The Duke Who Lied

by Michaels, Jess

  “You will not marry Walters,” her father said. “Because the Duke of Brighthollow seems to have purchased a great deal of my debt. And he will free me from that debt only if you marry him instead.”

  Hugh staggered. This was the way he would convince her to marry? To tell this vulgar, cruel lie? To use her love for her father against whatever love she felt for Walters? To make Hugh a deeper, darker villain than she believed him to be already?

  She turned to him, her lips white, trembling, and stared. And in that moment he saw that she despised him. She would despise him for the rest of her days.

  But he also saw that despite any fight she was about to put up, she would also ultimately surrender. She would marry him.

  And he’d never felt sicker in his life.

  Amelia couldn’t breathe. She stared at Brighthollow, standing behind her father, face impassive, arms folded, dark eyes spearing her, and she couldn’t breathe. She’d thought him wicked before, but now she saw how deep that went.

  How far he would go to get what he wanted. He would lie. He would cheat. He would steal.

  “You cannot mean this,” she managed to push out past dry lips. She was speaking to her father, but she couldn’t stop staring at Brighthollow. “I can’t marry him.”

  Quinton cocked his head. “Not even to save your father? Do I mean so little to you, Amelia?”

  Brighthollow flinched, turned his gaze away at last. It seemed he couldn’t stomach his own cruelty. But when he looked away, she felt able to do the same and stared at her father.

  “You are all I have left,” she whispered. “You mean the world to me. But is there no other way?”

  “I’ve found no way out,” her father said. He sighed, but it didn’t sound particularly sad. “This arrangement is all there is left. And look on the bright side, Amelia. You will be a duchess with power and money, far more elevated than a mere country gentleman could lift you. It is a good trade.”

  “A trade?” she whispered. “You trade my heart for comfort and you call it good?”

  The viscount shook his head. “Gracious, Amelia, you are being ridiculous. I understand that marrying for the heart is all the rage in higher circles at present, but we must be pragmatic. Love or something like it fades with time. In five years or ten you would regret turning away a duke for a no one. One day you’ll thank me.”

  She stared at her father, uncertain if he was trying to convince her or himself. She couldn’t believe he was as laissez-faire about this bargain as he seemed. He had to know how much it cut her to think of walking away from the future she’d planned.

  So she turned to Brighthollow. When she stepped up to him, he stiffened. His jaw tightened and he glanced down at her, holding her gaze with that entirely unreadable expression she now wanted to slap from his face.

  “You cannot really want to marry me,” she breathed. “You cannot really wish to trade my father’s debts for…for me?”

  He was silent for a beat. Two. Like he was struggling with the answer. His gaze flitted to Quinton, and then he jerked out a nod. “Yes.”

  Her heart sank. She would be forced to walk away from a man who showered her with romantic gestures, who declared their future loudly and proudly, to…this. To this silent ogre who would rip her from her happiness just to settle a score. Against her father, against her fiancé. She would be his tool, nothing else.

  “I will never marry you,” she hissed.

  He arched a brow, and she waited for a storm to explode in him. Perhaps she wanted it, just to see that he was capable of feeling.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he bent his head. “I’m afraid you will, my dear,” he said softly. “And quickly. It must…it must be this way. I’m sorry.”

  She heard those words come from his mouth. Perhaps meant to soothe her. Comfort her. Absolve himself. She wasn’t certain. All she knew was that they inspired dark anger in her and desperation.

  “If you are sorry…” she said, grabbing for his hand. When she touched him, that hateful awareness woke in her, defied her anger and pain. Still, she clung to him. “If you are sorry, then don’t do it!”

  She stared up at him, then to her father. They were equally immovable, and she saw that she had no cards to play here. No way out. And with a sob, she dropped his hand and ran from the room, away from the cruelty that had stolen the hopes and dreams she had so carefully crafted.

  Hugh was shocked at his reaction when Amelia burst into tears and ran from the room. The guilt of the action ripped through him, exposing all the nerves he normally protected and causing pain unlike any he’d felt in a very long time. He wanted, quite irrationally, to go to her. To comfort her. To help her somehow. Or at least to make her understand.

  But he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t explain the reasons behind what she could only judge as his cruel actions. He couldn’t tell her the stakes. Because of Lizzie. Because of his own pride.

  “You’ll take care of the special license,” Lord Quinton said, his tone lacking any of the empathy Hugh currently felt for the man’s daughter.

  Hugh faced him. “That was your way of convincing her? To tell her that I’m blackmailing you? She now hates me more than ever.”

  “But she’ll do it, won’t she?” Quinton asked. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Not like this,” Hugh said softly, staring off again at the place where she had run. He glanced at Quinton. “You’ll watch her carefully during the next few days? To ensure she doesn’t run in her desperation.”

  Quinton wrinkled his brow like he didn’t understand. “You think she would let me be destroyed?”

  Hugh huffed out his breath. In this man’s mind, he was the center of the universe, certainly his daughter’s universe. The concept that she might put her own desires above his, that she was owed the right to do so, was utterly foreign to him.

