Part 14 (2/2)
She gritted her teeth. What sort of person answered in cubic inches?
”About the size of a very small orange,” he added. Condescendingly. ”Or a somewhat ma.s.sive strawberry.”
”I know what a cubic inch is.”
”Of course you do.”
And the bizarre thing was, he didn't sound the least bit condescending when he said that.
”Did you injure your knee?” she asked, because drat it all, now she was curious. ”Is that why you cannot bend it?”
”I can bend it,” he replied, ”just not very well. And no, there was no injury to the knee.”
Sarah waited several seconds, then said, primarily between her teeth, ”Why, then, can't you bend it?”
”The muscle,” he said, letting one of his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. ”I suspect it doesn't stretch the way it ought, given that it's missing two cubic inches of, what did you call it?” His voice grew unpleasantly droll. ”Ah yes, a chunk of flesh.”
”You told me to ask,” she ground out.
”So I did.”
Sarah felt her mouth tighten. Was he trying to make her feel like a heel? If there were any official society rules for how a gentlewoman was meant to behave with a partially crippled man, they had not been taught to her. She was fairly certain, however, that she was supposed to pretend that she did not notice his infirmity.
Unless he required a.s.sistance. In which case she was supposed to notice his limp, because it would be unforgivably insensitive to stand aside and watch him flounder. But either way, she probably wasn't supposed to ask questions.
Such as why he couldn't bend his leg.
But still. Wasn't it his duty as a gentleman not to make her feel awful about it when she flubbed?
Honoria owed her one for this. Honoria probably owed her three.
Three of what, she wasn't sure, but something large. Something very large.
They sat there for another minute or so, then Hugh said, ”I don't think your sister is coming back with cake.” He motioned very slightly with his head. Frances was waltzing with Daniel. The expression on her face was one of utter delight.
”He has always been her favorite cousin,” Sarah remarked. She still wasn't really looking at Hugh, but she sort of felt him nod in agreement.
”He has an easy way with people,” Hugh said.
”It is a talent.”
”Indeed.” He took a sip of his wine. ”One that you possess as well, I understand.”
”Not with everyone.”
He smiled mockingly. ”You refer to me, I presume.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Of course not, but he was too intelligent for that. Instead she sat in stony silence, feeling very much like a fool. A rude fool.
He chuckled. ”You should not chastise yourself for your failure. I am a challenge for even the most affable of people.”
She turned, staring at his face with utter confusion. And disbelief. What sort of man said such a thing? ”You seem to get on well with Daniel,” she finally replied.
One of his brows rose, almost like a dare. ”And yet,” he said, leaning slightly toward her, ”I shot him.”
”To be fair, you were dueling.”
He almost smiled. ”Are you defending me?”
”No.” Was she? No, she was simply making conversation. Which, according to him, she was supposed to be good at. ”Tell me,” she said, ”did you mean to hit him?”
He froze, and for a moment Sarah thought she'd gone too far. When he spoke, it was with quiet amazement. ”You are the first person ever to ask me that.”
”That can't be possible.” Because really, didn't everything hinge on that one detail?
”I don't believe I realized it until this moment, but no, no one has ever thought to ask if I meant to shoot him.”
Sarah held her tongue for a few seconds. But only just. ”Well, did you?”
”Mean to shoot him? No. Of course not.”
”You should tell him that.”
”He knows.”
”But-”
”I said that no one had asked me,” he cut in. ”I did not say that I had never offered the information myself.”
”I expect his shot was accidental as well.”
”We were neither of us in our right minds that morning,” he said, his tone utterly devoid of inflection.
She nodded. She didn't know why; she wasn't really agreeing to anything. But it felt as if she should respond. It felt as if he deserved a response.
”Nevertheless,” Lord Hugh said, staring straight ahead, ”I was the one to call for the duel, and I was the one who shot first.”
She looked down at the table. She did not know what to say.
He spoke again, quietly, but with unmistakable conviction. ”I have never blamed your cousin for my injury.”
And then, before she could even think about how to respond, Lord Hugh stood so abruptly that his injured leg b.u.mped into the table, splas.h.i.+ng a bit of wine out of someone's forgotten gla.s.s. When Sarah looked up, she saw him wince.
”Are you all right?” she asked carefully.
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