Absolute Surrender (6 page)

Damn me thrice.
He grunted and waved his hand as though to say,
Send him in
.

“Yes, my lord. Do you require your jacket?”

“Not at all. If a duke is to call in the dead of night, he will find me as I am, decency be damned.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hugh stood and poured a finger of whiskey, then another and another.
Damn it all.
He stopped counting and filled the tumbler. The whiskey burned his throat as he poured it down, nearly doubling over afterward. He wiped his chin with his shirtsleeve and leaned on his desk.

“For the love of all that’s holy, Endsleigh, do you mean to stand at the end of the night?” Jackson asked as he entered.

“
Stand? No, I
’ll not be standing for this,” Hugh said quietly then sat and leaned back in his heavy leather desk chair. He pointed at the decanter on his desk, but Jackson shook his head. “What have you, then? My mood is none for the House, I’ll have you know.”

“I imagine not, but this has naught to do with the House. I need a moment.”

Jackson’s voice was gruff, and Hugh looked at the man in front of his desk and raised his eyebrows a measure. Tall, broad—like him—and not afraid to work. Not afraid of his own strength. “Pugilist?”

Jackson shook his head. “You?”

“If the need arises,” Hugh said, narrowing his eyes a bit.

Good God, he’d need to school himself if he was to survive this chat. “Sit.”

That
wasn
’
t any better, but he wasn
’
t interested in niceties. Though he and this man had only a passing acquaintance as of late, they knew very well who the other was, and there was nothing for it. All that they had between them was the woman they both loved.
Amelia
. “Get on then.”

“I…as you know, I
’
m to be...well, I plan to request her hand, and everyone
’
s aware that—”

“Yes, you are. I
’
m aware. Everyone
’
s aware. We are understood. Will that be all, then?” Hugh bit out.

Jackson
’s
eyes narrowed on him, and he shifted in his seat.

Damn me,
Hugh thought.
Keep your wits, man.
It wasn
’
t like him to behave in such a repugnant manner, but he wanted none of this. As a gentleman, this duke should have known to simply steer clear of him as Hugh would his wife—
when
she became so. It was unspoken, unnecessary, uncalled for—
this
.

This—what are we about here? Jackson needn’t come to threaten, needn’t come at all. I understand. I
’
m a baron, she the daughter of a duke, our lifetime together irrelevant. Stolen. Doesn
’
t Jackson know that’s been drilled into me from the start?

“No. Not by measure,” Jackson said, interrupting his train of thought. “Amelia…What is it about her that you
’
re so familiar with?”

Hugh felt his jaw slacken, and he traced a leather-pressed curl at the edge of his desktop with a fingertip as he snapped his mouth shut. Fancy that, a series of delicate curls pressed into the leather of his desk. Handed down generations, only to be first useful tonight.

“I
’
m not entirely sure I understand you. Perhaps you could elaborate,” Hugh said.

“Enough. We both know, as does the majority of the
ton
, that there
’
s something about her, and of all people…she trusts only you.” Jackson paused. Twisted his hands. Looked up and caught Hugh
’
s eyes. “I want that.”

As if what he was already taking wasn
’
t enough. As if Jackson merely decided, and it was so. Hugh closed his eyes and listened to the whiskey whispering in his head. He should have stopped at the one finger.

“You want…so you take everything. Then what of me?” Hugh asked quietly.

“You...I…I know not, but I
am
asking for your help. For her sake. Can you see past yourself to see that this is for her?”

Hugh’s eyes snapped to his. This duke was infiltrating his home, his study, now his heart. Hugh
’
s gut clenched, then his stomach twisted. Who knew the leather would be cut so easily with a fingernail?

The duke continued.

“I see I should not have come, but I only wanted to make arrangements before…well. I plan to speak with Pembroke on the morrow, and I want her to know she
’
ll be safe.”

“There is nothing
I
could do to ensure her safety outside the realm of
my
possibility. Which at present is an impossibility. She trusts me. There
’
s nothing…I can do…
for
you
,” Hugh bit out.

“That understanding of her is something you have to give.”

