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Authors: Julia Quinn
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London—”
“Shut up,” he said, only he had no idea if he’d said it aloud. He just wanted her to stop. Stop talking, stop arguing, stop everything.
But instead she stepped forward and, with a venomous glare, demanded, “Do you know many lives you have ruined?”
He took a breath. Air, he needed air. He did not need to listen to this. Not from her. He knew precisely how many lives he’d ruined, and hers was not one of them.
But she would not let up. “Have you no conscience?” she hissed.
And finally, he snapped. Without a thought to his leg, he stepped forward until they were close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. He backed her against the wall, trapping her with nothing but the fury of his presence. “You do not know me,” he bit off. “You do not know what I think or what I feel or what measure of hell I visit each and every day of my life. And the next time you feel so wronged—you, who do not even bear the same surname as Lord Winstead—you would do well to remember that one of the lives I have ruined is my own.”
And then he stepped away. “Good night,” he said, as pleasantly as a summer day.
For a moment he thought they might finally be done, but then she said the one thing that could redeem her.
“They are my family.”
He closed his eyes.
“They are my family,” she said in a choked voice, “and you have hurt them beyond repair. For that, I can never forgive you.”
“Neither,” he said, his words for his ears alone, “can I.”
Chapter Four
Back at Fensmore
In the drawing room with Honoria, Sarah,
Harriet, Elizabeth, Frances, and Lord Hugh
Right where we left off . . .
I t was a rare moment when silence fell on a gathering of Smythe-Smith cousins, but that was exactly what happened after Lord Hugh gave a polite bow and exited the drawing room.
The five of them—the four Pleinsworth sisters and Honoria—remained mute for several seconds, glancing at each other as they waited for a suitable amount of time to pass.
You could almost hear them all counting, Sarah thought, and indeed, as soon as she reached ten in her own head, Elizabeth announced, “Well that wasn’t very subtle.”
Honoria turned. “What do you mean?”
“You are trying to make a match of Sarah and Lord Hugh, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!” Honoria exclaimed, but Sarah’s negative howl was considerably louder.
“Oh, but you should!” Frances said with a delighted clap of her hands. “I like Lord Hugh very much. It’s true that he can be a little eccentric, but he’s terribly clever. And he’s a very good shot.”
All eyes swung back to Frances. “He shot Cousin Daniel in the shoulder,” Sarah reminded her.
“He’s a very good shot when he’s sober,” Frances clarified. “Daniel said so.”
“I cannot begin to imagine the conversation that revealed such a fact,” Honoria said, “nor do I wish to, this close to the wedding.” She turned resolutely back to Sarah. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Please say it does not involve Hugh Prentice.”
“It involves Hugh Prentice,” Honoria confirmed. “I need your help.”
Sarah made a great show of sighing. She was going to have to do whatever Honoria asked; they both knew that. But even if Sarah had to go down without a fight, she was not going to do so without a complaint.
“I am very much afraid that he will not feel welcome at Fensmore,” Honoria said.
Sarah could find nothing objectionable about that statement; if Hugh Prentice did not feel welcome, it was hardly her problem and nothing more than he deserved. But she could be diplomatic when the occasion warranted, so she remarked, “I think it is much more likely he will isolate himself. He’s not very friendly.”
“I find it more likely that he’s shy,” Honoria said.
Harriet, still seated at the desk, gasped with delight. “A brooding hero. The very best kind! I shall write him into my play!”
“The one with the unicorn?” Frances
“Shut up,” he said, only he had no idea if he’d said it aloud. He just wanted her to stop. Stop talking, stop arguing, stop everything.
But instead she stepped forward and, with a venomous glare, demanded, “Do you know many lives you have ruined?”
He took a breath. Air, he needed air. He did not need to listen to this. Not from her. He knew precisely how many lives he’d ruined, and hers was not one of them.
But she would not let up. “Have you no conscience?” she hissed.
And finally, he snapped. Without a thought to his leg, he stepped forward until they were close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. He backed her against the wall, trapping her with nothing but the fury of his presence. “You do not know me,” he bit off. “You do not know what I think or what I feel or what measure of hell I visit each and every day of my life. And the next time you feel so wronged—you, who do not even bear the same surname as Lord Winstead—you would do well to remember that one of the lives I have ruined is my own.”
And then he stepped away. “Good night,” he said, as pleasantly as a summer day.
For a moment he thought they might finally be done, but then she said the one thing that could redeem her.
“They are my family.”
He closed his eyes.
“They are my family,” she said in a choked voice, “and you have hurt them beyond repair. For that, I can never forgive you.”
“Neither,” he said, his words for his ears alone, “can I.”
Chapter Four
Back at Fensmore
In the drawing room with Honoria, Sarah,
Harriet, Elizabeth, Frances, and Lord Hugh
Right where we left off . . .
I t was a rare moment when silence fell on a gathering of Smythe-Smith cousins, but that was exactly what happened after Lord Hugh gave a polite bow and exited the drawing room.
The five of them—the four Pleinsworth sisters and Honoria—remained mute for several seconds, glancing at each other as they waited for a suitable amount of time to pass.
You could almost hear them all counting, Sarah thought, and indeed, as soon as she reached ten in her own head, Elizabeth announced, “Well that wasn’t very subtle.”
Honoria turned. “What do you mean?”
“You are trying to make a match of Sarah and Lord Hugh, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!” Honoria exclaimed, but Sarah’s negative howl was considerably louder.
“Oh, but you should!” Frances said with a delighted clap of her hands. “I like Lord Hugh very much. It’s true that he can be a little eccentric, but he’s terribly clever. And he’s a very good shot.”
All eyes swung back to Frances. “He shot Cousin Daniel in the shoulder,” Sarah reminded her.
“He’s a very good shot when he’s sober,” Frances clarified. “Daniel said so.”
“I cannot begin to imagine the conversation that revealed such a fact,” Honoria said, “nor do I wish to, this close to the wedding.” She turned resolutely back to Sarah. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Please say it does not involve Hugh Prentice.”
“It involves Hugh Prentice,” Honoria confirmed. “I need your help.”
Sarah made a great show of sighing. She was going to have to do whatever Honoria asked; they both knew that. But even if Sarah had to go down without a fight, she was not going to do so without a complaint.
“I am very much afraid that he will not feel welcome at Fensmore,” Honoria said.
Sarah could find nothing objectionable about that statement; if Hugh Prentice did not feel welcome, it was hardly her problem and nothing more than he deserved. But she could be diplomatic when the occasion warranted, so she remarked, “I think it is much more likely he will isolate himself. He’s not very friendly.”
“I find it more likely that he’s shy,” Honoria said.
Harriet, still seated at the desk, gasped with delight. “A brooding hero. The very best kind! I shall write him into my play!”
“The one with the unicorn?” Frances
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