The Sum Of All Kisses Part 33

His father wagged a finger at him. "Don't be coy. I heard a rumor you were to be engaged."

"From whom?" Hugh had only just kissed Sarah for the first time the night before. How in G.o.d's name did his father know he'd been planning to ask her to marry him?

Lord Ramsgate flicked his hand. "I have spies everywhere."

This Hugh did not doubt. But still . . . His eyes narrowed. "Who were you spying upon?" he asked. "Winstead or me?"

His father shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Intensely."

"Both, I suppose. You make it so easy to kill two birds with one stone."

"You'd do well not to use such metaphors in my presence," Hugh said with a raised eyebrow.

"Always so literal," Lord Ramsgate said with a tsk-tsk sound. "You never could take a joke."

Hugh gaped at him. His father accusing him of being without humor? It was staggering.

"I am not engaged to be married," Hugh said to him, each word a crisp and precise dart from his lips. "And I won't be anytime in the foreseeable future. So you can pack your things and go back to whatever h.e.l.l you crawled out of."

His father chuckled at the insult, which Hugh found unnerving. Lord Ramsgate never brushed off insults. He fisted them up into tight little b.a.l.l.s, filled them with nettles and nails, and hurled them back at the sender.

And then laughed.

"Are we done?" Hugh asked coldly.

"Why such a rush?"

Hugh gave a sick smile. "Because I detest you."

Again, his father chuckled. "Oh, Hugh, when will you ever learn?"

Hugh said nothing.

"It doesn't matter if you detest me. It will never matter. I'm your father." He leaned forward with an oily grin. "You can't be rid of me."

"No," Hugh said. He leveled a frank stare across the table. "But you can be rid of me."

Lord Ramsgate's jaw twitched. "I a.s.sume you refer to that unholy doc.u.ment you forced me to sign."

"No one forced you," Hugh said with an insolent shrug.

"You really believe that?"

"Did I place the pen in your hand?" Hugh countered. "The contract was a formality. You know that as well as I do."

"I know no such-"

"I told you what would happen if you harm Lord Winstead," Hugh said with deadly calm, "and that stands whether it is in writing or not."

It was true; Hugh had had the contract drawn up and placed before his father and his solicitor because he'd wanted them to know he was serious. He'd wanted his father to sign his name-his full name and the t.i.tle that meant so much to him-acknowledging all he would lose if he did not let go of his vendetta against Daniel.

"I have kept my end of the bargain," Lord Ramsgate snarled.

"Insofar as Lord Winstead is still alive, yes."

"I-"

"I must say," Hugh interrupted, taking great pleasure in cutting his father off at the very first p.r.o.noun, "that I'm not asking much of you. Most people would find it rather easy to conduct their lives without killing another human being."

"He made you a cripple," his father hissed.

"No," Hugh said softly, remembering that magical night on the lawn at Whipple Hill. He had waltzed. For the first time since Daniel's bullet had torn apart his thigh, Hugh had held a woman in his arms, and he had danced.

Sarah had refused to allow him to call himself a cripple. Was that the moment he had fallen in love with her? Or was it one of a hundred moments?

"I prefer to call myself lame," Hugh murmured. With a smile.

"What the devil is the difference?"

"If I'm a cripple, then that's all I-" Hugh looked up. His father's face was red, the kind of veiny, mottled red that came from too much anger, or too much drink.

"Never mind," Hugh said. "You'd never understand." But Hugh hadn't understood, either. It had taken Lady Sarah Pleinsworth to make him understand the difference.

Sarah. That was who she was now. Not Lady Sarah Pleinsworth or even Lady Sarah. Just Sarah. She'd been his, and he'd lost her. And he still didn't quite understand why.

"You underestimate yourself, son," Lord Ramsgate said.

"You just called me a cripple," Hugh said, "and you're accusing me of underestimating?"

"I do not refer to your athletic ability," his father said, "although it is true that a lady will want a husband who can ride and fence and hunt."

"Because you're so good at all those things," Hugh said, dropping his gaze to his father's paunchy middle.

"I was," his father replied, apparently taking no offense at the insult, "and I had my pick of the litter when I decided to marry."

Of the litter. Was that really how his father saw women?

Of course it was.

"Two daughters of dukes, three of marquesses, and one of an earl. I could have had any of them."

"Lucky Mother," Hugh said flatly.