“Not. To you,” Hugh said. He could tell Jackson was attempting to remain calm against the tension radiating across his desk.

Jacks leaned forward. “Perhaps I do need a bit of whiskey.”

“By all means,” Hugh replied with a wave at the tantalus. Jackson presumed too much. Hugh was not going to serve this man. This was his study, he was...
what was he? Good God, even two fingers would have sufficed.
Hugh pushed the decanter toward the duke, who took it and reached for a clean glass.

“I wish to know how to gain her trust,” Jacks
said.
“What is it about her that sets her apart? I know there’s something, and I know that you know what that something is. I believe if
I
know as well, she will see that she can trust me.”

“And by default would no longer trust in me. I cannot help you. You must understand. She
’
s my...she is my friend.”

“She appears to be more than that,” Jackson said with a strong tone of warning.

“
That
is none of your concern.”

“She will be my wife. That makes it my concern. Expressly,” Jackson said stiffly.

“She has always been
mine
.” Hugh roared that last bit, coming out of his chair as he prodded his desk, perhaps a little too strongly. His head swam.

Jackson dropped the glass back into the tantalus. “You intend to come between us.” It was not a question.

“My intentions are none of your concern,” Hugh replied as he straightened what he could, then dropped back to his seat.

“Again, everything about her is of my concern, as
we
are to be wed,” Jacks replied.

“Then perhaps...you should rethink that.” Hugh saw the words leave his mouth as though a gauntlet had launched itself from the cavern of his mouth, and yet he was not of a mind to stop them. Hugh held the other man
’
s gaze. Jackson’s eyes were so many shades Hugh felt as though he could see through them to the man
’
s very soul, and what he saw there was disconcerting for the fact that everything about him was honest and true.

Hugh’s head pounded.

Jackson shook his head. “This is not how this conversation should have gone.”

“Oh? And how should the conversation have gone? ‘I want to know your deepest secrets.
’ ‘
By all means! Take them!
’
Would that have been more to your liking?”

“No. Well, perhaps it would have, but that
’
s not what I expected. However, I did believe you to be a reasonable man,” Jackson
said.

“Where Amelia is concerned, there is no reason. Tell me, Your Grace, you do not seem to have considered her in your actions tonight. Is she aware you
’
re here requesting this of me? Have you even considered that her secrets are not mine to give?”

Hugh saw Jackson stiffen on the realization. “I understand. I had hoped…well, I had hoped. I should go. Perhaps we can discuss matters again, when you
’
re better able to reason.”

“Again with the reason. Take this to heart, Castleberry, there will be nothing from me without the wishes of
my
lady. I’ll not be one to bandy her secrets about as if they are nothing. There
’
s more between us than that.”

“I am to be her husband. There should be nothing between
you
and everything between
us
,” Jackson
said.

“There is not yet an ‘us.
’
” Hugh met Jackson’s eyes across the desk and held them.

Jacks watched him for a moment, seemed to consider his thoughts, then turned to leave. “This is not finished.”

Hugh chose to hold his retort. Apparently, the whiskey had not yet gotten the best of him.

Amelia faced the mirror, waiting for the twitch. Scanning every bit of her face, looking for the signs and practicing her response. Charles would be calling on her within the hour. All she need do was survive one trip in his carriage, then he would meet with her father. Charles would obtain a license within a sennight, and she would be married. There would be very little contact between them once today was finished. Very little reason for him to see through her and cry off.

This man she
’
d wanted to love from the age of ten. She remembered his visits to Pembroke, long before her condition seemed to spiral out of control. Long before her joy was wrapped up in whether or not Hugh was there.

It was something she could not admit to her future husband, though she believed he knew. He
’
d been there during the summers,
of course he knew
. She and Hugh had been the only two children on that remote shoreline. They had grown up with only each other.

Hugh would inherit his land, but Amelia would not. She needed a match to preserve her safety and that of her mother—should they outlive her father, which was a distinct possibility.

There was only her.

It was a tragedy, really, the end of a line, the heir a distant cousin. But she was still the daughter of this powerful duke for as long as he lived—and therein lay the catch. She must secure their future, before the future was upon them.

