He turned as Alex sauntered into the room.
‘Is she all right? Will your father punish her?’
Alex crossed to an armchair and flung himself into it. ‘Don’t know. Oh, she’s all right—Livvy always bounces back—but m’father...’ he scowled, thrusting both hands through his hair to sweep it back from his face ‘...he seems unnaturally calm. He’ll probably wait until after you meet Clevedon...he won’t want anything to distract you.’ He slanted a look at Hugo. ‘Or maybe he’s hoping you’ll both get shot and save him a job.’
Hugo passed his hand around the back of his neck, rubbing as he tilted his head back. So tense. He felt like...he wanted to...he must...
He anchored his thoughts in place as he sorted through them. The conclusion was—he could not bear to wait. He could not face Clevedon with this on his mind.
He swore out loud, softly and fluently. Alex flicked a brow. ‘That’s some inventive curse, my friend. Care to tell me what it’s in aid of?’
Hugo strode for the door. ‘I’m off to town. To talk to your father.’
* * *
An hour later—having first changed into fresh clothing—Hugo rode into Brighton. At the house on Marine Parade currently leased by the Duke of Cheriton he dismounted and beckoned to a young boy on the opposite side of the road.
‘Here.’ Hugo tossed him a penny. ‘Hold him, will you? If I’m more than ten minutes, I shall pay you another.’
The boy’s eyes brightened. ‘Yessir.’
He was admitted without question and shown immediately to a back room.
‘Lord Hugo Alastair, your Grace.’
The room—clearly in use as an office—was decorated in a feminine, floral style that was completely at odds with the furniture—a large mahogany desk set before the single window, several wooden chairs and a table piled with papers, where Freddie sat. The Duke stood on the far side of the desk with his back to the room, silhouetted by the light coming through the window.
‘Leave us, Freddie, will you, please? I shall send for you when we are done.’
Freddie stood, tucked his crutch under his arm and headed for the door. He raised his brows and smiled at Hugo as he passed, but said nothing. Not until the door clicked shut behind him did Cheriton turn around. He gestured at a chair on the far side of the desk to himself and then settled himself in his own chair.
‘You are here earlier than I anticipated.’
‘I will not waste your time, Duke. I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.’
Dark brows rose, but there was no surprise on Cheriton’s face. Merely, it seemed, a weary kind of acceptance. Hope germinated. He’d expected to be kicked out as soon as he uttered those words.
‘You need to know that I have not declared myself to Olivia and she has no idea of the depth of my feelings for her, but I love her and I believe she loves me.’
Cheriton opened his mouth, but Hugo said, quickly, ‘Please. Allow me to finish.’
The Duke inclined his head, and rose to his feet. ‘Brandy?’ At Hugo’s nod, he crossed to a side table upon which there was a silver salver holding a crystal glass decanter and several glasses. ‘Pray continue,’ he said as he took the stopper from the decanter.
Hugo battened down a feeling of unreality. This interview was nothing like the one he had imagined as he had ridden into town. He gathered his thoughts and sucked in a steadying breath. He was determined to do this properly. Olivia deserved as much. After keeping her at arm’s length for so long, the last thing he wanted was to raise her hopes only to have them dashed or—worse—for her to blame her father if he refused his consent.
‘I know I cannot support her in the lifestyle she is used to, but I want to spend the rest of my life with her, if she’ll have me.’
The Duke set a glass in front of Hugo, then rounded the desk to take his seat again. He took a sip and then placed his glass on the desk.
‘Her dowry will go a long way to make up for any shortfall in her husband’s income.’
The words were softly spoken, but there was a challenge in them, and in the silvery-grey gaze that pierced Hugo.
‘I am not interested in her dowry. I will take her without any dowry, to prove my love is true. It is Olivia I want, not your money.’
His expression unreadable, Cheriton rose once again and turned to stare out of the window, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. Hugo waited. He had said his piece. Quite what he would do if the Duke refused his consent, he did not know.
