Hugo slammed his empty glass down, the sound sharp in the quiet club. “Do not be absurd, Aaron. You know my thoughts on such matters. Love is a weakness. It destroys everything.”
Aaron leaned back, studying his friend as their glasses were refilled. “Still thinking of Mary, then?”
Hugo’s jaw tightened. “Mary was a lesson. An old and painful lesson.”
“A lesson in what, exactly?” Aaron pressed. “That you cannot trust anyone? That emotions are inherently dangerous?”
Hugo stared into his brandy, wishing he could dive right into the amber liquid and forget the conversation. He hated talking about the past; his focus was on an uncomplicated future.
Control.
“Control is paramount. Allowing yourself to feel, to trulycarefor someone, leaves you vulnerable. I learned that from my father first. Then, Mary proved it. She chose power over me, chose to betray me for a title. And then she nearly destroyed everything I had left.” He paused, his voice low and strained as he took a numbing sip. “You saw what happened to me after that, Aaron. The chaos, the destruction. I will never allow myself to be in that position again. Never.”
Aaron’s expression softened. He knew the bare bones of the tragedy, the official story, but he also knew Hugo well enough to understand the deeper scars. He knew more than he let on.
“I understand, Hugo,” Aaron whispered. “As much as any other man can. But Elspeth is not Mary, and you are certainly not your father.”
“She is a complication,” Hugo insisted, shaking his head. “And that is that—a distraction I cannot afford. I need to marry her off and send her back to Scotland.”
Aaron sighed. “Well, if you are truly so perturbed by her presence, and your usual methods are not working, perhaps it is time for a different approach.” He leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “In fact, there is only one woman I know who can trulymolda lady, no matter how headstrong. This particular woman has a knack for finding suitable matches, too.”
Hugo looked at him, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “And who might that be?”
Aaron smirked. “Your grandmother, of course. If Her Grace cannot make Elspeth presentable and find her a husband, then nobody can.”
Hugo considered this, a slow, dawning realization spreading across his face.
The Dowager Duchess of Tarwood.
His formidable, sharp-witted grandmother. She had a way of getting things done, of seeing through pretenses, and of subtly manipulating situations to her will. And she was fiercely loyal to him.
Perhaps, for once, Aaron is right.
“You know, old boy,” he said, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “That is actually a rather good idea. I will drink to that.”
They clinked their glasses in the dimly lit room, smoke and conversation swirling around them.
“Damn that arse,” Elspeth huffed as she popped the last of her bonbons in her mouth before tossing the box across her room.
She had chosen to skip supper that evening, especially as Hugo was not home to protest. Instead, she feasted on sweets, which only left her stomach sour.
She looked around at her extravagance and shook her head. She cared not for such finery. She was much more comfortable in a simple gown and nature. All she wanted was to be back home, in Scotland.
I will need to come up with a new plan.But what?
She got out of bed and walked to the window, throwing open the lush curtains and letting in the cool, summer wind.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air, but the industrial notes were a far cry from the Highlands. She looked up at the stars then, imagining how much brighter they would be in the north.
Ye cannae wrestle a dove, Morag used to tell her whenever she was a bit too forceful with something, like braiding hair.
Ye cannae force some things, lassie.
Now she knew what the old woman had meant. Some situations required subtlety, perhaps even a bit of submission, to get what one truly wanted.
Perhaps I will have to play his game.
She paced back to the center of the room.
