In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,122
his own ears. “I’d—”
“And do you know, in addition to his time as a fighter, one who killed men in matches, that he also served in the King’s Army? His partners were good enough to enlighten me as to the duke’s past.”
Of course Bragger would have. That betrayal was no less than Hugh deserved.
Lila wavered, and Hugh’s eyes briefly slid closed. Unable to see the moment that light and warmth she had for him died.
“I didn’t . . .” She alternated a perplexed stare between Hugh and her brother. “I . . . don’t need to know anything more.”
She didn’t need to know anything? Or she didn’t want to?
Hugh rather suspected it was the latter. In a moment’s time, any and all affection she’d ever felt for him would die, and in its place would be the loathing he deserved but hadn’t ever wanted to be around to know. Not from her. Not from this woman. “Lila, I can . . .” explain. Hugh’s throat worked painfully.
Her eyes pleaded with him to do just that.
Except, he couldn’t. And the fury burning from the earl’s eyes said he knew as much.
“Did he tell you he was in the 15th Hussars, Lila?”
Lila paled.
She would know what that regiment had been responsible for . . .
Balling his hands into tight fists, Hugh made himself stay motionless as her gaze found him—the shock and disbelief and agony there, each a physical lash greater than the next.
And when next the earl spoke, he did so in gentle tones, proving he wasn’t a totally heartless bastard, but rather one who sought to protect his sister above all else. “Did you tell her the rest, Duke?” Henry asked, this query directed not to Lila, but to Hugh.
As it should be.
And he had to be the one to tell her.
“Hugh?”
His name fell from her lips as a question, a desperate one that sought an altogether different truth from the ominous question her brother had given her.
Only he’d convinced himself he’d never have this reckoning with her. That he’d be gone long before she could ever learn the truth about that day they’d been on opposite ends of a battle.
Every muscle in his being seized and clenched. And gutless as he was, Hugh couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Instead, he fixated on the point just above her thick brown curls. “I was there.” Regret and shame and sorrow clutched at his throat, and he had to swallow several times to get the remainder of that admission out. “After I . . . fled the Fight Society, I enlisted. I served, fighting Boney’s forces, and when I returned, I was eventually stationed in Manchester . . . I was at Peterloo.” Except, that wasn’t right, either. “I was one of the soldiers at Peterloo.”
Lila swayed and caught the tip of a nearby iron armillary sphere to keep herself standing.
“Oh, God.”
Who did those words belong to? Were they his or hers? Or perhaps both.
This? This was worse than he’d ever anticipated a pain could be. For now she knew. She knew precisely who he was . . . the monster she’d been so determined to not see. Not the honorable man of convictions and courage that she’d insisted he was.
Hugh dragged both hands through his hair, yanking slightly at the roots, welcoming the sharp sting of pain. Hating that he’d never been the man she’d taken him for.
“The thing about soldiers,” he said huskily. “We’re conditioned to follow orders. To do as we’re commanded. To question is to see one cut down in the thick of b-battle.” His voice broke and he coughed, clearing his throat. “Nothing about that day made sense. Even battle-trained as I’d been, even I knew it.”
Lila stared at him with stricken eyes.
Everything hurt inside. Every muscle, every organ, every piece of him.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he finally managed, his voice hollow. “I-I’m sorry.” He lifted a hand to her, and she stared at his fingers as if they belonged to a stranger. As if she couldn’t make sense of any part of him.
And he knew the feeling. Because he didn’t know which way was up, down, or in between anymore.
Lila bit down on the quivering flesh of her lower lip.
And it was too much. “Forgive me,” Hugh said roughly. “I’m . . . please forgive me. I am so very sorry.” And like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels, he turned . . . and fled.