‘Are you prepared to wait for her?’
Here we go.
If her father refused his consent it would be three years before Olivia could wed without his permission. Unless they eloped. Hugo devoutly hoped it would not come to that. Now his decision was made—having denied his feelings for so long—he wanted no obstacles in his way.
‘Yes. I will wait.’
Cheriton sat again, leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face, his chin propped on his thumbs. He again scrutinised Hugo and then he sighed.
‘Both Alex and Freddie have told me how you have helped and protected both Olivia and Alex over the past months, although they were both somewhat circumspect as to the exact details.’
Hugo sifted through his memories. They could not have told him about the necklace because neither of them knew about it. He doubted, therefore, that either of them would have told Cheriton about the visit to Vauxhall Gardens either. Having grown closer to Alex, Hugo now shared Olivia and Freddie’s determination to help him achieve his dream of taking over Foxbourne.
‘I shall embarrass neither of us by demanding those details from you,’ Cheriton continued. ‘Both my son and my daughter are—currently—safe and that is all that concerns me.’
He stood again and paced about the room. Hugo recognised that restless activity, the sign of a dilemma being grappled with. He waited until Cheriton sat again.
‘I realise I owe you a great deal, Alastair, but that on its own is not sufficient to support your union with my daughter. However, I also see in you an honourable man attempting to put his past behind him—I remember how you stepped up last year when your cousin, Lady Ashby, was in danger and I have seen how you have supported your mother and stepfather since their marriage. I also—’ his perceptive gaze again pierced Hugo ‘—remember your father and what he was like.’
Again he paced the room and Hugo waited. A man such as Cheriton could not be pushed or cajoled and woe betide the man who attempted it. This time he did not sit again, but came to a standstill next to Hugo’s chair. Hugo rose to his feet. It was one thing allowing the man time to come to a decision, quite another to have him towering above him as he delivered his verdict. Hugo met the Duke’s gaze and raised a brow. A smile flickered across the Duke’s features.
‘You may call upon Olivia and, if you still wish to, you may offer for her with my blessing. I do, however, have two stipulations. Firstly, you are not to call upon her or communicate with her until after the duel. Olivia knows nothing about the meeting and she will not know anything until the affair is settled. Is that clear?’
Hugo nodded.
‘My daughter, as you may have noticed, is somewhat headstrong. If she hears the slightest whisper of your meeting then she would, I am sure, find a way to be there.’
Hugo shuddered at the thought.
‘Now, Olivia is but eighteen years old and so my second stipulation is that a formal betrothal is delayed until Christmas with the wedding to take place in the spring. I want you both—but in particular Olivia—to be absolutely certain that this is what you want. In the meantime, you are welcome to come and visit Olivia at Cheriton Abbey whenever you can be spared from Helmstone.’ He raised his dark brows. ‘Agreed?’
Hugo shook his proffered hand. ‘Agreed.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dawn the following morning found Hugo and the Duke high up on the Downs that surrounded Brighton, awaiting the arrival of Clevedon and Sudbury. Lord Sudbury had called upon the Duke the previous evening, as agreed, to finalise the meeting place and weapons. And Hugo learned that Sudbury had passed on certain information that shed new light on Clevedon’s situation and his subsequent behaviour.
Clevedon’s debt to Bulbridge was huge, but it had not been entirely due to gambling. Sudbury told Cheriton that Bulbridge and his cousin, Douglas Randall, were the feared and despised owners of Diablo’s—both the gambling club and the linked brothel that prided itself on catering for men of various and unusual desires. Clevedon’s sexual preferences—which had come as no surprise to Cheriton, evidently—had rendered him a victim of blackmail by the unscrupulous pair who had layered demand after demand on the Earl, pushing him to the brink of despair and leading to him snatching Olivia in a desperate attempt to gain her dowry.
