The Duke Who Lied Page 4

  The door to the parlor opened and the duchess stepped inside. Up close, she was even prettier, with thick, auburn hair, stunning green eyes and a mischievous tilt to her lips. Amelia smiled at her and watched as the lady’s gaze flitted over her from head to toe. She suddenly felt as though she was being sized up, and she shifted with discomfort at the idea.

  But then the duchess smiled and crossed to Amelia with her hand extended. “Miss Quinton, welcome. Thank you for coming to share tea with me. I greatly appreciate it.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, Your Grace,” Amelia said as the two women shook hands. “Your home is lovely.”

  “As are you. And you must call me Diana.” With that stunning request made, the duchess turned away and moved to the sideboard where she began preparing the tea.

  Amelia blinked at her hostess. “D-Diana? Your Grace, I do not think that would be—”

  “Appropriate?” Diana finished with a laugh. “I’m certain not, but I care little about that. I did not come up in Society, and I think so many of their rules so silly. If we’re to be friends, why wouldn’t we call each other by our given names? Anyway, when someone addresses me as Your Grace, it puts me to mind of my mother-in-law, and she is not a very nice person. Let her have the formality, for she revels in it.”

  Amelia was just staring at the lady, and then she lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle at the unexpected and rather blunt assessment of their situation. It was decided now. She liked the duchess…Diana. Even if she still had no idea why the woman wanted to be friends.

  “Come and sit,” Diana said, motioning to a pair of chairs before the fire. “We can get to know each other.”

  Amelia nodded, and soon they were warming themselves by the fire, chatting like old friends. Diana was a quick wit, sincere and kind, and she liked many of the same authors that Amelia did. She was growing more comfortable by the moment and her worries about why the lady had invited her here were beginning to fade.

  Suddenly Diana glanced at the clock on the mantel and her smile fell. “Goodness,” she said. “I have lost track entirely chatting with you. I needed to speak to my cook about supper. Would you excuse me just a moment?”

  Amelia wrinkled her brow at the odd pretext but nodded. “Of course. Though if you are busy, I can go.”

  Diana reached out to catch her hand as she stood. “Don’t be silly. Stay and I’ll be back in an instant.”

  Amelia let out a sigh as her new friend exited the parlor. She got to her feet and crossed the room toward a portrait that hung on the opposite wall. It was of the duke and duchess. It was a good likeness of them both, and though it was formal, it captured the twinkle in Diana’s eye and the rugged handsomeness of the duke. From the way their hands were clasped, it was clear their hearts were bound, and she tilted her head to look a little closer at their expressions.

  She heard the movement behind her as she did and turned, expecting to find Diana returning after her errand. But it was not her new friend. Instead, the same man who had called on her father the day before now stood just inside the parlor. The Duke of Brighthollow—that was what Fielding had said.

  His long hair was bound back again, but a lock had fallen away, curling around finely cut cheekbones and framing his full lips almost as if he’d meant it to.

  Her own lips parted, and suddenly it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. He stood there, staring at her, his dark eyes holding hers far too firmly, his hands clenched at his sides. The door was open behind him—there was nothing improper about them being together, aside from the fact that they had never been formally introduced.

  And yet everything about the unexpected moment felt very improper. The man filled all the space around her, and even though he was at least five long paces away, she felt crowded by his mere presence.

  She swallowed hard. “G-good afternoon,” she managed to squeak out.

  He inclined his head slightly. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinton.”

  She blinked. Why did he know her name? Why did he act like they were already acquainted? “I—” she stammered, uncertain what she should say next. Even more uncertain why the wildly twisting feeling in her stomach was telling her to run away from this man. From the odd sensations he created in her.

  “I apologize,” he said, taking a step closer and raising the riot in her body even higher. His voice was very…soothing. No, that wasn’t the word for it. Mesmerizing. “We have not been introduced. I am the Duke of Brighthollow. I’m a friend of the Duke of Willowby.”

  She nodded, mostly out of habit. And what else could she do? She was staring at him like a ninny already—if she didn’t respond in some way she would look like an utter dolt.

  “I—yes,” she said. “I remember you. You came to call on my father yesterday, did you not?”

  His eyes went wide. “You saw me there.”

  The strength of his reaction surprised her, and she wrinkled her brow. “Yes, in the hallway. I was about to meet him for tea when you arrived.”

  “Ah.” Some of the tension went out of his face.

  She waited for him to speak further. To say anything, but he didn’t. He just continued to watch her. It wasn’t lecherous at all, not like many men looked at her. There wasn’t anything threatening about it. But his expression was so very focused. Almost intimate. Like they knew each other, though they didn’t. Her stomach fluttered and she hated herself for that.

  Her stomach was only supposed to flutter for one man. It wasn’t this one.

  “Did you…did you need something?” she burst out, if only to break the tension.

  He blinked, almost as if he didn’t realize he’d been simply staring at her. “No,” he said. “I was just passing by the room. My apologies for the intrusion, my lady. A very good day to you.”

  With that, he executed a formal bow and turned on his heel to walk away. She stared after him, her hands shaking and her breath short. What was it about that man that set her on her heels so completely?

  And how could she make that stop?

