“No more than a few minutes.”
Hugo stopped. Martha wasn’t expecting it and staggered. He caught her, one of his hands on her waist to steady her.
Martha had never been this close to him; he was like a furnace. And so very, very … hard.
“Listen,” he said softly, leaning close. “I think you were right about splitting up. It’s possible whoever killed that otter is still down here.”
“Who would—”
“I don’t know, maybe one of the smugglers you’ve mentioned.”
“I can’t believe that. It was probably just another otter.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to take any chances. I want you to hang back. If there is somebody, er, well, unsavory, ahead I want you to run and bring help.”
Martha hesitated, but then nodded; it was a solid plan. “All right.” But the thought of leaving him was . . . painful.
His stern expression shifted into a sweet, gentle smile that Martha wouldn’t have believed his wicked lips capable of forming. “A kiss for luck.”
And then he lowered his mouth over hers and physical sensation swamped her. His lips were warm and firm; his scent was an earthy mix of male sweat and fresh air; and his body felt huge and hard against hers.
The tip of his tongue, soft and slick, flicked over her tightly pursed lips and she relaxed under the gentle caress. He made a low rumbling sound in his chest and then pulled away. Martha swayed toward him, her body following his.
“Sorry our first kiss was so quick and clumsy, sweetheart,” he murmured in a husky voice. “But I had to taste you. Now stay here.” He turned and was gone in a heartbeat.
Martha stared after him, her jaw sagging. He’d called it their first kiss. That implied there would be more, didn’t it?
◆◆◆
Hugo’s heart was pounding—partly out of worry for Martha’s safety and Cailean’s whereabouts, but mostly because of inconvenient-as-hell lust.
He was disgusted with himself; how could he be hard at a time like this? There must be something deeply deviant about his character: he was marching into a potentially dangerous situation and sporting a full-blown stand.
His mouth pulled into a grin. Well, why the hell not? After all, he did all his best work with an erection, didn’t he?
The cave widened abruptly, becoming almost twice as broad and several times higher than the passageway. Hugo caught his breath. Good God; it was like a bloody cathedral. The light from his lamp cast eerie shadows in all the nooks, crannies, some of which looked deep enough to be tunnels or other caves.
A scuffing sound echoed in the room and Hugo pivoted, his right hand clenched into a fist and at the ready.
Martha jumped and yelped. “It’s me! I’m sorry—”
“It’s all right,” he whispered, although he doubted anyone lurking in the caves could have failed to hear her screech. “Come along and stay close. Let’s make sure we’re alone.”
It took a good ten minutes to check each of the caves.
It wasn’t until they entered the third system of tunnels that they found evidence of human habitation; somebody had spread out knitted blankets where deep sand covered the hard rock floor.
“Those must be the blankets Mrs. Mason said went missing.”
Hugo gestured to a pile of what looked to be chicken bones. “Maybe it wasn’t the dog taking the Mrs. Simpson’s hens, after all.”
In the next cave they found the remains of a fire. “How could anyone have a fire in here?” Hugo asked, his voice echoing eerily.
Martha lifted the lantern and they both looked up. The ceiling went and up and up, narrowing like a chimney before disappearing into darkness.
“I know where this comes out,” Martha said. “There is a crack in the earth.”
Hugo scattered the fire pit ashes with his boot. “I wonder if this is where the convicts hid before getting off the island?”
“If so, that would certainly mean the islanders helped them.”
Which is what Hugo had suspected all along.
“Well, none of that matters now,” he said, and then paused. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
He laid a finger across his lips and they both froze to listen.
Martha recognized the sound, first. “Oh no, Hugo—that’s water!”
Hugo grabbed her hand, and they ran.
Chapter 18
There was about eight inches of water in the tunnel that led out of the main cave.
“Can we make it?” Hugo asked.
She chewed her lip and frowned as a swell rolled in, doubling the water level in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
“How long will we be here?”
“Um, twelve hours.”
Hugo said something astoundingly vulgar. “Sorry,” he muttered abstractedly.
“Somebody might come get us by boat when Mrs. Fergusson tells people where we’ve gone.” Martha didn’t add that was extremely unlikely with the herring run going on. None of the Stroma fishermen would want to interrupt laying out their drift nets to rescue two people who were perfectly safe.
Well, except for Robert.
If he learned she was in the Gloup with Hugo he’d come get them—or at least Martha. She grimaced at that thought.
Hugo paced a small circuit of the cavern, frowning. “I’m relieved Cailean’s not down here but I wish we’d had the time to look in that other tunnel.”
“I know you are, Hugo, but we didn’t.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “Very well then, I’ll stop fretting like a hen with a chick. We are here for the nonce and that is that. I suppose we should extinguish one of the lamps so we’ll have enough oil to make our way out. How long do these things usually last?”
“They were full, so perhaps another four or five hours.” She shivered; it would be utterly dark if they turned both off.