Hugo’s nerves had completely disintegrated at that information. The relief that he could now delope with honour...that he did not have to actually kill Clevedon...was enormous. Sudbury had assured Cheriton that, if Clevedon survived, he planned to leave the country and escape Bulbridge once and for all.
In their need to keep the entire affair as quiet as possible, it was agreed that Sir Horace Todmorden would preside over the duel and he arranged for a discreet doctor friend to attend in case he was needed. Hugo and Clevedon paced the required distance and turned to face one another, but sideways on. They took aim, keeping one eye on the white handkerchief held aloft by Sir Horace. As it fluttered to the ground, Clevedon aimed his pistol into the air and fired. He then turned to fully face Hugo.
Hugo sited along the barrel of his own pistol and then, quite deliberately, he, too, aimed into the air and pulled the trigger. As the puff of smoke dissipated into the cool morning air, he lowered the pistol.
* * *
‘Let us repair to the Old Ship for breakfast,’ said Cheriton as they rode into the outskirts of Brighton a little later.
Sir Horace had declined an offer to join them and Clevedon, shamefaced, had come to them to confirm his plan to go overseas. Once they were settled in a private room at the inn, Hugo found himself undergoing such a thorough interrogation about his life that he was eventually goaded into saying, ‘I wonder you will contemplate a man such as me for Olivia, sir.’
Cheriton, having eaten his fill, leaned back in his chair.
‘Even six months ago, I would never have done so. But this Season has changed my attitude to love and marriage. It has been a momentous time for my family with not just me getting married after having vowed never to wed again, but now both my brother and my sister have found love in the most unlikely of circumstances. And if there is one thing I have learned it is this. We cannot dictate where love will find us but, when it does, we must grab it with both hands. I am no longer surprised that Olivia has followed in my generation’s footsteps and I now find myself watching Avon with some trepidation. I almost expect him to turn up with an actress upon his arm.’ He grinned. ‘But I might then put my foot down very firmly.’
‘And Alex?’
‘Oh, I suspect Alex will confound us all and fall in love with a princess at the very least.’
* * *
Olivia bent her head to concentrate both on her embroidery and on keeping her simmering anger and fear from erupting into fury. She eyed the two maids who had dogged her footsteps from the moment she emerged from her bedchamber. They sat close to the parlour door, a basket of mending between them, but when Olivia left the room not ten minutes ago—saying she was going to relieve herself—both of them had accompanied her.
She swallowed her hmmph of disgust at Papa’s lack of trust in her.
She was forbidden from leaving the house—his Grace’s orders, the maids had said, apologetically—and she was therefore condemned to simply sit and wait for news as she had done since first thing that morning. She had risen early, driven by a nameless dread that lurked deep, deep inside, setting her insides in turmoil, only to find that Papa had already left the house...and a part of her knew what that meant. Alex had regaled her often enough with stories about duels—that peculiar method by which gentlemen settled insults and arguments—and she had always imagined them as dashing and romantic, with the clash of rapiers in the early morning mist or deadly pistols at dawn.
Until now.
There was nothing romantic about it when someone she loved might be involved.
Was there to be a duel? Or—looking at the clock—had there been a duel? And was it Papa who had challenged Clevedon? Or Hugo? She could not decide which was worse, but she was certain of one thing—the very worst thing was that it was her fault and if either of them were injured, she could never, ever forgive herself. Dread and self-recrimination mixed with her other emotions.
At a quarter past nine—before any of the rest of the family had even arisen—the parlour door opened and Alex sauntered in. Olivia threw down her embroidery and ran to him, grabbing his hands and tugging him over to the window, as far away from the door and the maids’ ears as possible.
‘What happened?’ she hissed. ‘Tell me, please.’
Alex’s brows stitched together. ‘You know?’
Those two words confirmed her worst fears. ‘Who challenged him? Papa? Hugo?’
Alex growled, deep in his throat. ‘You bloo—blasted menace, Liv. You didn’t know.’