  “I do not approve of this foolishness,” Lucas said as Hugh returned to his friend’s study.

  Hugh glared at him as he shut the door behind himself and leaned back into it with all his weight. “Yes, that was what you said before I went to meet Miss Quinton,” he growled. “I did not think your mind had changed in the time I was away—you do not need to keep reminding me of it.”

  “I think I do,” Lucas snapped as he pushed up from his desk. “So, you have met the girl now. Please tell me this puts an end to any consideration you have of this ridiculous notion of marrying her in some attempt to save her.”

  Hugh flinched as he strode to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff drink. He downed the entire tumbler in one breathless gulp and thought of his encounter with Amelia. She was even more beautiful up close, if that were possible. She had an intelligence to her eyes, a brightness that he had not had in his life for a very long time. And she smelled of vanilla and something spicy, heady. Something a man could drown himself in.

  If he married her, there would be no difficulty with wanting her. Of course, she would despise him. But plenty of people despised their spouses. Lucas’s parents, for example, had hated each other. And that had…ended terribly.

  Hugh shook his head. “It isn’t a ridiculous notion.”

  Lucas came approached him and grabbed his arm, giving him a solid shake. “Are you telling me that or yourself?”

  Hugh stared into the concerned gaze of one of his best friends. He dropped his head in defeat, for there was no hiding his true heart from this man. “I’m not sure. But I don’t think it is a ridiculous notion.”

  “To consider marrying a stranger for revenge? For some sense of self-flagellant duty?”

  Hugh shook off Lucas’s arm and glared at him. “Plenty of people have married for far worse reasons.”

  “Not our people.” Both men turned to find Diana at the d
oor. Her lips were pressed together in a thin white line that told him she didn’t approve of his plans any more than her husband did.

  “Did the young lady leave?” Hugh asked, his throat suddenly dry.

  Diana nodded slowly. “She seemed a bit…off kilter when I returned. I have no idea what you said to her, but her expression was positively bloodless. She made some excuse and departed abruptly.”

  He frowned. He hadn’t been trying to frighten her. That was a very bad start considering what he was pondering could come next.

  “Well played, Brighthollow,” Lucas muttered.

  Diana gave Lucas a look, and he threw up his hands and walked away like he was surrendering to her.

  Of course he would. She was his everything.

  Diana stepped to Hugh, and she smiled at him with kindness and understanding. In that moment, he didn’t care that she knew the truth about his sister and what she’d been through. He knew she would keep that secret to her grave. She was incapable of any cruelty.

  “Hugh, your friends have all married for love. None of us would want to see you settle for any less than the happiness we’ve found.” She touched his hand gently, the touch of a healer, seeking a way to fix him.

  He shook his head slowly. “Love is not the destiny of every man.”

  “So seven of your friends have said before you, and foolishly so!” Lucas barked out from his desk.

  “Not helpful, my love,” Diana said without looking at him. She smiled at Hugh. “Though not entirely without merit. Think of what you would give up.”

  Hugh looked at her, and then he closed his eyes. Through his mind he saw images of his married friends, easily brought up. Stolen kisses and meaningful glances, joyous celebrations of children and laughter. He saw their struggles and their pleasures and all the things they had earned through their love. He saw it and he knew he would never have that. Not if he forced this young woman’s hand.

  “Perhaps I don’t deserve what my friends have found,” he said softly.

  Her eyes grew wide and pained. “Hugh,” she breathed.

  He stepped away from her. “I knew my sister was…struggling and I didn’t pursue it. I thought it was a phase that would pass.”

  “How could you have known what was really going on?” Lucas asked, all the heat gone from his voice now. “We were all that age once—I remember acting out. No one could have assumed Lizzie was pondering something so wild as to run away.”

  Hugh clenched his fist at his side. “But when she was wronged by this…this thing…this man, I did nothing. I said nothing. I paid him his devil’s price and I let him walk away. And now someone else will suffer. Someone else will become his prey because of my pride. I do not deserve happiness or love or anything else. It’s my duty to do all in my power to prevent him from damaging another person.”

  Diana moved toward him. “Then tell her the truth! I spent an hour with Amelia before I left to allow you your meeting. I like her a great deal. She seems kind and clever, witty and bright. If you were pursuing her for any other reason beyond this foolishness, I would say she was a good match for you.” She caught Hugh’s hand and squeezed. “At least give her the chance to make up her own mind about this man.”

  He shook his head slowly. “She is in love with him.”

  Diana cast a quick glance at Lucas. “She thinks herself in love with him because of the lies he’s told her, the image he’s presented. Many a lady makes a foolish mistake based on those things. It doesn’t mean it’s real or lasting.”

  Lucas cleared his throat and moved toward her. Hugh watched, mesmerized, as Diana stepped away from him and into the circle of her husband’s arm. Lucas leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, and in that moment they were in their own world. It had a language Hugh didn’t understand, a history he could not study. And he envied it. Down to the core of his soul.

  “I’m sure you’re right that she has been taken in, just as Lizzie was,” Hugh croaked out. “But that doesn’t mean that what she thinks she feels isn’t real in this moment. My sister ran away with this man when they felt their relationship was threatened. What if I tell Miss Quinton the truth and she…she goes to him with my accusations? God knows how much worse it could be then.”