  “Will you watch her?” Hugh ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, yes,” Quinton said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

  Hugh shook his head. He certainly did not trust that answer, so he would have to take care of that himself. He strode to the door and out into the foyer, with Quinton trailing along behind him.

  “I’ll have the special license in a day or two,” Hugh said. “We will marry as soon as it is done.”

  “I’ll be sure she is ready, whether she likes it or not.” Quinton’s tone had a touch of laughter to it, as if forcing this woman to do what she did not like was humorous.

  Hugh pivoted and speared him with a dark glare. “Be kind to her, my lord. Be extra kind to her during the next few days. If I hear you have been anything but that, I will be very angry and you do not want to see that, I assure you.”

  Quinton drew back a fraction, and then he nodded. “Certainly, I can do that. Anything to have her in the right mindset, eh?”

  Hugh rolled his eyes at the utterly selfish and stupid man who stood before him. One who had no understanding whatsoever at how to behave in a decent or loving manner.

  So Amelia would come to Hugh with hate and desperation. With heartbreak and resistance.

  And in that moment Hugh vowed, if only to himself, to do whatever it took to help her in that pain. To accept all her hate without reaction, and hope, one day, that she would no longer despise him.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelia hadn’t slept, and her entire body ached as she paced her chamber in a cloud of utter despair. When the door opened, she hardly registered it and did not greet Theresa as she entered the room and clucked her tongue gently.

  “Oh, miss,” she said, and moved forward to fold Amelia into a brief hug.

  Amelia sank into it, letting her emotions overwhelm her for the briefest of moments. They welled up, crashing over her like a wave from a stormy sea and she was going to drown in them. Which didn’t seem the worst end when she considered the alternative.

  “Come sit,” Theresa said gently, helping Amelia to her d
ressing table where she began to brush her hair over and over in long, soothing strokes. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “No,” Amelia croaked, looking at herself in the reflection. A few days ago she had done this and seen all her hopes and dreams. Today she saw only sorrow. Betrayal. Uncertainty.

  “Your father went out,” Theresa said, her tone now thick with judgment. “He said there was much to do.”

  A bitter taste filled Amelia’s mouth. “I’m certain there is. To rush me into this marriage, I have no doubt Brighthollow will obtain a special license within days. They will march me down the aisle at sword point just to be sure I do not thwart their little plan. I doubt I will be Miss Amelia Quinton by this time next week. I’ll be…his.”

  She shivered as she said the last, and wished she could say that the reaction was out of pure disgust or horror. But deep in the heart of her, she knew it wasn’t. Yes, she feared what was to come. Yes, she was hurt and angry, and she despised both the men who had so cavalierly put her in this position.

  But part of her sleepless night was because of far less hateful thoughts of Brighthollow. Hugh, Emma had called him. That dark and dangerous man, so unlike Aaron Walters, did stir such strange feelings in her. And they weren’t entirely unpleasant. Which was utterly confusing and terrifying in its own right.

  “Your father said to be extra kind to you,” Theresa mused, thankfully interrupting the wicked line of Amelia’s thoughts. “He said that was your future husband’s order.”

  Amelia’s lips parted, and she pivoted to look at Theresa more fully. “Brighthollow directed him to this?”

  “Apparently, though your father’s suggestions on what that would entail were rather weak, indeed. Extra sugar in your tea, a chocolate biscuit? It took everything in me not to ask if extra kindness meant releasing you from the shackles he and this duke have thrown onto you.”

  Amelia bent her head. “I’m glad you didn’t say it. I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know it only would have encouraged his rage. And I need you, Theresa. More than ever now.”

  “Well, I’ll be there. Every step of the way. You know that.” The maid folded her arms and her jaw set with a stubbornness that made Amelia’s heart swell. Whatever unknown she would soon face, at least she would have a friend at her side.

  “I suppose I should dress and face this day. It may be my last of freedom,” Amelia sighed and looked at her mirror again.

  Theresa bustled off to choose a gown, holding up one then another for Amelia’s approval. When she pulled out a pretty pink silk with a gray overlay stitched in a swirling pattern, Amelia’s heart sank. That gown had been Aaron’s favorite. He had complimented her on it multiple times during a garden party just after they met a few months before.

  “The rose,” she said, indicating the gown. As she stood and let Theresa help her from her wrinkled night-rail and into the gown, her mind began to spin.

  “You’ve always looked lovely in this one,” Theresa mused.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said. “Did you tell me that my father had gone out for the day?”

  “Mmmhmmm.” Theresa’s tone was distracted as she fastened the long line of fabric-covered buttons along Amelia’s spine. “He didn’t say where, just that it had to do with the upcoming wedding.”

  Amelia pursed her lips and sat when her gown was fastened. “Can you do that special twist?” she asked as Theresa lifted the brush again. Theresa nodded, and Amelia watched in the mirror as the maid spun and pinned her hair like a magician showing off a trick. Once again, she had picked a style that Aaron liked. They’d been walking in the park when he’d plucked a leaf from her hair and told her how lovely it was. Compared it to midnight, gone on and on about silk. Her heart had leapt with the romance of it.

