvious from the pinched look around her mouth that his words did not make her happy. Instead of replying, she dropped the curtain back into place and closed the window with a snick of the latch.
Hugo watched the coach until it turned the corner and was lost to sight. There was nothing for him at home and he was not sleepy. Nor did he intend to share Elizabeth’s bed, even though she had indicated that he would be welcome. Of course, her invitation had come before she had met St. Cyrus again.
He would go on to Brooks’s. Of all the clubs he belonged to, it was his favourite. And the walk to St. Timothy’s Street would do him good. He was still tense from the encounter with Bell.
He set off, swinging his ebony cane with an occasional swat at nothing simply because he needed to do something or he would explode. She was the only woman who had ever made him care if he never saw her again. And he’d be damned if he wouldn’t. Even if he did end up married to Elizabeth, he would see Bell. It would be better if he could find something to link St. Cyrus to Elizabeth’s current state, but he had a feeling that information would have to come from the man.
Watching Elizabeth with St. Cyrus had told him much about their relationship. St. Cyrus was the dominant one. He would be the one to determine if there was more to their liaison than shared passion.
Rain started and Hugo picked up his pace.
A night ending with gambling and drinking. It could be worse. He could be in his bed alone.
Tomorrow he would call on Bell whether she liked it or not. He would also arrange to meet up with St. Cyrus.
Chapter Eighteen
Annabell sat stiffly in the carriage and wished she had never agreed to accompany Dominic and the simpering Miss Lucy to Almack’s. And from the look on her brother’s face, he was going to set into her as soon as they left Miss Lucy on her doorstep. Well, he had another thing coming if he thought anything he said would make a difference. Dominic was everything he accused Hugo of being, and he was younger.
In the meantime, she had to sit and watch the two. The chit blushed and giggled. Dominic barely skirted the edge of propriety. No wonder Emily Duckworth was beside herself. Annabell wasn’t sure if she wanted this spectacle to end so she would not have to agonise over what was going on or if she dreaded the end of this little trip because then she would have to listen to Dominic’s tirade.
Either way, they arrived at Miss Lucy’s London residence and Dominic helped t
he chit from the carriage and walked her to the front door. Annabell winced when he raised the girl’s gloved hand to his lips and instead of kissing the back of her hand, turned it over and kissed her wrist. Very Continental and calculated to further ensnare a girl as susceptible as Miss Lucy appeared to be.
As soon as the chit was in the door and he turned around, the smile left Dominic’s face. Annabell was tempted to signal the coachman to drive away. It wouldn’t hurt Dominic to walk home. But she hesitated and the chance was lost.
He climbed in, then sprawled across the seat opposite her, his relaxed pose at direct odds with the look on his face. She knew him well enough to know he was ready to explode with fury.
‘What did you think you were doing, dancing with that man?’
She kept her countenance bland. ‘Do you mean Sir Hugo? Or Mr Hawks?’
Through clenched teeth he said, ‘You know exactly whom I mean, Bell. Don’t try my patience.’
‘Don’t try yours?’ She leaned forward. ‘What about you trying mine? What I do is none of your business, Dominic. I don’t care that you are my brother. I am a widow and older than you. And…’ she paused ominously ‘…my reputation is considerably better than yours.’
He wagged one finger at her. ‘Don’t drag my reputation into this, Bell. It has nothing to do with your association with Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon. The man will ruin you—you won’t be accepted anywhere in polite society.’
She sniffed. ‘I don’t see that it has harmed Felicia not to be accepted by the sticklers. Nor would it bother me. I never go about in society as it is. I only went tonight to give poor Emily Duckworth a reprieve from seeing you seduce her young, silly sister.’
‘Don’t bring Miss Sourpuss into this either,’ he retorted.
‘I can’t imagine why you call Emily Duckworth such an uncomplimentary name. She has done nothing to you.’
He scowled. ‘Don’t change the subject. This discussion is about you and Sir Hugo. If you don’t value your reputation, then at least show some pride. The man is engaged to be married. Rumour says Elizabeth Mainwaring is carrying his child. If that is so, and I don’t doubt it since the two have been lovers for at least a year that I know of, then the last thing you should be doing is throwing yourself at him.’
Her scathing reply died before she could even think what it was going to be. She turned away from her brother’s all-too-discerning gaze. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of Dominic. She had become a watering pot and what for? A man she could never have and wasn’t even sure she would marry if she could have him. Not that he had asked. But… Damnation, she was a mess.
‘Bell?’ Dominic’s voice had softened. ‘What is the matter?’
She took a deep steadying breath. ‘Nothing, Dominic. I am merely tired…from being out later than usual and from arguing with you.’ She pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from the elaborate braid circling the back of her head. ‘Please, no more talk. You are perfectly right about Sir Hugo and I know that. All right.’
He sat up. ‘You agree?’ His voice held incredulity.
She sighed wearily. ‘Yes, I agree. Can we let it go?’
‘Then you won’t see him again, and you definitely won’t dance with him again?’
She would have smiled at his persistence if she hadn’t been so tired of it all. ‘I very likely won’t see him again, and I’m positive I won’t be in another situation where the opportunity to dance with him will arise.’
He opened his mouth to say something, but she held her hand up to stop him. ‘No, Dominic, some promises are better not made.’
He shook his head. ‘You always were stubborn to a fault, Bell.’
She raised one slashing black brow. ‘And you aren’t?’
He laughed. ‘I believe it is a family trait. If I remember correctly, both our parents were burdened with it.’