  Lucas’s jaw set. “You think he might hurt her?”

  “I have no idea what he is capable of,” Hugh whispered as he thought of Walters’ cruel laughter. That sound that echoed in his head and his dreams nearly a year later. “Besides, what would I tell this woman even if I could? Give her the truth about my sister? What if she spread that gossip all over Society? Then everything I’ve done for Lizzie will have been for nothing at all.”

  Diana shook her head. “You must try, Hugh. Try something. Respect this woman enough to try.”

  He ground his teeth. Those words were enough to stop him in his tracks. Here he’d been judging her father for not telling her or protecting her, but he was not giving her any options either if he didn’t make the attempt Lucas and Diana were pushing for.

  “How?” he asked.

  “Just like today,” Diana said. “Meg and Simon are holding a soiree tomorrow night. I’ll be sure the young lady and her father have an invitation. We can distract the viscount and you find a way to speak to her alone for a moment.”

  Hugh moved to the window and stared out into the garden behind Lucas and Diana’s home. It had begun to rain, and the weather reflected his heart so perfectly that he almost laughed.

  “Fine,” he said. “You are correct that she deserves the chance to make her own decision. If her father won’t allow her that, I must. Talk to Meg, if you would. Arrange it and I will do my part.”

  Only as he looked out at that dreary day, he wasn’t certain what his part was. Was he savior or demon to this woman? And would their futures converge the way her father demanded they should to save her?

  More to the point, why was he so warmed by the idea of spending a moment alone with her again?

  Chapter Four

  Amelia couldn’t help the flutter of nervousness in her stomach as their carriage rounded another corner and took them closer to the ball at the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood’s estate. There were many reasons why her heart had taken to pounding so loudly. One was that this was the second invitation she’d had from a person of such stature in as many days, and it confused her.

  Another was that every time she thought of dukes, she thought of the Duke of Brighthollow. Since the previous day when he had entered the parlor, she had found herself thinking of him many times. So many times and hating herself whenever it happened. She was engaged to Aaron! How could she think of another man’s stern, handsome face? Or recall every vibration of his deep voice?

  How could she dream of another man? It was a wanton thing, a desperate thing, a thing that marked her even if no one else ever knew it. Heavens, when Aaron had come to call just that morning, she’d found herself having a hard time looking him in the eye. Their interaction had been brief and for the first time, she’d been happy for him to go.

  She tried to shake those thoughts away, but her anxiety did not fade, for the third reason for her nervousness was sitting across from her, glaring at her as if he knew she’d done something wrong. Her father shifted and said, “I still don’t understand why you have suddenly garnered the interest of such lofty company.”

  “Trust me, Papa, I have no more idea than you do,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t squeak so.

  “First the Duchess of Willowby invites you, then Crestwood. That is two dukes in two days.”

  “Three, actually,” she mused, hating how her mind could so easily spin an image of the third. “The Duke of Brighthollow is a friend of Willowby. He was calling when I was there yesterday. I think you know him.”

  Her father’s mouth grew hard. “Just in passing. He was at the Willowby estate, was he? And did he speak to you?”

  Amelia hesitated. She almost didn’t want to tell him about
the strange encounter with the man. Somehow, she wanted to keep it just for herself. A secret no one else had to know.

  He didn’t seem to care that she didn’t answer, though. He shook his head. “It is too bad you could not aspire to this before you engaged yourself to someone of lesser value.”

  Her lips parted. “Just because Aaron is not the rank of duke does not mean he has lesser value.”

  “Of course he has!” Her father waved toward the bright, big house in the distance. “This circle of dukes, this little club of them, is filled with comfort and riches. With title and pomp and circumstance.”

  Amelia thought of Brighthollow’s dark eyes, the way they’d bore into her with an intensity that made her entire body tingle. That was so different from the soft, sweet glances that Aaron shared with her. She felt different.

  “I don’t want what is in this world,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to Quinton.

  His gaze flitted over her, and then he turned his face. “Do you truly love Walters?”

  “I said I would marry him. Of course, I care for him.”

  “But what do we know of him, really?” he pressed. “He appeared so suddenly and such a short time ago. Perhaps we should put this engagement off a while.”

  Her eyes went wide. “We have so much in common, Papa. He is kind and gentle. He likes all the same books as I do. My favorite songs and dances are also his. He even likes to take walks on the same paths in the park as I do.”

  The carriage began to slow, and her father let out a harrumph of breath. “Well, we can speak about it later.”

  As the door opened and he headed from the carriage, she stared at his retreating back. Talk about it later? She had no idea what in the world he could mean to talk to her about. Everything was decided, it simply hadn’t been announced. There was nothing left to talk about.

  She followed him into the foyer, and they were led down a long, bright hallway toward the ballroom. Amelia tried to calm herself with every step. After all, there would be no Brighthollow tonight. Or if he was in attendance, he certainly would have nothing to do with her. Whatever had brought him to her father’s parlor wasn’t her concern, and his odd behavior in the Willowby parlor had to be an anomaly.