“What?”
“I thought that maybe you’d say or do something if I told you that.”
“What exactly did you expect me to say or do after you’d told me you were promised to another man?” he sputtered. “Challenge him to a duel?”
“Oh, don’t act so innocent!” She jerked her arm away. “You knew Robert wanted to marry me and yet you kept asking me to spend time with you. Or was that only to goad him?”.
“No, of course not.”
Although he did enjoy goading Clark and behaving flirtatiously with Martha was the quickest and easiest way to do that. Still, he could hardly say that, at least not without destroying her. “That was different,” he added lamely.
“Different how?”
Hugo’s normally crafty brain seemed to have abandoned him. “Um, I asked you to spend time with me because I didn’t think you were betrothed.”
“Well, I’m not betrothed, now.”
“Martha, the entire island is coming to your wedding in less than two days.”
“Not anymore.”
He felt like he was in one of those dreams, the ones where he tried to run, but couldn’t seem to get anywhere.
If you really want to get rid of her all you need to do is tell her who you really are. And then watch her go sprinting back to her good man.
Nausea rose in his throat at the thought of confessing who he was. What he was.
Hugo ground his teeth; his own shame infuriated him. He had never lied about who he was to anyone, nor had he been embarrassed by what he did for a living.
And yet he couldn’t seem to stop lying to Martha.
“I’m sorry.”
Hugo looked into her stricken eyes. “For what?”
“I can see from your expression that you are searching for a kind way to reject me. That you just don’t want to hurt me.”
She was offering him a way out, and Hugo opened his mouth to take it.
But nothing came out.
She made a gulping sound and her eyes got glassy. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position. It’s my fault that—”
“Oh, Hell,” Hugo muttered as a soft sob broke out of her. “Come here.” He pulled her into his arms. “Shh, shh.” He patted her back, trying to ignore the way her breasts pushed against his chest. What kind of pig thought about soft, lovely breasts when a woman was in mental anguish?
Hugo held her and let her cry, rubbing her back the way he’d seen people soothe crying children.
He closed his eyes; she felt good in his arms—she fit, as if she belonged. As if her body had been made for his.
Hugo shoved aside the insidious thought, but it kept pushing its way back in.
There was no way he could take her with him. Being with her on Stroma was one thing—it was a place out of time, where he didn’t have to be Hugo Buckingham—but in London? He couldn’t hide who he was, what he did, where he came from. There simply—
“I’m sorry for being a watering pot. But I miss my father so much, Hugo.” She whispered the words into the worn material of his vest, her hot breath causing goosepimples to break out all over his body.
“I know,” he said, even though he didn’t know. When had he ever loved anyone like Martha had loved her father? Never. Not even close.
“I can’t seem to stop feeling alone.”
“I’m sure that is normal, sweet—er, Martha. After all, you lived with him all your life.”
“I’m lonely when I’m with Robert and feel even lonelier when I imagine being married to him.” She mumbled something into his clothing.
“Er, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear—”
“I said, then I thought about you, Hugo.”
“Um—”
“I realized the last time I felt safe and happy was down in the Gloup.”
“Oh. Well, that’s natural since you didn’t know about your father back then and—”
“No, it’s more than that.” She nuzzled closer, her body soft, curvy, and delicious. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
And Hugo couldn’t stop thinking about her breasts and the way they were rubbing against him. Thrusting against him.
Only a genuinely selfish, thoughtless bastard would become hard right now, Hugo.
Hugo gritted his teeth and didn’t even bother to defend himself; he was a bastard.
The sudden stiffening in her back told him that she’d noticed his sudden stiffening.
“Ah, Christ, Martha—”
She flinched at his blaspheming.
“I’m sorry,” he hastily said. “I’m, er, well—”
Hugo tried put her at arm’s length, but she clung to him like a barnacle, too innocent to realize what she was doing to him. “Um, you should let me take you back to your room at the Vicar, darling. This isn’t a—”
She nuzzled closer, her hips pressing hard against his.
Hugo groaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Martha—”
“It’s all right, Hugo, I know what you want.”
He opened his mouth.
“I—I want you, too, Hugo. You don’t need to do that other thing this time—I want to stay.”
Chapter 21
The words hadn’t even left her mouth before Martha wanted to snatch them back.
Hugo took her by the waist and firmly set her at arm’s length. “What other thing?”
You want to tell him, admit it. Shame flooded her, but she couldn’t deny it.
Hugo caused sensations in her body that she’d never even dreamed of experiencing—and he’d barely touched her.
She’d only told him the partial truth about why she’d broken off with Robert. She suspected he wouldn’t like the full story, which is that Robert had walked her to her tiny room at the Greedy Vicar and Martha had invited him in.
He’d hesitated, trying to be a gentleman, but Martha had insisted. She’d needed to know what it felt like to kiss and touch him.
It had felt like nothing.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, it had felt embarrassing—like she was kissing her brother.
“Martha.” Hugo’s warm, calloused hand slid beneath her chin and he forced her to meet his gaze. A notch had appeared between the elegant arches of his eyebrows. “What other thing?”
Every second she hesitated, his eyebrows drew down more. Now that she’d piqued his curiosity, he would not leave it
