Page 13 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife (Cinderellas of Mayfair #1)

I’ll take my way alone and proud,

My head held high midst clam’ring crowd.

No man shall make me fail the test.

I’ll take my way. My way is best.

Athene stared blankly ahead, as she struggled to come to terms with the tumultuous evening.

Her mind was sluggish, hazy. Her heart was leaden with misery.

Too much misery to make sense. After all, Sir Hugo was a stranger.

They’d met a handful of times. His departure from her life shouldn’t matter this much.

His absence shouldn’t feel like someone stripped off her skin piece by piece.

Sylvie came in, looking troubled. “Should I have interrupted? I assumed you’d call for help if he tried to ravish you.”

Athene gave up trying to stand and collapsed into the armchair that had kept her upright, when all she’d wanted to do was sink into Sir Hugo’s manly embrace and agree to whatever he wanted. “If only he had.”

Sylvie looked startled. “Goodness me, you’ve never said that before.”

“Well, I did when I was seventeen. You know what a disaster that ended up.”

She and Sylvie had no secrets from each other.

Her friend would immediately recognize how far Athene’s reaction to Hugo extended beyond her usual indifference to masculine advances.

Sylvie ventured forward and sat opposite Athene, her expression concerned.

“Sir Hugo looked like his dog had just died when he left.”

Another pang of guilt added a rancid tinge to Athene’s unhappiness, even if she knew that she’d made the best – the only – choice. “I won’t be seeing him again.”

“Why? I can see you like him and if he kept his hands off you, he’s clearly a gentleman.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but Athene wasn’t up to talking about those incandescent kisses in the carriage. Not without crying. And she really didn’t want to cry. “You know why.”

“Because you don’t trust your judgment where men are concerned.”

“Indeed.”

“And because you don’t want to be anyone’s mistress.”

“Again.”

“Again. But you’re not the green girl who ran off with George Foster. You’re twenty-seven. Surely a discreet liaison with a man you like and respect won’t harm you or your reputation.”

Shock nibbled at the edges of Athene’s bleakness. “Are you suggesting I take a lover?”

Sylvie sent her a considering look. “You’re lonely.”

“I’ve got you.”

“Yes. And I’ll always be your friend. But you’ve slept alone for ten years. Don’t you ever intend to find love again?”

“Love is a treacherous monster.” It seemed Sir Hugo’s liking for extravagant language was contagious.

“Not always. Not with the right man. And it’s clear you like Sir Hugo.”

Athene made a forlorn gesture. “He’s a likable man.” And a grown-up, which was more than she could say for her first lover.

“And he isn’t a bully. If he was, he’d never have left when you asked him to.”

No, he wasn’t a bully. In a strange way, all this would be so much easier if he was. “He’s too good for me.”

For a woman renowned for her elegance Sylvie did a good line in contemptuous snorts. “Rubbish.”

“Sylvie, are you trying to get me to accept a gentleman’s advances? When I came to work for you at the shop, you said I needed to watch my behavior. Any rumor of scandal could damage the business.”

“Did I? How very insufferable of me.”

Despite feeling like she wanted to turn her back on the world forever, Athene gave a huff of wry laughter. “Not in so many words, but I knew what you meant.”

Sylvie sighed with impatience. “I’m not talking about entertaining paying customers by the hour on top of my display counters. I’m talking about a pleasurable affair with an attractive, considerate gentleman who values you for the treasure you are.”

“That’s not what Sir Hugo wants.”

Another snort. “I don’t believe you. When you arrived here tonight, he looked at you the way Ivor Bilson looks at my hazelnut clusters. That man wanted to gobble you up in one bite.”

Athene struggled against recalling the heat in Sir Hugo’s gaze. It was impossible. “He doesn’t want me to be his mistress,” she mumbled.

“No?”

She sucked in an unsteady breath and put the risible truth into words. “He wants to marry me.”

Sylvie’s astonishment melted into a broad smile. “Bravo for him. My respect for Sir Hugo increases with every moment.”

Athene didn’t smile back. Instead she shook her head in despair. “I didn’t know you were still such a romantic. It seems unbelievable after all we’ve been through.”

Sylvie shrugged with a French panache that befitted her alter ego. “Sometimes the world delivers a happy ending.”

Athene frowned at her friend. “Not for women like us.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve done things that make us unsuitable to enter good society.”

“Society’s disapproval doesn’t mean the whole world is barred to you.” She paused. “Anyway, you’re hardly a scarlet woman. This is the first time you’ve shown any interest in a man since you left that drink-sodden bastard in Vienna.”

