Hugh was sick and tired of pacing the floor of his study. He’d paced it all afternoon because the minx only emerged from her bedchamber for dinner, predictably flanked by her annoying sisters and refusing to leave either of their sides or his mother’s afterward, to enable him to speak to her alone. The only communication had been the pointed glares she shot in his direction when she was certain nobody was looking, and those were so cold, they left no element of doubt as to the way she was feeling.
Minerva was seething.
Whereas Hugh’s anger had abandoned him when raw, visceral panic had taken its place upon learning his mother had arrived home early. Panic that his now-renegade fake fiancée seemed intent on cruelly fueling. Just as she had enjoyed twisting the carefully constructed backstory he had woven for nearly two years to make him a laughingstock in his own damn house! The way Minerva told it, Hugh had been a pathetic and ardent suitor from the outset. One she had been training to be a better man since. Silly Hugh. Unreliable Hugh. Self-centered and self-important … Thank goodness she had come along at the right time to fix all his myriad of faults before they became so ingrained, he was a lost cause.
His mother, of course, lapped it all up because Minerva was purposefully echoing all the things she had nagged him about for years. No doubt simply to torture him, she had just gone to bed on his mother’s arm, too, the pair of them gossiping like fast friends.
Meanwhile, Hugh was being left in the dark, forced to watch his meticulously orchestrated charade play out from the stalls rather than from the center of the stage, and he didn’t like it one bit. After their altercation this afternoon, the new Mercenary Minerva might well be royally stabbing him in the back—yet while she was being guarded by her loyal coven, he had no possible way of finding out.
It was all a huge mess, one that was making him so anxious he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
Payne scratched on the door and let himself in, still plainly carrying the note he had sent to Minerva in an attempt to call a desperate truce to the hostilities.
“She refused to take it, my lord. She told me to tell you she still wasn’t speaking to you, which, she argued, included reading anything you have written.”
“Blasted woman! What does she think she is playing at?”
Payne simply shrugged, his expression deadpan.
“Do you think I am in the wrong?”
“I think the version of events you gave me is a bit different to the one Miss Minerva just apprised me of. In your version, you neglected to mention you were in high dudgeon well before your altercation with her.”
Of course she would have told him about Sarah, although Payne would have the good sense never to mention her directly. “I confess, I was in the highest of dudgeons after her sister threw another tantrum.” There was no denying Hugh hadn’t been himself when he had embarked on his necessary conversation with Minerva. “Vee would try the patience of a saint.”
“And you, my lord, were of course an angel.”
“I lost my temper, Payne, as anyone would when faced with unreasonableness.”
“Miss Minerva said you galloped off and almost caused her to fall from her horse, when you knew perfectly well she was a novice rider and lacked the confidence to cope well with that speed.”
“It was barely a trot.”
“She also called you a selfish, shallow brute.”
“Brute?”
“The lady’s exact words, my lord, and you will be pleased to know I challenged her comments.”
“Thank you, Payne.… I am a lot of things, but a ‘selfish, shallow brute’ isn’t one of them.”
“Indeed, my lord. I said to her, ‘Selfish and shallow I will grant you, because he is both in spades, but I have never known His Lordship to be brutish. Such a trait would take far too much effort.’” The butler smiled at Hugh’s narrowed eyes and dropped the note on Hugh’s desk. “If I might be so bold as to offer some advice, my lord.”
“As if I could stop you.”
“You had a tiff and are both still too aggrieved to be reasonable. Therefore, I suggest you both sleep on it and then discuss it in the morning. Rested, I am sure she will be in a much better frame of mind and more receptive to your apology.”
“I am not apologizing!”
“For a man who has such success with the ladies, it always surprises me how little you know about them.” Payne turned to leave.
“Et tu, Brute! You do think I am in the wrong.”
“In all honesty, my lord, you are both stubborn people. It is frankly a miracle you haven’t fallen out before today. Until now, you have both displayed impressive restraint and an admirable facility to compromise. I am strangely proud of you. But you are the man and therefore you must be the one to apologize. That is the law.”
“Which law?”
“The law of women, my lord. Believe me, as all married men will doubtless readily attest, your life will be much easier if you throw yourself willingly on your sword. Or do you wish to spend all of tomorrow frozen out of the proceedings, too? I am afraid in this particular situation, you need Miss Minerva much more than she needs you. Best to keep her on your side, don’t you agree?”
