To consider it anything else was to court folly more than she already had.
Hugh sipped his drink and watched from a distance as Amelia was all but surrounded by the duchesses, that collective group of his best friends’ wives who swept up anyone they liked into their wake. He had no idea what Diana had told them about Amelia, but clearly they were sweeping her up at that moment.
“Watching anyone in particular? Or just observing the storm that is the wives?”
Hugh turned and couldn’t help but grin. Christopher Collins, the Earl of Idlewood, had approached him. As Hugh stuck out a hand in greeting, Kit tugged him in for a hug and pounded his back briefly.
“I had no idea you were in Town,” Hugh said as they parted. “How is your father?”
He watched as Kit’s face fell and felt a pit in his own stomach. Kit was the last of their little club of dukes who had not yet taken his title. His father, the Duke of Kingsacre, was the best of men. But he was failing. Dying.
And he saw the strain of it on Kit’s face.
“He has good days and bad,” Kit said. “Diana has come to see him several times and her medicines actually seem to help, which is comforting. Still…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, and Hugh didn’t push him. “So, he drove you to go to London, did he?”
“You know him. He insists that I go on with my life. He even says it’s practice.” Kit turned his face.
“And how is Phoebe?”
Kit smiled ever so slightly. “Very well. My sister is a happy little girl who adores her father. But she is so young. She doesn’t understand his illness, though she does notice the change in him. Before I left, she very solemnly asked me why Papa was so tired now.”
Hugh caught his breath. “I know a little about playing father to a younger sister.”
“I know.” Kit’s voice cracked. “And when the time comes, I will need your help in exactly how to manage that feat.” He shook his head. “But enough about that. What is it across the room that interests you so deeply?”
“Just watching the duchess cloud, you know,” Hugh said, glancing back at the group of them. Amelia was laughing with them now, and that smile. Great God, but she was beautiful.
“Who is the girl?” Kit asked.
Hugh jerked his face toward his friend. “That obvious, am I?”
“I know you aren’t the kind of man to covet a friend’s bride,” Kit said. “And you have a very…covetous look on your face. Since the young lady is the only unknown in the group, I must assume she is what draws your attention.”
Hugh continued looking at Amelia without responding. What was he to say? Kit had such a deep sense of right and wrong. He didn’t want this friend to judge Lizzie or try to talk him out of correcting what he’d done. And Kit had enough on his shoulders anyway.
“I have an interest,” he said at last. “What man would not?”
“She is very pretty,” Kit conceded. “Has an interesting light to her, doesn’t she? And she seems to fit into the group. That’s always a consideration, I suppose, now that so many of our friends are married.”
Hugh nodded but said nothing to commit. If he did end up marrying Amelia, as her father required to break the prior engagement, it would be a good thing that she fit into the group of duchesses. But that left him no less troubled about the idea.
He didn’t even know her.
“Why are you so disturbed?” Kit pressed. “I see it all over your face.”
Hugh sighed. “It’s a very long story and not one I’ll bore you with. I appreciate the concern, though.” He clapped a hand on Kit’s shoulder and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Kit asked.
Hugh forced a smile over his shoulder. “To dance with the young lady. That’s what men do in these situations, isn’t it?”
Kit smiled at him, but as Hugh put his attention back on Amelia, his own expression fell. He felt no joy in what he was about to do. Not to the young lady, not to himself. But it was time to get it over with.
Amelia stood beside the dance floor. Thus far it had truly been a wonderful night. The Duchess of Crestwood was a wonderful woman, filled with warmth and welcome. She had swiftly been introduced to the group of Meg’s friends, ladies who laughingly referred to themselves as “The Duchesses,” for they were all married to dukes.
At first she’d been intimidated, but they were all so kind. They insisted they be referred to by their first names, and within moments she had felt quite part of their circle. All her fears about this night had faded away, and she was left with a sense of peace instead. Of belonging, like she was an old friend returned to their little flock of beautiful swans.
But now they had all scattered, some to the dancefloor to swing in time to the music with their handsome husbands. Others were joined in conversation with other guests. All that was left now was Isabel, the wife of the Duke of Tyndale. They were very recently married, and the duchess still had a glow of newlywed bliss about her.
Amelia could only hope she would have the same joy when she was wed. Though it was a funny thing that she had not found herself thinking of Aaron all that often during the night. Not even when the ladies talked of husbands and weddings and implied scandals associated with it all.
“Look at James and Emma,” Isabel said, motioning to the crowd. “I swear they make us all look so untalented when they dance together.”
Amelia followed her friend’s indication and smiled. Emma was the Duchess of Abernathe, and at present she was in the arms of her husband. The two moved in perfect accord together, perhaps a bit too close, but as if they had been built to waltz together.
“So lovely,” Amelia mused.
“Ladies.”
She jerked around at the deep voice that suddenly intruded on her fairytale thoughts. She knew that voice, though she’d only heard it once before. And there was its owner, the Duke of Brighthollow, standing behind them, dark eyes boring into hers just as they had in the parlor the day before.
