And then, after Lord Ramsgate declared that Hugh would never go through with such an absurd threat, he’d finally looked at his son. He’d really, truly looked at him for the first time in Hugh’s memory. He’d seen the insolent, empty smile, the steely resolve in the set of his chin, and the marquess had gone so white that his eyes seemed to shrivel in their sockets.

He’d signed the contract.

After that, Hugh hadn’t given the matter much thought. He might make the occasional inappropriate joke (he always did have a dark sense of humor), but as far as he was concerned, he and his father were at a stable impasse of mutually assured destruction.

In other words, there was nothing to worry about. And he did not understand why no one else seemed to realize that.

Of course the only ones who knew about the contract were Daniel and Sarah, but they were intelligent people, rarely illogical in their decisions.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Sarah asked, her voice rising with panic. “Hugh? Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Hugh stared at her. He’d been thinking, remembering, and it was almost as if a part of him had left the room, found some quiet corner in which to ponder the sad state of his world.

He was going to lose her. She was not going to understand. Hugh could see that now, in her frantic eyes and trembling hands. Why couldn’t she see that he had made a hero’s choice? He was sacrificing himself—or at least threatening to—for the sake of her beloved cousin. Shouldn’t that count for something?

He had brought Daniel back to England, he had ensured his safety; for this he would be punished?

“Say something, Hugh,” Sarah begged. She looked to Daniel, then back to Hugh, her head moving in awkward jerks. “I don’t understand why you won’t say something.”

“He signed a contract,” Daniel said quietly. “I have a copy.”

“You gave him a copy?”

Hugh wasn’t sure how that changed anything, but Sarah looked horrified. The color had drained from her skin, and her hands, which she was trying so hard to keep still at her sides, were shaking. “You have to tear it up,” she said to Daniel. “Right this moment. You have to tear it up.”

“It doesn’t—”

“Is it back in London?” she cut in. “Because if it is, I leave right now. I don’t care if I miss your wedding, it’s not a problem. I can just go back, and I’ll get it, and—”

“Sarah!” Daniel practically yelled. When he had her attention, he said, “It wouldn’t make a difference. It’s not the only copy. And if he’s right”—he motioned to Hugh—“it’s the only thing keeping me safe.”

“But it might kill him,” she cried.