His smirking butler bid him a good-night, then left Hugh to ponder. It was true, the wench had him over a barrel. He was still smarting at her demand for more money. It wasn’t so much the money he had a problem with, because he had plenty of that, it was more the manner in which she presented him with the ultimatum. She had wanted to put him in his place, and by Jove she had. Then she had thrown him in purgatory and seemed only too delighted to leave him to languish there for the duration. As much as it pained Hugh to admit it, perhaps Payne was right about one thing. There was nothing he could do about it tonight. Better to tackle it with fresh eyes and hopefully a more conciliatory mood tomorrow.
Defeated, he took himself up to bed and dismissed his valet. He was done with feigning politeness when all he really wanted to do was kick the furniture around. But instead of shattering his toes on the unforgiving old oak bedstead, he settled for balling up his waistcoat and cravat and furiously tossing them at the wall before he took a deep breath, tugged off his boots, and stretched out on top of the covers to ponder some more.
This really wasn’t how he wanted his dealings with Minerva to end. In light of his mother’s impromptu arrival, he and Giles had already deemed it necessary to bring the elopement forward, too. She and Giles would flee tomorrow night. It seemed the most prudent way of limiting the potential catastrophe and, ironically, the awkward frisson between Hugh and his beloved all day, combined with Minerva’s lackluster and lukewarm recollections of their courtship, did play in their favor. If it was apparent to his mother and Jeremiah the affection between the besotted couple was more one-sided than they had been led to believe, they wouldn’t be completely surprised if Minerva’s head had been turned elsewhere. All they had to do was get through one more day together. Just one more paltry day and their charade would be done.
Not that the vexing Minerva knew any of this, because she hadn’t read his blasted note!
And if she awoke in a snit tomorrow, and avoided him again, he would have to get Payne or Giles to explain it all to her. And get them to say goodbye.
For some reason, that made him feel both sad and furious in equal measure. Sad, because despite her recent betrayal and flagrant blackmail, he liked her. A great deal. He had from the outset, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her disappearing when he knew he would forever worry about how she was faring on her own again. And he was furious because she would leave still unjustly assuming he was a brute, while absolving herself of all blame for his supposed brutishness.
That hardly struck him as fair.
Why did she get to have the last word when there were important things to be said? The logistics for tomorrow, for example? The need for her to continue to behave as if she was peeved at him. The fact he needed her to know she could come to him if life or fate was ever cruel to her again? She was denying him the right to continue to be her knight in shining armor, when he was resolutely committed to continue being it.
He jumped off the bed and began to pace again, annoyed with himself for still being annoyed and annoyed at the thought of her enjoying the blissful sleep of the self-righteous when he wouldn’t sleep a wink. So much for being master of his own house. What sort of master had to resort to pacing the Persian?
Not this one.
Something inside him snapped, and Hugh was striding across the landing toward the east wing before he thought better of it.
If she wouldn’t read his note, then she would hear it in person!
As he turned into her hallway, he saw the thin strip of light bleeding beneath her door.
Good.
She wasn’t asleep. He hoped she was feeling as remorseful and frustrated as he was by today’s unfortunate chain of events. He stalled his clenched hand before it pummeled on the door, realizing in the nick of time that without stealth, her sisters would dash to her aid and he’d have to try to hold one of the single most important conversations of his life in front of an overprotective audience. Instead, he tapped lightly once and then strode inside without allowing her the opportunity to tell him to go to hell.
“Minerva, we need to…” The rest of the words died in his throat. She stood at the window in nothing but a billowing nightgown. A nightgown the firelight rendered translucent. Her dark hair was loose, hanging almost to her hip, a breathtaking silken curtain that shimmered in the dim flame of the single candle.
“What the…!”
He winced at the shriek and motioned with his hands for her not to scream as she scrabbled for the shawl hanging on the mirror and held it against her, thoroughly spoiling his splendid view. “I am sorry for barging in—but it cannot wait. I really do need to speak to you.”
“Here? How dare you come here!” Her eyes then raked the length of him, taking in the loose untucked shirt and bare feet and calves poking out of his breeches. “You’re not even dressed!”
“It was a sudden decision … and in the spur of the moment I forgot myself. I’m sorry.” But he wouldn’t be deterred. Nor would he be seduced. “Would it help if I apologized for part of what transpired earlier?”
“Only part!” Instead of placating her, his words only served to get her dander up further, and Hugh sighed, remembering his butler’s advice.
“I am sorry for being in a bad mood earlier and for taking it out on you.” He owed her that much of an apology. “And I am sorry for galloping off and leaving you to struggle with Marigold alone. That was ungentlemanly.”