“Brighthollow,” Isabel said, reaching out to squeeze his arm with a smile. “I didn’t see you arrive. Do you know Miss Amelia Quentin?”
Amelia swallowed. “We—we met,” she stammered.
He inclined his head. “We have indeed. In fact, I came to find out if Miss Quinton would favor me for a dance. The waltz has just begun, and I think we could still find a place in the crowd.”
Amelia stared at him. He wanted to dance with her? This man of dark stares and full lips and strong arms and…what in the world was she thinking? Had she answered? No, and now Brighthollow and Isabel were both staring at her expectantly. There was no way to refuse.
“Yes!” she blurted out, far too loudly. “Er, I would be delighted.”
Brighthollow held out an elbow, and she drew a deep breath before she put out a hand and slid it into the crook. Immediately she was met with a shock of unexpected awareness. His arm was very strong and very warm, and now he was staring down at her, far too close, and she could not remember how to breathe.
“Have fun, you two!” Isabel called out after them as he led her to the dancefloor.
Somehow Amelia managed to nod at her new friend, but then everything else was swept away as Brighthollow twirled her into a space on the dancefloor and they began to move in time together.
He was very graceful. She would not have expected that since he was so very tall and broad-shouldered. Yet he led her effortlessly. She almost felt like she was gliding on air and that the only people on the dancefloor were the two of them.
She stared up into his face as they moved. As always, he was looking right back at her. His expression was unreadable and so very focused. That same odd tingling she’d felt with him before began again in her stomach. Like a root unfurling through her body, fingers reaching to every part of her until she trembled with the power of the reaction.
“You seem to have become a fast friend of the duchesses,” he said when it
felt like an eternity of silence had stretched between them.
She blinked, trying to find some kind of focus through the fog he created around her. “I-I don’t know. I’ve only just met most of them. They are wonderfully kind. So welcoming. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me, though. They must be like that with everyone they meet.”
“Hm.” His lips thinned a little and his gaze darted from her face. It was odd. When he looked at her, she felt uncomfortably exposed. But when he looked away, she didn’t like that either. “I think the duchesses are very kind and would likely be lovely to anyone they met. But it’s more than that.”
“More?” she croaked out. That brought his attention back to her face and her knees almost buckled.
“Yes,” he said. “I think you would…you would belong in their circle.”
“Only if I were a duchess,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Certainly, I would never be that.”
He shrugged. “But if you were, do you think you would be happy in their company?”
The music slowed and then came to a stop. He stepped back and executed a formal bow. She was meant to curtsey but didn’t. Instead she just stared at him, utterly confused by his questions and his looks and just…him in general.
The others on the dancefloor began to filter away, but she stayed in her place. “Why would you ask me such a question?”
He did not reach for her, nor make a gesture to move her along. “I’m curious.”
She pursed her lips. “But…why? I’m sorry, I realize I’m being entirely impertinent and my father would rage at me if he knew, but I have no choice.”
“None?” he asked, and there was a lightness to the question, even if he didn’t smile.
She had no idea if he was gently teasing her or mocking her. “No,” she insisted. “You and I have seen each other all of, what…twice? Three times if you count my catching a glimpse of you in my father’s hall. You…stare at me but you hardly speak to me. When you do, it is to ask the strangest questions. I feel like you are trying to determine something, but I have no idea what in the world it could be.”
She clenched her fists at her sides and tried to slow the wild beating of her heart. She had never confronted a stranger before. A gentleman. A duke, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t done, certainly not by someone in her position.
And yet this duke did not seem offended. If anything, his stern expression softened a bit, and he nodded. “You are correct. I’ve been odd with you and that isn’t fair. I would like to discuss it, but not here.”
She drew back. “Not here?”
He smiled. “Unless you want to do it in the middle of the quadrille while the entire room gossips about us dancing two in a row together.”
She looked around with a gasp. She had honestly all but forgotten where they were. Still on the dancefloor with couples returning to share the next. And they were staring at her and Brighthollow, probably utterly confused as to why they were standing in the way.
“Fine,” she said, grasping for his arm. “Where can we go?”
“The terrace?” he suggested. “It is private…or more so. And not inappropriate.”
“Yes,” she said. “Fine. The terrace is fine. I could use some air anyway.”
He said nothing as he took her through the crowd and out the doors that led to the terrace beyond the ballroom. The moment they had exited, she broke away from him and paced to the edge of the wall to stare out at the garden below. The moon was only a sliver of light above them, but the lights from the house made it bright enough.
She heard the doors close and caught her breath. It was only then she realized no other couples or groups were outside with them. She and this man who inspired such odd reactions in her were truly alone.
And though it wasn’t entirely inappropriate, just as he had suggested inside, as she turned to watch him come across the terrace to her, it didn’t feel very proper to her.
