All in the name of dynasty.

No, it wouldn’t work. Freddie, for all his quiet ways, would never allow himself to be forced into a marriage under such pretenses. And even if somehow . . .

Well, Hugh could always put a stop to it. All he had to do was get married himself. Give his father a reason to expect that a Ramsgate heir was forthcoming.

Which he was finally happy to do.

With a woman who would not have him.

Because of his father.

The irony of it all was just killing him.

“Her dowry is respectable,” the marquess said, continuing as if Hugh hadn’t been on his feet with a murderous look in his eyes. “Please, sit. It’s difficult to have a rational discussion with you listing to one side like that.”

Hugh took a breath, trying to steady himself. He was favoring his leg. He hadn’t even realized. Slowly, he sat.

“As I was saying,” his father continued, “I had my solicitor look into it, and it is much the same situation I saw with your mother. The Pleinsworth dowries are not large, but they are large enough, considering Lady Sarah’s bloodlines and connections.”

“She’s not a horse.”

His father quirked a smile. “Isn’t she?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Hugh growled.

“No, you’re not.” Lord Ramsgate reached for another slice of bread. “And you really should have something to eat. There’s more than I—”

“Will you stop with the food?” Hugh roared.

“You are in poor temper today.”

Hugh forced his voice back to a normal register. “Conversations with my father generally have that effect upon me.”

“I suppose I walked into that one.”

Again, Hugh stared at his father in shock. He was admitting that Hugh had got the best of him? He never did that, even with something so small as a conversational parry.

“From your comments,” Lord Ramsgate continued, “I can only deduce that you have not, in fact, proposed to Lady Sarah.”

Hugh said nothing.

“My spies—as we seem to enjoy calling them—assure me that she would appear to be amenable to such a prospect.”

Hugh still said nothing.

“The question is”—Lord Ramsgate shifted forward, leaning his elbows on the table—“what can I do to aid you in your suit?”

“Stay out of my life.”

“Ah, but I can’t.”

Hugh let out an exhausted sigh. He hated showing weakness in front of his father, but he was so bloody tired. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“You have to ask me that?” his father retorted, even though Hugh had clearly been talking to himself.

Hugh put one hand to his forehead and pinched at his temples. “Freddie might still marry,” he said, but by now it was more out of habit than anything else.

“Oh, stop,” his father said. “He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she pulled his cock out and—”