Still clutching the shawl in front of her like a shield, she looked down her nose at him. “It was. Very.”
“In light of what happened subsequently, I also regret falling out with you over Vee.”
“That doesn’t sound the least bit like an apology.”
“It is a partial one. One which when combined with the other two acknowledges I am three-quarters to blame for this morning.”
“I suppose you expect me to take responsibility for the remaining quarter?” He decided to take the fact she was not shouting as a positive sign.
As tempting as it was to moan about Vee, he wouldn’t. Her sisters were her Achilles’ heel, and mentioning that wouldn’t release him from purgatory. “Not all of it.” He held up his finger and thumb an inch apart. “Just the bit where you were mean to me and then tried to blackmail me as revenge for my shoddy behavior.”
“It was shoddy.”
“My behavior or your attempt at blackmail?” He offered her a tenuous smile as an olive branch.
“Both.” Contrition replaced the affronted outrage. “I shouldn’t have stooped to your level. You don’t have to pay me sixty pounds.”
“I will and gladly. You saved my bacon today and for that I am truly thankful. Do you accept my apology, or shall I get down on my knees and plead as I did when I begged you for your hand?”
The beginnings of a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t the least bit sorry for making him sound pathetic and lovelorn in front of his mother, and he admired that. “As tempting as that is, I shall accept.”
“Thank you.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, then had a very odd moment when he realized it wasn’t only her hand he wanted to kiss.
It was all of her.
Off-kilter yet again, Hugh stepped back awkwardly and tried to look unaffected as she blinked back at him. Lord, she was lovely! Too lovely. All that hair, the nightgown. The shadow of the long legs he could see beneath it. Realizing he was staring, he looked away, only to be confronted with the large bed that dominated the room. Its covers turned down in invitation. “Then I declare a truce.” His heart was racing. Beads of nervous perspiration seemed to multiply along his spine as images of the pair of them in that bed skittered vividly across his mind. “Now can we talk?”
“You didn’t just come here to apologize, then?”
As he was in danger of awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet, Hugh sat on the chair by the dressing table and, after casting another frantic glance around the room, had no choice but to gesture for her to sit on the bed or continue to stand like Eve tempting Adam before him. “There is much to discuss and I haven’t had a second with you alone since you told me to go to hell outside the stables.”
She sat, rearranging the shawl primly around her shoulders and forcing him to notice some alluring female jiggling beneath the nightgown. Then the jiggling reminded him that the diaphanous nightgown was the only flimsy barrier between his eyes and her nakedness. More unwelcome images writhed erotically in his imagination, more than he feared he was capable of coping with. Rather than groan out loud at the visceral effect they had on his body, he crossed one leg over the other and tried to imagine he wasn’t alone in this intimately lit bedchamber with a woman who had no idea how much he wanted her. He tried valiantly to picture Lucretia in that seductive garment instead—short, stout legs and slightly crinkly graying hair unbound. He clung to that unappealing image like grim death. “What were you and my mother whispering about after dinner?”
“Your mother wanted to go through your entire story with a fine-tooth comb. How we met, our courtship, my illness, and my father’s death.” Her pretty face became pained. “I did my best to answer every question, but I am not entirely sure she is convinced, Hugh. She asked the same things over and over in different ways. All very cordially, but I got the distinct impression she was trying to trip me up.”
“She excels at that.”
“If I say so myself, I did a good job of distracting her. I asked a great many questions about Boston and Mr. Peabody.”
“Jeremiah has always managed to distract her.”
“It’s obvious she adores him.” Minerva’s face softened, and she had a faraway look in her green eyes that made him want to go far away with her. “She lit up whenever she talked about him.”
“They married entirely for love.”
“How lovely…”
“I know…” With her before him doing odd things to his heart, he sincerely wished he was capable of it. But it wasn’t to be. He might be able to behave himself in the short term, but like his cheating sire and grandfather before him, he wasn’t capable of the commitment such a lofty undertaking entailed. Even if she was willing and he tried to fight his wayward blood, he’d end up breaking her heart. Because that’s what Standish men did. “After being shackled to my father, she deserved some happiness.” What had possessed him to admit to that? Being too canny and intuitive for her own good, Minerva noticed. Sympathy clouded her green eyes.
“Was he not a nice man, then? That comes as a surprise. I’ve not heard a bad word against your father in the time I’ve been here. Even Payne seems to admire him—and he is thoroughly devoted to you.”
