Astonishingly, Hugo’s face heated.
The old man smiled. “Not only those looks, Hugo, but the ones you give her when you think nobody is looking.”
“Oh, and what looks are those?” Hugo wanted to sneer but the question came out like a plea—did he look at her in some way he didn’t realize? Was it possible there was more to his attraction to her than simply wanting to fuck her?
“She fascinates you.”
Hugo opened his mouth to deny the vicar’s words, but he realized they were true. He was fascinated by her goodness and her spirit. He’d never met anyone so giving, whose passion seemed to be making others feel safe and loved and cared for.
“And I have seen the looks she gives you.”
Hugo bit his tongue to keep from making a pitiful arse of himself and begging the old man to tell him more. The last thing old Pringle needed was encouragement in whatever mad scheme he was hatching.
But the vicar was relentless. “These past two weeks you have stayed away from her on purpose, haven’t you? You have done so because you did not want to toy with her affections.”
Hugo shrugged, even though he knew it was childish and rude.
“I know you have. But staying away is hurting my daughter. Each day Martha’s bright eyes have become a bit duller. My heart achesfor her; you will know how it is when you have a child of your own. You want to see them happy and will move heaven and earth to make that happen. And it seems to me that you, Hugo, are what she wants to be happy.”
Hugo’s head spun as if he’d just guzzled a pint of gin. This man could not be saying what Hugo was hearing. He wanted to tell him to stop—to shut up, to quit dangling some fantasy in front of him. Hugo opened his mouth to tell him that he’d send money to express his gratitude, and that was his final offer.
But the cold, boney fingers tightened around his hand with surprising strength and Mr. Pringle leaned closer. “I saw the way Martha looked when she thought McCoy might take you away; it would have broken her heart. The same thing will happen when you leave a week from now: it will break her heart. I don’t want to think of how painful it will be to look at my beautiful, kind daughter once her heart is broken.” His jaw tightened. “I will do everything in my power to see that doesn’t happen.”
When Hugo merely stared, he cocked his head, his expression softening. “You both care for each other already and I believe it could grow into something more if given a chance.”
Christ! Did the man really think that being with him was favorable to being a fisherman’s wife? He should have had more than his heart examined by that physician.
Hugo bit his tongue; he could not say any of that.
Instead. he said, “Do you not have any family she could go to?”
“No. There is no family on either side. Her mother was an orphan and I—well, my siblings were older and have all passed on. I am all she has.”
Hugo ground his teeth, his thoughts flitting around in his head like moths trapped in a lantern. “What makes you think she’d accept me if I offered for her?”
Where the hell had those words come from? What in the name of all that was holy would I do with a wife? I’ve never even had a lover for more than a week!
Hugo wanted to howl. Why had he asked the man such a thing?
He could see by the vicar’s slight smile that he knew he’d set the hook deep. The sneaky old bastard.
“You won’t know the answer to that until you ask her, Hugo.”
Hugo gaped, his brain spinning like a toothless gear. But then the gear caught on something.
“Sir, you know she’d never leave Stroma without you, and I have to leave. If I don’t go back to London soon there may be nothing to go back to.”
They held each other’s gaze and Hugo had to admit the man would have made a fine card-player.
The vicar nodded. “You leave that to me, Hugo.”
Hugo groaned, not caring that he sounded like a spoiled child. “Please let me set you up in a cottage someplace with a generous allowance—anywhere you like. That way Martha doesn’t need to marry Clark, or me, or anyone else. It’s the least I can do to thank you for saving me. If not for you, sir, I’d be spending the next seven years in chains.”
“But I don’t want money.” Mr. Pringle’s snowy white eyebrows slammed down into a straight line. “You promised me a favor—or have you forgotten that, Mr. Buckingham?”
Hugo recoiled; the old man looked downright frightening. In fact, he looked like God. Or at least how Hugo imagined God would look.
“Yes, yes of course I did. That’s what I’m trying to—”
“Do you have feelings for Martha? Or have I misinterpreted what I’ve seen?”
Hugo stared into the other man’s clear eyes. If he said no he was certain the vicar would release him from his obligation.
He opened his mouth to say exactly that, but his lips refused to form the word. Instead, he said, “I do like her, Mr. Pringle—but—” It was as if somebody else had taken possession of his mouth. What in the name of God was wrong with him? Why did he say that? Why would—
“Go on, son,” the vicar urged.
Hugo stared at Mr. Pringle, searching for the right words—or any words, really. He more than liked Martha, but he didn’t think lust was what the vicar had in mind. And lust was pretty much all Hugo had to offer a wife.
Wife?
He choked back a hysterical laugh. He must be out of his bloody mind to even be discussing this.
“I will make you a bargain,” Mr.