It felt dangerous. Thrilling. She’d never experienced this kind of sensation when she spoke to another person. It was so very…wrong. That was the pivotal fact of it. She felt something wrong toward this man when she was engaged to another. Certainly if Aaron was feeling this way toward a lady Amelia would have been hurt, embarrassed.
Which was why she needed to end this conversation quickly and politely and be finished with the Duke of Brighthollow once and for all.
“I am engaged,” she said as Brighthollow got within a few steps of her. That stopped him in his tracks, and that dark gaze settled on her once again. Heavy. Unreadable. Unsettling.
“Yes, I know,” he replied at last, tension in his tone.
She drew back in confusion. “You know? How do you know? No one knows, not even my closest friends. My father insisted that we keep it a secret until it is announced in a few days.”
Brighthollow shrugged. “I have my ways.”
She glared at him. “You are a most frustrating person, Your Grace. Honestly, I do not understand you in the slightest.”
He arched a brow at her impertinence, the second time she had displayed it that night. It should have shut her mouth, but instead, she took half a step closer.
“You are being purposefully vague about this subject, though what reason you have, I cannot guess. Nor can I guess why a man such as yourself, a duke with power and privilege, would have any interest in the marriage of the daughter of a minor viscount. One who he never met until one day ago.”
He folded his arms. “I have no interest in who you marry, Miss Quinton.”
She shut her mouth at that assertion and the flare of disappointment that followed it. “No? You certainly seem to when you are finding me all over London and searching out who I am secretly engaged to.”
“I found you once,” he said. “To be fair.”
“Stop dancing around the subject!” she burst out. “You are playing games with me and I have no interest in them.”
His jaw set hard and a muscle there fluttered before he ground out, “My interest, as I said, has nothing to do with you. My interest in is your fiancé, Aaron Walters.”
She hesitated. “I…yes. That is him.”
“I promise you I would not have sought you out at all if it weren’t for the fact that he has entangled you in whatever his latest scheme is.”
His face grew harder. There was anger there in it. Not below the surface, but right at it. It rippled over his features and she stepped back at the power of it. One never would have guessed it was there with how he controlled himself so well.
“S-scheme,” she stammered, trying to remain focused on the subject at hand. “I resent that implication, Your Grace. My fiancé is certainly not involved in any scheme. He is a good man and does not deserve your…your interference.”
“So, he has convinced you,” Brighthollow said, running his hand through his hair. Some of the thick curls fell from his queue, and when he faced her his cheeks were framed by wild tendrils that she found herself wanting to smooth.
Just as she found herself wanting to slap that same cheek.
“You must be clearer,” she insisted. “What is it you are accusing him of?”
For a moment he was silent. His mouth opened and shut, like he was trying to find words to say. Frustration and rage filtered across his face, but also something deeper. Pain. Regret.
“Your fiancé is not a good man,” he said at last. “He has…done very wrong things in the past, and I have deep suspicions that he is up to no good again. With you.”
She cocked her head. Brighthollow had stalked her across Town, found her in the ballroom, brought her out here for this big revelation, and that was all? This ambiguous accusation that Aaron was not decent?
“You are very vague,” she said softly.
“I assure you, I am very honest,” he said, just as quiet in the dim night.
“You assure me?” she repeated. “So I am to take you on, what…your honor?”
“Yes,” he sai
d, seeming stunned she didn’t simply accept that.
She shook her head. “I don’t even know you, Your Grace. I have no idea of your motives or your schemes. Meanwhile, I have known Aaron for—”
“A few months,” he completed for her as he folded his arms. “You think that is long enough to truly suss out a man’s character? His intentions? Does it not bother you how swiftly he wooed and engaged himself to wed you?”
She stepped back. His words had two effects. The first stirred doubt in her, for she sometimes did feel as if Aaron had rather rushed their courtship. But he was a romantic. That was what she told herself, at any rate.
The second response was something she could handle more easily. She felt angry. At Brighthollow.
“You’ve been…are you shadowing him?” she asked. “And me? Tracking what he’s been doing and seeing? And you claim he is to be doubted? Well, what do your actions say about you?”
Brighthollow let out his breath in a frustrated burst. “Your loyalty does you credit. I grant you that.”
“Don’t bother to grant me anything,” she snapped. “I don’t value your opinion of me, high or low.”
He turned his face as if she had slapped him. When he turned back, his anger burned bright in his eyes. “If you knew what he was, you would fall to your knees and thank me for warning you off of him.”
“I would never give you the pleasure of seeing me on my knees,” she said.
“That’s enough, Amelia.”
Both of them jumped as the doors to the terrace snapped shut behind them. Her father stood at them, glaring at the couple.
She gave Brighthollow one last scowl and then strode past him toward her father. “I happen to agree, Papa. I’ve certainly had enough. Excuse me, I shall return to the ball.”
She pushed the doors open and went inside, but the moment she was away from Brighthollow, all her bravado faded. It was replaced by confusion, doubt and a continued draw to the man, despite what an ogre he was.
The Duke Who Lied Page 5