“Oh, you’re here,” she said foolishly.
“I was a few minutes early, but didn’t want to appear over-eager, so I waited outside.”
“But you thought you’d tell me that you were over-eager, just in case I didn’t happen to notice.”
He grinned. “You know me so well.”
“Ha.”
“I thought we might take a walk down to the Greedy Vicar if you’d let me treat you to a hot chocolate.”
“You are a spendthrift, Mr. Buckingham. You needn’t put yourself into debt because of me.”
“Oh, trust me—the thought would never enter my mind. Everything I do, I do for my own satisfaction.”
“Hmmm.” She cut him a speculative glance. Like everyone else on the island she knew that an aristocrat had sent him a letter containing a bank draft so large—twenty pounds—that Joe hadn’t been able to cash it.
“I’m surprised you aren’t already gone. I thought you were eager to get off the island and go back to—well, back to whatever it is you do.”
Martha began walking before he offered her his arm—which is what Mr. Clark always did. But she suspected that she wouldn’t be able to think or walk if she touched any part of Hugo.
“I’ve decided to give Mr. Stogden two weeks to secure another employee.”
“That is thoughtful.”
“Thoughtfulness has nothing to do with it. My behavior is entirely self-serving.”
“How so?”
He gave her a warm look. “It means I get to spend more time with you. Life is too precious and brief to deny ourselves everysensualpleasure, wouldn’t you agree?”
Martha’s face heated at his blatant innuendo. “That sounds like the philosophy of a hedonist.”
“Absolutely! My goal is unfettered pleasure.”
“You’re a care-for-nobody, in other words,” she suggested.
He gave her a look of mock surprise. “Why, Miss Martha, I feel as if you know me better than I know myself.”
“Hmmph. I spoke to Albert earlier today and he said you are paying for his transportation to London and gave him the name of a friend who will put him up when he reaches the city.”
Hugo frowned. “Did he.” It wasn’t a question.
“He says you have been generous to him. One might say … selfless, almost.”
Hugo’s mouth twisted into a pruney shape. “Mr. Franks needs to keep his opinions to himself.”
“Why do you wish to pretend as if you care only about yourself?”
“It’s not a pretense, trust me.”
Martha could see by the stubborn set of his jaw that she would get nowhere on this subject. “Tell me, Mr. Buckingham—”
“I insist you call me Hugo.”
“Tell me, Mr. Buckingham, what is it you doin London?”
“I manage various business concerns.”
“That sounds considerably less strenuous than cutting flagstone.” It also sounded very vague.
“Are you wondering how I maintain such a magnificent physique while engaging in such sedentary work?”
Martha’s face burned. “I’m wondering no such thing.”
He chuckled. “A man can always hope.”
Really! He wasa menace to a woman’s peace of mind. Why did she enjoy his company so much when he always made her feel so skittish?
And why didn’t she believe him when he claimed to be self-centered—what sort of person would say that if it weren’t true? How come she persisted in believing that there was more to him than frivolity and selfishness? And why was he so much more intriguing than Mr. Clark—whom she knew to be a good man, at least in most matters?
Just what was wrong with her? Was she like a magpie and Hugo the new, shiny object that caught her attention? Could she really be so shallow?
Martha had—grudgingly—accepted that a great deal of her feelings for him were physical in nature. But that wasn’t all of it. There was just something about him that seemed to callto her.
Every instinct screamed that she should send him off with a flea in his ear, but she could not make herself do it. The two long weeks that he’d avoided her had been dreary—frighteningly so—and she was in no hurry to return to those tedious days.
Besides, he would only be here for a short time and then he would be gone. Forever. Surely there was no harm in enjoying him before he left?
The thought of Hugo leaving forever made her stomach churn as if she’d just eaten bad fish.
She bit her lip to keep from groaning at her own stupidity. What was wrong with her? How in the world could she have become so attached to the man in such a short time? Was she really in danger of falling in love with him?
Or even worse, had she already fallen?
Chapter 16
Hugo was late.
He was also filthy, which he hated. He had planned to wash up and change his clothing before going out with Martha—the seventh evening they’d spent together out of the last ten—but the day had been chaotic and long.
The driller he worked with, Gerry Boyle, had suffered an accident that crushed his arm. Hugo and one of the other men had carried the injured man on a stretcher to Nethertown. When they’d arrived, Mr. Stogden had a boat waiting to take Gerry over to the doctor on the mainland.
The entire process had left Hugo dirty, exhausted, and scared—for Gerry. He liked what he knew of the hardworking man, who had a wife and three young children. The Boyles had a tiny bit of land, but it wouldn’t be enough to sustain them without Gerry’s money from cutting stone. Hugo imagined that, in addition to physical pain, Gerry was probably worrying about his family right now. That was what happened when somebody allowed themselves to care for other people: they became a burden.
As Hugo made his way toward the Pringle cottage, he thought about what the vicar had said about life on Stroma aging people.
There was plenty of aging going on in the rookeries, but Stroma had brutal weather to contend with as well as geographical isolation.
Gerry had been able to go to the mainland today because the weather had cooperated. What would have happened if it had been