“You know that virtue, once lost, can never be restored.”

“Better than most. But when Sir Hugo finds out that you fell victim to a rogue at seventeen, he won’t equate one youthful misstep with the value of your whole life.

If he does, he’s not worthy of you. You’re definitely worthy of him.

That’s not in question, even if you acted like a lily-livered coward tonight. ”

Athene bristled. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

Curse Sylvie for sounding so unconvinced. “No, it’s not.” She swallowed and dug her hands into the arms of the chair. “Anyway, he knows I’m not a virgin. I told him.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. Because you’re too honorable not to. What did he say?”

Athene avoided her friend’s searching gaze. “Nothing of relevance.”

“Athene.”

“He said…he said most of what you’re saying,” she admitted reluctantly.

Sylvie sat back on a “ha” of triumph. “I knew I liked him.”

“I like him, too,” Athene said in a low, bleak voice. “Too much to impose myself and my disreputable past on him.”

“But—”

When she saw that Sylvie wanted to argue, she sliced the air with her hand. “It’s late. I’m tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?” Or never.

She’d been tired for ten years. Only those electric moments in Sir Hugo’s arms had made her feel young and alive.

Which meant that she couldn’t risk more kisses.

She might sound strong when she talked to Sylvie, but she knew how near she’d come to surrender, if only for another chance to kiss Sir Hugo.

The endless slog of hopeless day after hopeless day had seemed cruel. It turned out that she didn’t know what cruel was. True cruelty was fate dangling everything that she wanted within reach and making it impossible for her to hold out her hand and grab it.

“You look exhausted.” Sylvie rose and to Athene’s eternal relief seemed to accept that the matter of Sir Hugo’s proposal was closed. “I’ve put out a nightdress for you and heated some water, although it’s probably only lukewarm now.”

Athene stood, too, feeling about a hundred years old.

Despite being weary to the point of crying, she could already tell that sleep would prove elusive.

It had been years since a man had kept her from slumber: Sir Hugo achieved that dubious distinction.

She’d forgotten quite how powerful physical pleasure could be.

And he’d only kissed her!

She just prayed this madness didn’t persist. Surely an acquaintance as brief as theirs wouldn’t leave a lasting scar.

Summoning a smile for her friend, she rose. “Thank you for putting me up. And putting up with me.”

Sylvie’s smile in return remained troubled, but she hugged Athene. “You and me against the world always, Aphrodite de Smith.”

For a long while, Athene slumped in Sylvie’s embrace. The tears that had threatened all night clogged her throat, but she refused to give into weakness. In a voice thick with misery, she replied. “Always.”

***

“Mr. Bilson has called, Sir Hugo,” his valet said from the door.

Hugo frowned, as he looked up from the desk in his library. “Tell him I’m busy.”

Ivor breezed in past Lister. “Gad, you’re always busy. Nobody’s seen you for a bally week.” He paused and surveyed the chaos of piled-up books and papers and general detritus. His shock was clear. “Good Lord, you look like you’re packing up.”

“I am.” With a grumpy sigh, Hugo set his pen down halfway through his letter to his man of business, asking him to forward some documents. “I have a lot to do if I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Ivor didn’t take the hint. Instead he passed his hat and gloves to Lister and moved further into the room. “You didn’t think to say goodbye?”

“I was in a hurry. I am in a hurry.”

Again, Ivor ignored the implication that Hugo didn’t want visitors. “Why? Is there some emergency at home? I thought you meant to stay until just before Christmas.”

“I changed my mind,” Hugo gritted out.

Without invitation, Ivor lifted a stack of books from the chair opposite him and balanced them precariously on the edge of the desk. “Why?”

Hugo bit back the urge to say, “None of your damned business.” Ivor’s visit was irritating. But then everything in the whole damned universe irritated him. And his old schoolfriend didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his vile temper. “London’s not for me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sulking because Lady Petronella settled on Lord Bannerman.” Ivor sank into the chair. “I told you from the first she was never going to throw herself away on a mere baronet.”

It took Hugo a second to bring to mind just who Lady Petronella was. “I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if some nitwitted filly decides to wed.”

Ivor frowned. “That’s good. Hate to think of you nursing a broken heart.”

“My heart is fine.” Hugo’s fists closed on the leather blotter, as he contemplated punching one of his oldest friends square on the aristocratic nose. “Now I’m very busy. You should go.”

Ivor didn’t budge. Instead concern shadowed his good-natured features as he inspected Hugo. “You look like you lost a guinea and found sixpence.”