“What is it, Miss Martha—afraid of the dark?” he asked, his taunt an echo of her earlier teasing.
“You are so droll, Mr. Hugo Buckingham.” Martha extinguished her lamp and placed it against the cave wall. “You should shorten your wick,” she told him.
For some reason that made him laugh, but he turned the key-shaped knob until the light was a mere glow.
He pointed toward where the water lapped gently at the sandy shore of the cave. “How high will that get?”
“Perhaps a foot?”
“Let’s stay here, then.”
“Shall we bring over the blankets to sit on and fetch some water from that smaller cave?”
“Good idea.” He lifted the lamp and led the way.
Martha found part of a clay jug and held it beneath the rivulet of water dripping from the darkness above them. “It’s fresh,” she said, offering some to Hugo.
He glanced at the cave wall, which was slimy, and pulled a face. “I’ll have some when I get desperate.”
“Is that how all city dwellers are—pernickety?”
“That’s how this city dweller is but help yourself.”
Martha did. Once she’d had enough to drink, they returned to the main cave.
“How about here?” Hugo asked, pointing to the deepest sand.
“We’d better double them,” she said. “This sand is damp.”
Once they’d laid them out one on top of the other Hugo gestured with a sweeping bow. “After you, my lady.”
Martha fingered her shawl, wondering if she should lay it out somewhere not so close to Hugo.
“Come now, I won’t bite.” His smile exposed the pointy canine teeth that Martha had noticed before; they looked perfect for biting.
But it would be churlish to argue—where else was he supposed to go—so she lowered herself onto the far edge of the blanket, wishing she’d worn her cloak. The air in the caves was cooled by the ocean water; it would be a chilly twelve hours.
Hugo sat with a soft thump beside her and extracted a waxed cloth from the pocket of his worn coat. �
�How fortunate is this?” He unwrapped one of the fried hand pies the fishermen took out on the water with them. “It’s a bit crushed for living in my pocket all day, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
Martha looked up at his face, and then wished she hadn’t. Being this close reminded her of their brief kiss and made her wonder if he would kiss her again.
He cocked his head. “Martha?”
“Hmm?”
“Some pie?”
“Oh, thank you,” she murmured, taking the piece of pastry he offered.
They munched in silence, until Martha could not bear the tension a moment longer. “Are you looking forward to leaving Stroma?”.
He snorted. “God, yes.”
Martha flinched at his fervid tone.
He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I was happy to get away from the people—from, er, you, Cailean, your father,” he added somewhat lamely. “I just meant I have business that is desperately in need of my attention.”
“Albert told me that he believes his employer paid to have him taken. You’ve never explained what happened to you.”
“I’m not certain who paid to have me kidnapped, thrown into jail, and then falsely charged and transported.”
“You’re not sure?” she repeated tartly. “Just how many people would want to do that to you?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I suspect it was my, er, business partner.”
“Why would your business partner have done such a thing?”
“I think she wants to—”
“Your partner is a she?”
He took a big bite of pie and chewed; his gaze speculative as it rested on her. “Mmm-hmm.”
“That’s, er, unusual, isn’t it? A woman who engages in business?”
He kept chewing, but his lips curled up at the corners.
“What?” Her face was hot. “I’m just making polite conversation.”
He swallowed, his smile turning to a grin.
“You are a very annoying man.”
“So I’ve been told. Often.”
“By whom?”
“Anyone who knows me, people who’ve just met me—the list is a long one.”
“I believe it.” Martha opened her mouth, but then closed it.
“What?” he asked, tucking the empty cloth back into his pocket.
“What what?” she repeated.
“I can see you are dying to ask me something. What is it?”
“I’m not dying to ask you anything.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged out of his coat.
“What are you doing?”
He winced at her shrill tone. “Don’t worry, I’m only taking off my coat.”
“Why? It’s cold in here.”
“Because I’m going to use it as a pillow.”
“Oh. You’re going to sleep?”
He sighed. “It’s been a long day, Martha.”
Martha looked at the dark smudges beneath his striking eyes and felt a pang of guilt for begrudging him some sleep. She edged as unobtrusively as possible toward the outside of the blanket.
He smirked. “You needn’t fret; I won’t do anything, er, untoward.”
“I’m not worried,” she lied.
He snorted and flopped onto his back, tucking the coat under his head. And then he yawned and closed his eyes.
How could he possibly sleep in this situation? Clearly her proximity meant nothing to him. At least not what it meant to her. Her skin was behaving strangely—flushing hot and then turning clammy and cold. And she couldn’t seem to breathe normally.
And yet he was completely relaxed.
She studied him in the low light of the lamp. He wasn’t classically handsome like Robert, but he was the most attractive man she had ever seen.
