“Either did my mother or father. I haven’t seen any of them since my father sold me to my first lover—an old man with a penchant for whippings, by the way—when I was fourteen. Not even my name is real; I changed it when I was eighteen.” He smirked. “You’re actually Mrs. Brian Dinwiddy.”
Martha could only stare.
He spun away from her, as if too repulsed to even look at her, and strode back into his dressing room. “Only pack one small valise for both you and Cailean. I’ll send the rest of your belongings separately. Joss will meet your packet and—”
“I’m not going to France. We’ve just signed the papers for the new house and—”
He stepped out of the dressing room and stared at her. “I’ll tell Duncan we don’t want it.”
Her head spun. “Why are you doing all this?”
He flung an armful of clothing onto the floor and stalked toward her. “Haven’t you been listening to me? I cannot live this dual life any longer. This was never meant to be, Martha. But I will take care of you—you never need to worry that you will be in want—”
“Something must have happened today. You were fine earlier—we were fine—”
His eyes blazed. “Don’t bloody argue with me!” he thundered.
Fear and confusion threatened to choke her, but she refused to step back—to flee. She held her ground. “No. I won’t leave. I took vows before God, Hugo. Those vows mean something to—”
He grabbed her by the arms again, but this time he shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “Goddammit, Martha! I don’t want you. Is that so hard for you to understand? You sicken me! The best thing you can do is get the hell away from me.” He dragged her by one arm toward the connecting door, unlocked it, and then flung it open. “Don’t you dare defy me, Martha,” he said, glaring down at her. “Be ready to leave tomorrow or there will be the devil to pay.” He thrust her into her room—their room—and then slammed the door hard enough to rattle her teeth. She heard the tumbler turn as he locked the door.
Martha stood where she was, rooted to the floor; this couldn’t be happening to her.
Except … it just had.
She clutched her belly—where their baby was even now growing—and stared at the connecting door. His words from only moments before rained down on her like a hail of sharp stones, over and over and over.
Martha slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the piteous cry that broke out of her, but it was no use, her tears would not be contained or controlled. She sank to her knees as sobs racked her body.
As she wept, she willed the connecting door to open, silently begging Hugo to come back. If not to apologize, then at least to explain. If she could only have a few more minutes to talk to him…
Surely he wouldn’t just leave—
Somewhere a door slammed hard enough that she could feel it through her knees. Bootsteps passed by her bedchamber and receded down the corridor, until, once again, the house was shrouded in silence.
He wasn’t coming back.
◆◆◆
Hugo barely made it to the chamber pot behind the attractive screen before dropping to his knees and casting up the contents of his stomach.
He continued to heave until there was nothing left, and then he pushed himself to his feet and slumped against the wall.
He could hear Martha’s sobbing through the connecting door and took three steps toward it, his hand reaching for the handle before he knew what he was doing.
No. You think you are being cruel, but you are saving her life, Hugo. This is the only way.
The sour taste of bile coated his tongue and burned his throat. His stomach clenched and he retched again. But nothing came up. His hands shook and the pounding in his head was so severe that his vision tinged with red, as if the blood vessels in his eyes had exploded.
Hugo snatched up his valise and all but ran from the room; he had to leave now, before he broke down and begged her to forgive him for all his cruel, brutal lies. But that would be as good as a death sentence for the only person he had ever loved. He’d been selfish when he took her off Stroma; he needed to be strong now.
A hysterical, half-mad laugh broke from him at the exquisite irony of it all. He finally loved somebody—somebody who loved him in return—and he’d just destroyed everything in order to save her life.
You could have gone with her.
Hugo scoffed. Sure he could go with her, and when the paltry amount of money he’d saved was gone a year or two years from now then he could drop to his knees to earn more.
Solange’s was his. He’d sweated and bled for it.There was no way in hell he was giving up everything he’d worked for. Not without a fight.
And what will you have if you win this fight?
He’d have a way to support his wife in comfort for the rest of her life.
But you won’t have Martha.
“Goddammit!” he yelled, slamming his valise to the ground, his voice echoing up and down the empty street. He grabbed his aching temples and squeezed, slumping against the nearby lamp post.
He had no idea how long he stood there before his head no longer felt like it would explode. Once he could see without red blurring his vision, he picked up his bag and walked. And walked.
But the time he stopped—an hour and a half later by his watch—he was several miles away from his destination. Only then did he realize that he’d forgotten his