‘At least we come by it honestly, as the saying goes.’
Fortunately the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Guy’s town house before Dominic could start berating her again. She slid to the door, opened it and clambered out before he or a servant could help her. The last thing she intended to do was give him the opportunity to take her arm and keep her captive while he continued his rant.
The next morning, Annabell entered the sunlight-flooded breakfast room with less than her customary appetite. Oswald stood near the sideboard, waiting to hear whether she wanted tea or hot chocolate, but instead of his normal welcome, he looked uncomfortable.
‘Good morning, Oswald.’ She smiled at him and took the chair held by the footman. ‘I won’t be needing ser— What is this? An old copy of The Times?’
Oswald cleared his throat. ‘Mr Dominic left it for you.’
Unease settled into Annabell’s shoulders. She picked the paper up and realised it was only a page showing the engagement announcements. One of them was circled. Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon announces his engagement to Lady Elizabeth Mainwaring.
Ten simple words.
Annabell closed her eyes and felt the tension move to her stomach. She took a deep breath. This was not the time or the place. Please, don’t let her cry.
She placed her hands flat on the table and pushed herself to a standing position. She felt like an old woman, aged before her time.
‘I believe I will have tea in my rooms, Oswald. Nothing to eat.’
To give him credit, the old family retainer merely said, ‘Yes, Miss Annabell.’
She couldn’t even look at him for fear she would see pity on his face and that it would be her undoing. She walked from the room, back straight.
She managed to reach her rooms.
Why seeing the announcement had bothered her so much, she couldn’t say. It was nothing but words. And she had known about the engagement. Had known about it for far longer than the announcement had been public. But there was a finality to the written word that the spoken word did not share. Perhaps that was it.
Either way, it did not matter. Seeing the announcement in black and white negated any hope she had sustained the night before. Hugo might find out that Elizabeth Mainwaring’s child was not his, but it was too late. He had already placed the announcement in The Times. Only a scoundrel would cry off after that, and whatever else Hugo was—and he was many less than savoury things—he was not a scoundrel or a loose screw. He would not break the engagement.
Lady Mainwaring would have to do that.
The following afternoon, Hugo knocked at Viscount Chillings’s town house. The door was opened by a very proper butler who looked him up and down.
‘Yes, my lord?’
Hugo handed over his card. ‘Please let Lady Fenwick-Clyde know Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon is here to see her.’
The butler’s eyes widened a fraction, but his voice remained completely noncommittal. ‘Please come in, my lord.’
Hugo entered the hall and handed his beaver hat to the waiting servant. ‘Come this way, please, my lord.’
He followed the butler to the drawing room where he was left. There was a portrait over the mantel of Annabell and her brothers. There was a marked resemblance between her and Viscount Chillings. He vaguely remembered hearing they were twins. The younger man also had a likeness of them, but where their hair was silvery blond, his was black as night. And there was a mischief in his eyes that was missing in the others.
‘Damn if it isn’t you,’ a male voice said.
Hugo turned to see the younger man standing in the doorway. His black brows were drawn together.
‘Dominic Chillings.’ Hugo kept his voice pleasant even though he sensed the man’s anger. ‘Pleased to see you again.’
‘Well, I am not pleased to see you. Nor do I intend to let you see my sister. She is better off without you.’ Dominic paced into the room, his very posture a challenge. ‘Go back to your fiancée.’
Hugo stood his ground. ‘I am here to see your sister, not you. And I believe she is old enough—and independent enough—to do as she damn well pleases
.’
‘Well, she won’t wish to see you or even hear from you when she learns what’s been written in the betting book at Brooks’s.’
Surprised, Hugo asked, ‘What do you mean?’
Dominic scowled. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Fitzsimmon. It doesn’t sit well on a man of your ilk.’
Hugo took a deep breath and reined in his rising temper. ‘I have only been in town two days. I stopped briefly at Brooks’s last night, but did not stay late. I didn’t look in the betting book and no one mentioned it to me.’
Dominic sneered. ‘Then the bet must have been placed some time between when you left and this afternoon when I was there for lunch. Not much time.’
‘And just what bet are you referring to?’
Dominic’s voice lowered ominously. ‘The one that reads: What knight is engaged to one woman who carries his child while in love with another? A monkey he jilts the one to have the other.’
‘You jest.’
‘Not about my sister.’ Dominic’s voice was as cold as Hugo’s.
There was a cold pit in Hugo’s stomach. That was exactly what some cur who imagined himself to be a wit would write. And it was close to the truth. Too close.
‘Bloody cur,’ Hugo growled.
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Dominic said. ‘And it is all because of you.’
‘Perhaps no one knows who the blackguard is referring to.’ Even as he said the words, Hugo knew it couldn’t be true. The bet was too precise.
‘Not after the way you behaved at Almack’s last night.’
Hugo had never before regretted any of his actions. Not even having Elizabeth Mainwaring for a lover. But he regretted this. And the realisation surprised him.
‘So,’ Dominic continued, ‘I want you to leave this house, and I don’t ever want to see you near my sister again or I will be forced to call you out. Do I speak plainly enough, Fitzsimmon?’
‘Perfectly.’
Hugo bit the word off, wondering who infuriated him more, the worthless cad who had placed the bet or the young man who stood defiantly before him. Both had made it impossible for him to continue pursuing Annabell, something he knew he should stop. If only he could. Nor could he duel with this young hothead. Annabell would never forgive him if he hurt her brother. But he could find out who had written in the betting book.
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