It was Hugo’s turn to laugh. “You’re as wily as a fox.”
“I am not completely without guile,” the vicar admitted, his smile slowly fading. “I won’t ask what you did to earn your money. It is not your past that concerns me, but your future.”
Hugo thought about testing the vicar’s belief in his own words and disclosing that he made his money from buggery, sucking cock, and bedding other men’s wives. He could just imagine the effect such words would have on the old man’s fragile heart.
No, it would not be Hugo Buckingham who would be responsible for that.
Instead, he said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but why should anything about my life concern you?”
“I think you can guess the answer to that, Hugo.”
The only reason Hugo could think of was so outlandish that he refused to speak the words out loud and give them life. “I cannot.”
Amusement glinted in the vicar’s pale blue eyes. “We shall come back to that in a moment. What I want to know is if you will resume earning your living by illegal means? Or will you continue as you have these past weeks on Stroma—a hardworking, trustworthy man?”
“It’s not that simple, Mr. Pringle.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“I have a lot to protect and that means I may have to do things I do not like to protect it.”
“I see.”
Hugo looked away from his suddenly piercing gaze. “If I told you otherwise, I would be lying, sir. You cannot imagine the things I’ve done to earn my money.”
“You are doubtless correct in that—I am not a worldly man. However, I sensed something happened in your heart the day McCoy did not take you back with the others—some fundamental change—or was I wrong?
It was true that Hugo felt different now, but that was likely because he was working night and day and too exhausted to think of anything else but his next meal. Life on this remote rock was as different from life in London as it would be on the moon.
“I don’t know if I’ve changed, Mr. Pringle. But what I do know is that even if I walk the righteous path for the rest of my days I am not, at my core, a good man. I am ruled by selfish impulses—greedy and acquisitive impulses and I can’t change my stripes. I like—no, scratch that—I lovecreature comforts and material possessions. I crave luxurious surroundings, fine clothing, excellent food, and all the other hedonistic pleasures money can buy. I’ve been poor once and I never want to be poor again.”
“But that is not all you are, Hugo—a collection of wants and desires. You are a good man—I have evidence of it.”
Good God! Would the man not have done already and simply tell him what he wanted
“What do you mean?” he asked wearily when he’d taken hold of his temper.
“You have been gentle and kind to Cailean Fergusson, a boy who can give you none of the things you listed above.”
“He saved my life, sir.”
“Then why don’t you simply send money back to him when you reach London—just as you offered to do for me that night—rather than befriend him?”
Hugo sputtered. “I said I was selfish, not a monster. I like him and I’ve only been kind to him—it costs me nothing. You are making something out of nothing. You know me as I am here Mr. Pringle, in a place where my options have been limited to working or stealing. Have you forgotten that my first choice was to steal?” Hugo’s face burned and he threw up his hands, slumping in his chair. He hated articulating his shortcomings. “Can we please move to the heart of the matter, Mr. Pringle? Why did you ask me whether I found your daughter attractive?” Although Hugo had more than a sneaking suspicion.
“I am a father who wants the best for his child—his only child.”
Well, that was easy enough. “The best for your daughter is—as much as it pains me to say—Robert Clark. The man is an insufferable prig, but he is steady, dependable, and has already made it his business to protect Martha.” The words were like acid on his tongue, but they needed to be said. “Your daughter would know what she was getting with such a man. He would take care of her and never give her cause for worry.”
“Oh, I agree; Robert Clark is the more decent, morally upstanding man.”
His words were unexpectedly painful.
“But I’m not sure what Martha needs is themore decent, morally upstandingman. My daughter is spirited and delights in being challenged. I think she will gradually lose her light with Mr. Clark. Not because of any cruelty on his part, but simply because he is a prosaic, unimaginative man who will not appreciate Martha’s intelligence and passion for life.”
Hugo wanted to argue that Martha was rather prosaic herself, but then he remembered the way her eyes had burned when she’d believed he and Albert were about to be hauled off in leg-irons. And how she’d lied to Clark to rescue young Lorn. And how she’d had to bite back a smile every time her gorgeous lips mouthed the foolish word Higgenbotham.
Hugo stifled an irritated groan. What did any of that matter? So what if she was spirited and passionate? What was that to him?
He met the old man’s pale gaze. “If you think Clark will dim her, er, light, she doesn’t need to marry him. I’m sure there must be other hardworking, fine young men here. Or perhaps on the mainland.”
“It’s not only that, Hugo, it’s also that life on this island is so very, very hard.” He leaned across the table and grasped Hugo’s hand and Hugo gasped at his ice-cold fingers.
“Life on Stroma killed my wife, Hugo. I do not want the same for Martha. I want to know my Martha’s future is secure—that she is