‘Not for certain, but I guessed.’ She clutched harder at Alex’s hands. ‘Please. Tell me the worst. Is anyone hurt? Have they been arrested?’
For that was another worry and one that had only just occurred to her. Duels were against the law. There had been enough stories over the years of men forced to flee the country to escape justice.
Alex glanced at the maids, then put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders and manoeuvred them both so they stood with their backs to the room.
‘Keep your voice down, do, Sis. The fewer people who know about this the better. Father will make sure the law doesn’t become involved, never fear.’
‘But why is Papa not home? He should be back by now.’
‘Men never eat breakfast before they meet, Liv, so they’ve probably gone for a bite to eat. Devilish hungry work, staring death in the face as the sun comes up.’
‘Did you not go to watch?’
‘Watch? It is not a spectator sport, you silly gudgeon. It’s serious business. Never fear. I’m sure Hugo’ll come through all right—he’s a tolerable shot, y’know.’
She swayed at his words, and he grabbed hold of her, supporting her. ‘Hugo challenged Clevedon?’
‘Shhh. The last thing I want is for them pair to go gabbling to Father that I’ve been talking to you about this. You really have no idea of discretion, do you?’
‘I will keep my voice down if you promise to tell me everything you know.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as—did Hugo challenge Clevedon?’
‘Well, of course he did. Haven’t I just said so? Father was like fire that he got in his challenge first, but then he offered to stand as Hugo’s second.’ He hugged Olivia to him briefly before releasing her. ‘Never fear, brat. Father would have been home long since had anything bad happened. They’re having breakfast, you mark my words.’
Alex left soon afterwards and Olivia wore a track in the carpet, pacing around the parlour—terrified and furious in equal measures—as she kept her ears pricked for signs of arrival at the front door. Finally, she heard a murmur of voices in the hall and Grantham appeared in the doorway. First, intriguingly, he dismissed the two maids.
‘There is a gentleman waiting to speak to you in the salon, milady.’ He bowed, then favoured her with a rare smile. ‘Lord Hugo Alastair.’
Olivia’s heart skipped and jumped as she realised the implication of that announc
ement. But the fear and anger that had been brewing since she awoke still agitated deep inside her and Hugo needn’t think she would simply fall into his arms because he had finally decided—presumably with her father’s blessing—to make her an offer. Unless...
Her throat thickened. Did he feel it was his duty to offer for her, now she had tarnished her reputation? Had Papa put pressure on him and forced him to propose? She couldn’t bear that. Resentment now mixed in with that volatile concoction of fear and anger.
She followed Grantham down the hall and he opened the salon door, standing aside for her to enter.
Her breath caught. Hugo stood on the far side of the room—utterly, mouthwateringly gorgeous—and, as Grantham shut the door behind her all that pent-up fear and emotion burst from her. She flew at him.
‘You despicable cur!’ She slapped at him, only for him to capture her wrist. ‘You...you...misbegotten miscreant!’ She aimed for his face with her other hand, but he caught that, too. Tears of pure frustration...and rage...and relief...flooded her eyes as she struggled to free herself. ‘You swine! You...ch-churlish coxcomb!’
‘You forgot sodden-witted lord.’
‘Sodden-witted goat, more like. Why did you challenge him? Why? You could have been k-k-killed.’
‘But I was not killed, was I, my sweet? Look at me. Nary a scratch.’
‘But I did not know that! No one told me anything.’ She fought again against his grip, but half-heartedly now as she gulped for air. Then the fight leached from her. ‘Y-you didn’t even come to see if I was all right,’ she wailed.
And with that, he released her wrists to snake one arm around her waist, pulling her roughly, almost fiercely, to him. Her arms wound around his neck as their lips met with a savage intensity, his tongue plunging into her mouth. She returned his kiss with reckless abandon, meeting his tongue thrust for thrust until her lips were on fire, her body was throbbing with need and her lungs screamed for air.
Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake Page 24