It was pure luck that the boy who had visited with her family had been the future Duke of Castleberry. Then again, the possibility that it had been less chance and more orchestration was also entirely within reason. Particularly considering that his mother had been terribly difficult to be close to after his father died.

She could feel the twitch coming before she saw it, the tiny pulse of the muscles in her cheek. She would avoid talk of his father, his mother—as propriety would dictate—but she had to remind herself. Her mouth tended to precede her brain when she felt things passionately. She must remind her brain to stay itself.

If she
’
d known back then that she would now prefer to
not
like him, she might have let Hugh put the toads in his shoes. She was terribly rambunctious, and when Hugh was there—which was always—there was no reckoning.

But there had been something about that boy, and she’d wanted to know more. She had not allowed the toads, and Hugh had not liked that, not a whit. Then Hugh had left, and she
’
d been heartbroken. That was when she had first noticed the tremors. Apparently, the people around her had known of them all along, but she’d been distracted.

When she entered a room of people, she would tremble. Her knees would go weak, and her heart would race. She felt as though her insides were attempting to turn themselves out. She became inconsolable. Said things she shouldn
’
t. Without Hugh as a buffer, someone to take the blame, she was noticed entirely too much.

Her mother only ever told her to gather her wits. Well, not so. There were the jabs to the ribs, a convenient elbow, the twist of the thin skin on the back of her hand.

She looked in the mirror. “Gather your wits, Amelia Marie!” She twitched. There, at the very corner of her eye, the smallest of movements, but she saw it. She thought of her mother again, all the dinner parties, the invitations, the balls she had planned for this season, and finally her father’s decision to find her a husband before her coming out. They believed it to be the only way. Keep her hidden. Keep her a precious mystery. It had been blessed happenstance that the then Duke of Castleberry was amenable to presenting a future to his son.

The parlor door opened, and she turned.

“The Right Honorable Lord Endsleigh,” Smythe said.

She
’
d been expecting the duke, so when Hugh was announced instead, an instant relief passed through her system, a great betrayal by her body. Her mind determined to counter the effects, and she was once again tense, the relief from his presence only momentary. She frowned but managed to control the shock in her eyes as Hugh skirted the butler and walked toward her. Her heart seemed to slow, though the sound of her pulse seemed to increase.
Strange, that.

Amelia
’
s face was void of emotion, then the suppressed smile fought for purchase and gained on her as she met him halfway. “Hugh.”

“My lady,” he said as he took both of her hands and kissed the backs of each in turn.

“Hugh, I—”

“No. Please.” He pulled her to the settee, and they fell, knees together, her hands still bound to his. It was more of a knot, really, his fingers twined with the one hand, the other wrapped up around her wrist. Her pulse beat against his fingertips. “Last night. I want to apologize. Quite profusely, really,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll not allow it.” She sighed heavily, and then: “I wish to return to Pembroke. So very desperately. The need to return exceeds every other wish I have. The sooner I
’
m betrothed, the sooner I’m to quit London.”

His head bowed, and she saw the errant lock of hair that he
’
d never been able to tame. That lock made her smile, and she untangled her fingers from his and reached up to it with a giggle. This errant curl was the cause of so many chases through the wood near their homes. She, always teasing him.

He looked up to her without raising his head as she twirled the curl round her finger. Then she caught his eyes. Her smile faded, and her hand dropped.

“How will I ever…how will I ever live without you? I cannot bear it. You
’
ve been…you are—”

He took her hand again as her tears fell. “Do not muss your beautiful face. You know Jacks will be here soon,” Hugh said quietly, skimming a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

She shook her head. “I want him here. I want him to ask, do I not? I want to be with him…yet I do not. Ever since we met, I’ve wondered if I merely believed him to be my salvation, or something more. Now, after last night I believe...I believe he might be more.”

Why did her heart beat harder at that realization? Hugh breathed, and it was as though the air had stolen from the room as she waited for the words to follow. Willed her heart to slow.