“Payne? Devoted? If that’s devotion, I would hate to see what disdain looks like.” Nightgown or no nightgown, Hugh was not going to talk about his father. She hadn’t scrambled his wits that much. “Ironically, it was my father who introduced my mother to Jeremiah.” Or perhaps she had, seeing as he apparently was talking about his father. “Jeremiah was a good family friend for many years before she was widowed, he was my mother’s rock during my father’s illness, and then it wasn’t long before friendship turned into more. I was best man at their wedding. I have a great deal of respect for Jeremiah. He is the only person who has ever made my harridan of a mother see reason.”
“Your mother isn’t a harridan.”
“You have only endured one tea and one dinner.”
“Perhaps—but it is obvious she adores you and only wants what is best for you.”
“And you learned all this during two interrogations in which she tried repeatedly to trip you up?”
“We did talk about your scandalous lifestyle—before I came along and rescued you from it.” She failed to hide her amusement as she tried to look appalled. “Opera dancers and married ladies, Hugh? Your mother says they were a predictable choice considering your irrational fear of falling in love.”
“I am not the least bit afraid of falling in love.” Although just saying it aloud made his insides tighten. It wasn’t an irrational fear, it was a genuine one. Love wasn’t for the fainthearted and it certainly wasn’t for the easily distracted. Because the other side of the coin to love was heartbreak and, inevitably, loathing. Ergo, it was best avoided.
“Then I suppose that is why you … How did your mother put it?” She paused and then giggled. He wanted to catch the infectious sound in his fist and keep it forever. “Actually, I cannot repeat it. It’s too scandalous.”
“But clearly very amusing. Go ahead. Say it. It’s cruel of you to laugh at me to my face but refuse to say why. At the very least, I should have the right of reply.”
“Very well. If you insist…” A very becoming blush stained her cheeks despite her attempt to appear bold. “Your mother says you deftly avoided falling in love by … heavens! I cannot believe I am going to say this … hopping from bed to bed before you had time to warm the sheets.” She forced herself to meet his eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s hear your defense, then, Hugh? Is she right? Do you purposefully conduct your affairs based on their transient nature?”
Yes.
The more transient, the better.
“I believe my mother has exaggerated my conquests greatly to illustrate her point, but as usual, she has the wrong end of the stick.” Hugh folded his arms, too, acting bemused rather than overthinking the bullet she had sent flying straight through the bull’s-eye. It was hardly a bombshell, more of a considered choice he’d made. He knew his limitations and wasn’t prepared to suffer the inevitable crushing remorse that would follow each mistake. Just imagining hurting Minerva was already causing an ache in his heart. That pain would be unbearable if he actually did hurt her. “The sad truth is—and you must never repeat this outside this room—despite giving it my best shot, I have never found a single woman I have wanted to spend more than a few nights with.” Apart from her.
“Your best shot? That suggests you have tried and failed. You could hardly spend a prolonged period of time with a married woman, Hugh! That is a road to nowhere. Perhaps you should give one of the many single ladies a go? A nice young lady who has kept her sheets pristine and is waiting for a handsome and charming fellow like you to sweep her off her feet. Have you never courted a single lady?”
And now Minerva was beginning to sound like his mother. She used to come out with exactly that sort of reasonable rot all the time, when she of all people should know the Standish male was not to be trusted.
Of course he had never courted a single lady!
The one thing he hadn’t inherited from his wayward ancestors was his blasted conscience—a grave burden that had certainly never plagued either his father or his grandfather, and very probably nary a great-great-grandfather before that. Therefore, Hugh flirted shamelessly with certain women, and they flirted shamelessly back. That wasn’t courting, it was a dance. One both parties knew would end in the bedroom but would never stray further than that. “When I told you I wasn’t the marrying kind, I meant it. I am fairly certain I am not capable of falling in love—or not completely, at any rate.” And suddenly, because of her, that flaw depressed him.
He saw her disbelieving expression and decided to clarify the point rather than hear her inevitable counterarguments. “That elusive, all-consuming, selfless feeling poets and hopeless romantics like my mother go on and on about simply isn’t in my arsenal of human emotions. It is a defect in my bloodline.”
She stared at him, and he realized he had once again said too much. “Oh, Hugh—have you considered you simply might not have met the right woman? You are far too thoughtful and nice to be incapable of love.”
“‘Nice’?” She had inadvertently given him the way out. He scowled with mock affront. “That is the second time I’ve been called ‘nice’ today, and frankly I am outraged by it! ‘Nice’ is such a nondescript and uninspiring word. Wallpaper is nice. As is a new hat which looks exactly like the old one. Are you sure you didn’t mean ‘debonair’? Charming? Irresistible? There is a dictionary full of adjectives far more suited to me than ‘nice.’”
