Hugh could only shake his head. “You really do take snobbism to new levels.”

His father ignored him. “As I was saying, I believe you underestimate yourself. You may be a cripple, but you have your charms.”

Hugh practically choked. “My charms?”

“A euphemism for your last name.”

“Of course.” How could it be anything but?

“You may not be first in line for the title, but much as it disgusts me, anyone who bothers to do a bit of digging will realize that even if you never become the Marquess of Ramsgate, your son will.”

“Freddie is more discreet than you think,” Hugh felt compelled to point out.

Lord Ramsgate snorted. “I was able to find out that you’re panting after Pleinsworth’s daughter. Do you think her father won’t discover the truth about Freddie?”

As Lord Pleinsworth was buried in Devon with fifty-three hounds, Hugh thought not, but he did see his father’s point.

“I would not go so far as to say that you could have any woman you wanted,” Lord Ramsgate continued, “but I see no reason you could not snag the Pleinsworth chit. Especially after spending the entire week mooning over each other at breakfast.”

Hugh bit his cheek to keep from responding.

“I notice you do not contradict.”

“Your spies, as always, are excellent,” Hugh said.

His father sat back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “Lady Sarah Pleinsworth,” he said with admiration in his voice. “I must congratulate you.”

“Don’t.”

“Oh, dear. Are we being shy?”

Hugh gripped the edge of the table. What exactly would happen if he leapt across the table and gripped his father by the throat? Surely no one would mourn the old man.

“I’ve met her, you know,” his father continued. “Nothing much, of course, just an introduction at a ball a few years ago. But her father is an earl. Our paths cross from time to time.”

“Don’t talk about her,” Hugh warned.

“She’s quite pretty in an unconventional way. The curl of her hair, that lovely wide mouth . . .” Lord Ramsgate looked up and wagged his brows. “A man could get used to such a face on the pillow next to his.”

Hugh felt his blood growing hot in his veins. “Shut up. Now.”

His father made a show of conceding. “I can see that you don’t wish to discuss your personal affairs.”

“I’m trying to recall when that has stopped you before.”

“Ah, but if you were to marry, then your choice of bride would be very much my affair, too.”

Hugh shot to his feet. “You sick son of a—”

“Oh, stop,” his father said, laughing. “I’m not talking about that, although now that I think of it, it might have been a way around Freddie’s problem.”

Oh, dear God. Hugh felt ill. He wouldn’t put it past his father to force Freddie to marry and then rape his wife.