“I understand,” was all he said. He released her and shifted away. “I need to say something. Please do not interrupt, because there will be no way for me to finish this, should you do so.” Hugh glanced back as his eyes narrowed, and she nodded slightly. Any words she had stayed at the edge of her tongue.

“Jacks came to me last night.” His eyes crinkled as he gave her another unspoken warning then stood and turned away. “He wishes to know what it is about you that makes you so different from the rest.”

“He knows.” Amelia
’
s heart skipped as she spoke on an inhale.

“How could he not? Amelia, he
’
s no imbecile. If you wish it…if you wish for me to…I would teach him.”

She stood, and he turned to her.

“
You cannot. You
…no, I could not bear it for you. It’s not something to be learned, at any rate. It
’
s simply me—and you with me.”

Hugh raised his eyes as hers widened. She felt her pulse again and saw him tense, then he took her outstretched hand, seemed to engulf her hand with his larger one and pressed as he held her eyes, and her breathing slowed.

“Amelia mine. There are things he can do. I
’
ve taught others before him, and I shall give all my secrets away if you wish it. Because I know you love—”

“I love you,” she cut in.
Others? Louisa,
she thought
.
But her thoughts were immediately interrupted by Hugh speaking.

“Do you? If that were but true, I would be the happiest man alive. But you may love him as well, and you simply cannot have me.” Her heartbeat paced again, and he pulled her closer. “Amelia, my dear sweet Amelia, look at me. You will always have a piece of me. I
’
ll remain with you forever in some form. One cannot spend a veritable lifetime with another person and not carry them within for all eternity.”

Her hands wrapped around his lapels as she buried her face in his shirt.

Surely he will be in need of a new neckcloth.

It was true. There was no time in her memory in which he did not exist. As though they were born to each other.

This man, this man, this man. This strength, this heat, this heart that beats against my skin. This hardness, this body, this soul, these eyes.

Amelia
’
s insides tensed in preparation for the spiral, and as though he knew, his arms went around her, held her together, then slowly released. She looked up and—
when had his hands moved?
—he wrapped them around her cheeks, his fingertips sinking into the hair at her nape. He looked into her eyes, paused for an insurmountable amount of time as she watched. He seemed to be considering her, waiting, looking for something. She drew a slow breath, then her eyes dropped to his mouth when his lips opened slightly, and she felt him on her.

His lips, so heavy, so soft, so gentle…
gentle, oh, could anything ever be so gentle as this?
She sighed, and he took advantage, and her mouth betrayed her, allowing him the intrusion. It was the most sincere of first kisses. This kiss was truth and it was pain.  

Her hands reached up to his wrists, holding them, holding her.

She knew this—this kiss, her first, their last, their one kiss—was her forever. How could she ever recover from this man? He was her rock. Her hands smoothed up his arms then attempted to cover his face.

“Amelia.”

When had the kissing stopped?

She opened her eyes to see the bright, terrified gaze of her friend, closer than he had any right to be.

“You
’
ve ruined me,” she breathed. “There is no choice now.”

His gentle chuckle bid a smile from her unwilling mouth.
So very unwilling.
She swayed toward him, but he held her steady.

“Should I speak with your father? Throw open the door to the parlor and call upon your mother to witness your ruination?”

She shook her head. “It could not possibly be this simple. No, it would not be. Would it?” Her eyes fluttered, then snapped to his. “Oh, was that aloud? I did not mean to say—”

“Of course you didn
’
t, and therein lies the difficulty. You
’
re still bound to him.”

Amelia
’
s head fell, and every muscle in her body pulled her down as though weighted to sink to the depths of the ocean, his strength the only thing holding her up.

“Amelia, I
’
ll not give up this easy. I
’
ll have you as my wife, but not with a doubt in your mind.”

“I thought you came here to…to...”

“I did, and then I saw you, and I could not, and now I find it
’
s not as simple as even that. I do not believe him to be the better man for you. I thought—
I don’
t know what I thought. After last night, I believed what you believe. That perhaps this was not meant to be. But here, in your arms, with that kiss, I find I
’
m unable to simply give you up.”