“Well, you are nice. You are also irritating and far too confident for your own good. And secretive. I’ve always suspected there was more to you than meets the eye, but every time I try to take a peek beneath the surface, you batten down the hatches and brush away my questions with charm.”
“See—you admit it! I am charming. I shall take that compliment as a replacement for the insipid ‘nice’ you just foisted upon me.”
“There you go again … deflecting, leaving me to once again wonder why you feel the need to immediately deflect. What are you hiding?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He opened his arms, wishing he wasn’t a carbon copy of his father. “This is me.”
“You are a conundrum, Hugh Standish.”
“Now, I do like that word. ‘Conundrum’ suggests a man of mystery. I hear the ladies love a man of mystery.”
“Deflecting again.”
“Always.” He shrugged, trying to ignore the constant, nagging emptiness this conversation had highlighted. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to her leaving, because he knew already she would leave a temporary void in his life, there was no point dwelling on it. Because ultimately, he wouldn’t. Just as soon as another willing woman came along to distract him, he would be distracted. That was the Standish way—damn it. A fait accompli. “If my mother is unconvinced by our betrothal, it’s probably just as well we will finally end this charade tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Was that disappointment he saw swirling in her stormy eyes? “So soon?”
“I think it’s for the best, don’t you?” He willed her to disagree. To make him revise the sudden plan. “The longer we draw it all out, the more holes she will find in our story.”
“I suppose…”
“It is actually the main thing I came to talk to you about tonight.” He had needed to say goodbye as quickly and as cleanly as possible. “Let us get through tomorrow and then sometime around midnight, Payne will come and fetch you, so make sure you’ve packed a bag, and you will leave with Giles in his carriage.” Just saying it aloud made him miserable. Empty. Lonely. “I will dispatch your sisters, your belongings, and Lucretia in my carriage early the following morning, and you will rendezvous at a coaching inn midway between here and London.”
She digested it all for several moments, staring at her hands in her lap, before she finally nodded. “Yes … I suppose it does make sense.”
Then her lovely eyes lifted to his, and he saw something else there. Something that looked a great deal like a sadness that mirrored his. He quashed the urge to go to her. “It is just so quick … so sudden. I wasn’t expecting it all to end so abruptly.”
“It’s for the best.” Hugh stood, fearing if he didn’t escape promptly, he might do something he would regret. Something wholly stupid and dangerous—like postponing the elopement to spend more time with her, something the persistent voice in his head was screaming at him to consider. “I shall have more of the details tomorrow. In the meantime, I think your lack of devotion for me against my absolute devotedness gives our tragic tale of heartbreak more credence, don’t you? After all, who would choose a rakish earl over the more rakish heir to a dukedom? It probably couldn’t hurt to cast the odd longing gaze at Giles tomorrow.” Which would be utter torture to witness.
“Yes … I shall try to appear intrigued by him.”
“Don’t try too hard.” Not what he should have said at all. “Giles’s head is quite big enough already.” There was nothing else to say, despite there being so much still unsaid. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
She walked alongside him to the door, but before he could open it, she touched his arm. It was an innocent and gentle brush, but like all her touches, one so potent he felt it burn through the thin sleeve of his shirt and sear itself onto his soul.
“Thank you, Hugh. For everything. These last few days have been … rather lovely. I shall always look back at my time here fondly.”
He nodded, feeling oddly emotional, then gripped the door handle. It was time to sever their unexpected acquaintance. “Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night, Hugh.” She looked sad. So sad. As was he. It was ridiculous, really, when they barely knew each other, but he already knew he would miss her. He wouldn’t have to fake that emotion for his mother. “And thank you for coming to talk to me. I’ve never been able to sleep on an argument. I am glad we get to part as friends.”
Friends.
As insipid a word as “nice” if ever there was one. “Me too. And because we are friends—please know if you ever need help, I will always be there. You know where to find me.” Leaving an open door was easier than a goodbye, because this goodbye hurt too much, even though he knew already this proud, vexing, and stubborn woman would never use it.
“More proof you are exceedingly nice. In fact, you are the nicest man I have ever met.”
If only …
Hugh made a face of disgust as he was expected to, depressingly shallow and unworthy to the last. He had one foot out the door when he turned and did something very stupid. Possibly the most stupid thing he had ever done in his thirty-two years on earth. He listened to the screaming voice in his head, gave in to temptation, and kissed her.