Hugh released the death grip on his wineglass and turned toward the girl who was twittering beside him.
With herculean effort, he strove to appear interested in her banal conversation.
“I find I have no appetite this evening Miss — ah—”
“Miss Bolton. I was just telling Mama about your performance on the pianoforte.”
Hugh breathed a sigh of relief as another guest unwittingly saved him from a rather awkward situation.
He hadn’t for the life of him been able to remember anything about the pretty young lady he’d been seated beside at dinner, save for the fact that she was the daughter of one of his father’s closest acquaintances.
He hadn’t been paying any attention to Miss Bolton because he was solely focused on Louisa Bright, sitting opposite him, looking beautiful enough to give him an apoplexy… and ignoring him.
What had his mother been thinking, seating them like this?
Why was it that Lucas got to sit with Meredith, and Hugh was forced to sit across the table from Louisa and Lord Oxton and watch the man salivate all over her for the evening?
If he touched her one more time, Hugh would launch himself over the table and strangle the man.
The evening was dragging, the wine was having no effect on his temper whatsoever, and if appearances were anything to go by, Lord Oxton was becoming permanently attached to Louisa’s thigh.
Hugh watched Louisa’s face closely. If she gave even the slightest indication that the swine beside her was bothering her, he’d knock the stuffing out of the bast—
Louisa suddenly looked across the table directly into his eyes and all thoughts, violent or otherwise, fled from his mind.
Dear God in Heaven. She was extraordinary. A goddess. And his heart, he knew, had never been in more danger.
Louisa raised a brow, as though daring him. To do what, he had no idea but it made him determined to win whatever this battle between them was. He could only hope, rather desperately, that she was going to be his prize.
Hugh made no effort to release Louisa from his gaze. He knew he probably looked brooding and intense, a look that had frightened many before her, but he couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.
His desire for her seemed a tangible force, reaching across the table to wrap her in its web. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, and Hugh had to grip the edge of his seat to stop himself from reaching out and hauling her to him, dinner be damned!
More and more, Hugh was becoming sympathetic to Lucas’s predicament. If his brother felt for Meredith even a fraction of what Hugh was starting to feel for Louisa, then Hugh wanted no part in preventing his brother’s happiness.
Lord knew he had started to feel like he’d tear a man limb from limb if he attempted to stop him from being with Louisa.
The venison was served and everyone picked up their knives and forks to eat. Everyone that was, except the lecherous Lord Oxton.
The blasted idiot still had his left hand on Louisa’s person. This time, he was touching her upper arm, his thumb brushing along the skin exposed by her capped sleeve and white evening glove.
Hugh’s tenuous grasp on his temper snapped.
“Oxton, you must tell me how you manage to eat a plate of venison with one of your hands attached to another person. That’s quite a talent.”
His words brought a sudden, shocked silence to the table.
Everyone looked from him to Lord Oxton, who had turned a satisfying shade of puce.
Hugh looked swiftly to Louisa to see her staring at him in consternation.
Looking round the table, he picked out the various looks on the faces of his family and friends.
Mother looked aghast, Miss Bolton scandalized. Jackson was scowling, Sara Bright doing the same. Meredith looked calculating, looking to Louisa and back to him. Lucas looked ecstatic, the blackguard.
“I’m not sure I follow, Mayford,” Oxton said now, but he had removed his hand from Louisa’s arm.
“Oh, I’m quite sure you do,” Hugh retorted softly.
He was gratified to see the other man’s throat bob wildly.
There was another uncomfortable silence which Hugh made no attempt to break since all his efforts were focused on giving Henry Oxton one of his most vicious scowls.
Finally, his mother made some inane comment about the weather and the chatter tentatively began again, although, Hugh was aware of furtive glances and daggers been sent his way for the remainder of the meal.
The ladies retired to the drawing room after the sweetmeats and, as soon as they left, Lucas made a beeline for him.
Hugh had been expecting it.
Handing Hugh a much needed glass of port, Lucas sighed and shook his head.
“You are done for, little brother.”
He could deny it but what was the point? Didn’t misery love company in any case?
“Tell me about it,” he responded dully, staring into the ruby liquid in his glass.
“Oh, I could Hugh. I could.”
The brothers finished their drinks in contemplative silence.