  After Theresa finished, Amelia stood and went to her full-length mirror across the room. There she looked at the girl with the hair and gown that Aaron Walters liked. And in that moment she knew exactly why she’d made these choices.

  “I need to go see Aaron,” she said softly.

  Theresa had been folding the discarded nightgown, but at that declaration, she let the fabric swish back to the ground and jerked around to stare at Amelia.

  “I beg your pardon?” she burst out.

  Amelia pushed her shoulders back and set her jaw, for she knew what she’d said was exactly what she must do. “In a day or less, the entire city will know I am to marry the Duke of Brighthollow in what will surely be seen as a scandalous rush. That is not how I would have Aaron know that our engagement, secret or not, was broken. I must go to him.” She caught her breath. “I-I must tell him myself.”

  Tears filled her eyes at the idea of seeing his broken expression. Perhaps he would argue with her, plead with her. And she would have to refuse him, even if her heart broke as she did it. The pain of that realization was enormous.

  “Oh, miss,” Theresa said. “That isn’t a good idea. Your father…”

  “Why would he have to know?” Amelia asked. “I could simply take my horse and sneak away. He wouldn’t know a thing about it, nor would anyone else. If he discovered the truth, what could he do to me now? He’s already forcing me to marry a stranger. He can take nothing more than has already been taken. And you will not be in trouble as long as you don’t confess you knew.”

  Theresa worried her lip. “It’s improper.”

  Amelia bent her head. “Excuse me for being coarse, but I say bugger propriety!”

  “Miss Amelia!” Theresa burst out, her cheeks turning near purple.

  “If one cannot curse when one is being marched to the altar against one’s will, then when can one?” Amelia asked. “I don’t care about unseemliness. I am about to lose it all. This is the one thing I can do to comfort myself in that loss. I’m going and I’m telling him myself. As I should. As he deserves.”

  Theresa let out her breath. “Well, I think I shall just turn my back then and go on to the folding. If you were to sneak out of the room when I wasn’t looking, I would probably assume you’d gone to the library to find some relief and tell everyone to leave you alone for an hour or two.”

  “A good idea. I’m very upset.” Amelia smiled at her, grateful for this one choice after all the others had been stolen from her. Theresa reached out and squeezed her arm, then turned to pick up the discarded dressing gown. She even began to whistle as she went about her work.

  And Amelia slipped from the room and toward the last bit of freedom she feared she’d ever have.

  Amelia had only seen Aaron’s home once, when they had ridden by it in his rig during an afternoon excursion together. He’d pointed out the townhouse, one that faced the park, and she oohed and ahhed at the lovely location. Her father had cooed just as loudly later over the proof that Walters had money.

  Now she rode her mare, Cherry, onto the drive in front of the house and shuddered. She’d somehow made it here uninterrupted and unmolested. Now she questioned her choice. She wasn’t announced or expected. She didn’t even know if Aaron would be home to greet her.

  But it was too late to go back now. She owed the man this courtesy. She owed herself the chance to see him one last time before they were separated by these bitter circumstances.

  She moved to the door and knocked. There was the sound of movement and then the door opened. She was surprised to find it was Aaron, himself, standing there. He had an apple in one hand, with a bite missing from it, and he wore no shoes or jacket. She blinked, unprepared as he stared down at her, almost as if he didn’t recognize her.

  His straw-colored hair was mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his dark blue eyes were a little bleary. His undone state was a shock to her, and she waited for that sense of awareness to fill her. The one that seemed to come with no trouble the moment she walked into a room with Brighthollow. But there was nothing but embarrassment that she had found him thus.

  “Great God, Amelia!” he said at last as he cast a glance o
ver his shoulder into the house. “I didn’t expect you—what are you doing here?”

  She swallowed hard. “Oh, Aaron, I know it’s wrong, but I had to see you. Something has happened. Something terrible!”

  He pursed his lips, and for a moment she thought perhaps he was annoyed. But then his expression softened. “You are overwrought. Will you…come in?”

  He stepped aside at last and she entered. To her surprise, the foyer was quite plain despite the fine address. There were spaces where paintings had clearly once hung, but they were gone now. It was a rather cold and empty space.

  “Come to the parlor.” He led her there. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you tea. My servants have the morning off.”

  He opened the door, and she entered a small parlor. There were two shabby chairs in front of a fire and two half-filled wineglasses on the table between them. Since it was so early in the day, she wondered if they had been left over from last night. It seemed odd that his servants had not removed the items.

  He muttered something beneath his breath and grabbed for them as she settled into a place.

  “Let me just…I’ll be back,” he said, and then he left the room without another word. He shut the door and she heard him talking for a moment in the hall. A female voice answered, probably whatever maid was left while the other servants were out.

  Amelia stood and paced the small room, her heart racing ever faster. What in the world could she say to his man? How could she find the words?

  He returned a few moments later, and she smiled. He had fixed himself and was now wearing boots, so when he stepped into the room he seemed more the man who had courted her the last few months.

  He left the door open to maintain some propriety and hustled to her, sitting down and taking both her hands in his. His gaze swept over her face as he said, “You are so very upset. What has happened?”