"Indeed," Lord Ramsgate said, missing the sarcasm entirely. "Her father may have been the Duke of Farringdon, but she was one of six daughters, and her dowry was not large."

"Larger than the other duke's daughter, I a.s.sume?" Hugh drawled.

"No. But the Farringdons descend from the Barons de Veuveclos, the first of whom, as you know-"

Oh, he knew. Lord, but he knew.

"-fought alongside William the Conqueror."

Hugh had been forced to memorize the family trees at the age of six. Luckily, he had a talent for such things. Freddie had not been nearly so lucky. His hands had been swollen for weeks from the caning.

"The other dukedom," the marquess finished with disdain, "was of a relatively new creation."

Hugh could only shake his head. "You really do take sn.o.bbism to new levels."

His father ignored him. "As I was saying, I believe you underestimate yourself. You may be a cripple, but you have your charms."

Hugh practically choked. "My charms?"

"A euphemism for your last name."

"Of course." How could it be anything but?

"You may not be first in line for the t.i.tle, but much as it disgusts me, anyone who bothers to do a bit of digging will realize that even if you never become the Marquess of Ramsgate, your son will."

"Freddie is more discreet than you think," Hugh felt compelled to point out.

Lord Ramsgate snorted. "I was able to find out that you're panting after Pleinsworth's daughter. Do you think her father won't discover the truth about Freddie?"

As Lord Pleinsworth was buried in Devon with fifty-three hounds, Hugh thought not, but he did see his father's point.

"I would not go so far as to say that you could have any woman you wanted," Lord Ramsgate continued, "but I see no reason you could not snag the Pleinsworth chit. Especially after spending the entire week mooning over each other at breakfast."

Hugh bit his cheek to keep from responding.

"I notice you do not contradict."

"Your spies, as always, are excellent," Hugh said.

His father sat back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. "Lady Sarah Pleinsworth," he said with admiration in his voice. "I must congratulate you."

"Don't."

"Oh, dear. Are we being shy?"

Hugh gripped the edge of the table. What exactly would happen if he leapt across the table and gripped his father by the throat? Surely no one would mourn the old man.

"I've met her, you know," his father continued. "Nothing much, of course, just an introduction at a ball a few years ago. But her father is an earl. Our paths cross from time to time."

"Don't talk about her," Hugh warned.

"She's quite pretty in an unconventional way. The curl of her hair, that lovely wide mouth . . ." Lord Ramsgate looked up and wagged his brows. "A man could get used to such a face on the pillow next to his."

Hugh felt his blood growing hot in his veins. "Shut up. Now."

His father made a show of conceding. "I can see that you don't wish to discuss your personal affairs."

"I'm trying to recall when that has stopped you before."

"Ah, but if you were to marry, then your choice of bride would be very much my affair, too."

Hugh shot to his feet. "You sick son of a-"

"Oh, stop," his father said, laughing. "I'm not talking about that, although now that I think of it, it might have been a way around Freddie's problem."

Oh, dear G.o.d. Hugh felt ill. He wouldn't put it past his father to force Freddie to marry and then rape his wife.

All in the name of dynasty.

No, it wouldn't work. Freddie, for all his quiet ways, would never allow himself to be forced into a marriage under such pretenses. And even if somehow . . .

Well, Hugh could always put a stop to it. All he had to do was get married himself. Give his father a reason to expect that a Ramsgate heir was forthcoming.

Which he was finally happy to do.

With a woman who would not have him.

Because of his father.

The irony of it all was just killing him.

"Her dowry is respectable," the marquess said, continuing as if Hugh hadn't been on his feet with a murderous look in his eyes. "Please, sit. It's difficult to have a rational discussion with you listing to one side like that."

Hugh took a breath, trying to steady himself. He was favoring his leg. He hadn't even realized. Slowly, he sat.

"As I was saying," his father continued, "I had my solicitor look into it, and it is much the same situation I saw with your mother. The Pleinsworth dowries are not large, but they are large enough, considering Lady Sarah's bloodlines and connections."

"She's not a horse."

His father quirked a smile. "Isn't she?"

"I'm going to kill you," Hugh growled.

"No, you're not." Lord Ramsgate reached for another slice of bread. "And you really should have something to eat. There's more than I-"

"Will you stop with the food?" Hugh roared.

"You are in poor temper today."

Hugh forced his voice back to a normal register. "Conversations with my father generally have that effect upon me."

"I suppose I walked into that one."