Like his body, his face was chiseled and composed of hard, stark planes. His nose was big—a veritable beak—and his thin-lipped mouth was permanently curved into an almost-smile. This close to him she could see the half-moon-shaped curves that bracketed his lips.
His eyelashes were thick and black, like his hair, and fanned out on his sun-bronzed skin. He must have bought a razor, because the hairs on his face were only just sprouting, as if he’d shaved that morning. The neckerchief he wore did a minimal job of covering his throat. Martha saw that he had to shave all the way down his neck, just like her father did.
His face and throat looked damp and dewy—the constant humidity on Stroma had some benefits—and she knew that his skin would taste salty, both from sweat and the sea air.
Her mouth watered to lick him. Right there in that hollow…
Martha had to swallow several more times to keep from drooling like some sort of maniac.
Her gaze wandered lower. His shirt was threadbare and gritty; he’d obviously not had time to go home and clean himself or change from his work clothing today.
The thin cotton did nothing to hide the dark circles of his nipples. The shirt was too small for his broad shoulders and powerful chest and had come untucked, baring an inch-wide strip of muscular midriff.
Martha’s pulse sped as she studied the fascinating ridges of his lower belly; there wasn’t so much as an ounce of fat on the man. The muscles flexed slightly with each breath he took. She pushed a finger into her own belly; it was soft, with only a hint of muscle.
Her fingers twitched to feel him. To trace the prominent vein that pulsed beneath the thin skin; to explore the fascinating line that began just above the blade of his hip and cut diagonally, delineating the smooth muscles of his flank from his striated abdomen; to caress the intriguing trail of downy black hair which disappeared beneath the low-slung waistband of—
Don’t look. It’s wicked, Martha.
A team of oxen couldn’t have stopped her gaze from venturing lower.
Her jaw sagged at the unmistakable ridge thrusting against the thin fabric and her eyes jerked up to his face.
He was looking at her, his eyes hooded, his expression almost … stern. “What are you doing, Martha?” His voice was low and gravelly.
“N-nothing.”
One of his eyebrows cocked.
“Just looking,” she amended. As if to demonstrate, her willful eyes slid back down to his hips.
Yes, he was still erect.
Martha was trying to yank her gaze away when he palmed the hard ridge and squeezed.
A small whimper escaped her parted lips
The muscles in his forearm rippled as his fingers flexed. The outline of his organ was … well, she knew what it looked like in the flesh, of course, but she thought that maybe she had exaggerated its dimensions in the weeks since seeing it.
She hadn’t.
“Martha.”
She swallowed and looked up.
“You shouldn’t be staring at me like that while I’m trying so hard to behave.”
“B-behave?”
He nodded slowly, his features shifting into something almost feral as his arm flexed and pumped, just once, before his hand dropped back to his side. “Yes, I’m behaving like a gentleman and you’re—”
She snorted. “You call what you just did behaving like a gentleman?”
“I’m trying to behave like a gentleman,” he amended, “but you aren’t making it easy by staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to lick every inch of my body.”
An outraged yelp broke out of her and her face—which was probably glowing brighter than the lantern—scalded at his amused, knowing expression. “How dare you—”
He rolled his eyes in an odious, dismissive way. “Don’t bother to deny it. I recognize desire when I see it.”
For a moment, Martha could only gape, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. She struggled for a cutting set-down—or even an un-cutting one—but came up with nothing. And then she looked—really looked—into his dark eyes. The truth struck her like a whack to the head.
“You desire me, too,�
�� she blurted.
He only stared.
“You k-kissed me earlier.”
His jaw flexed, and some unidentifiable emotion flickered across his face. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Why? Do you have a sweetheart in London? Or a w-wife?”
“No. And I don’t want one, either.”
Martha recoiled from his cold look and sharp tone. “Don’t worry; I wasn’t suggesting I wanted the position.”
“Good.”
Hurt and anger roiled in her belly. “Why have you been walking out with me? Just to toy with me?”
“I’m doing it because…”
“Why?” she prodded.
He hesitated so long she’d stopped expecting an answer when he finally said, “Because I like spending time with you.” The words were warm and comforting, but his gaze was … grim.
“If you like spending time with me then why do you look so unhappy?”
“Because what I want can’t lead to anything good.”
“What do you w-want?”
He gave an agonized, frustrated groan. “I want to fuck you, Martha—that’s what I want from you. That’s all I want.”
“How dare you!”
He caught her wrist before she could get to her feet. “I’m sorry, I should never have—” He stopped, muttered something she couldn’t hear, and shook his head. “No, I’m not going to apologize for what I am.”
“You mean vulgar and odious?” She pulled on her arm, but he wouldn’t release her.
He had the temerity to smile, although it was short-lived. “Among other things.” The look he gave her was penetrating and direct. “Listen to what I have to say—don’t run off.”
She ground her teeth, desperate to blister his ears.
But then she recalled that she’d started all this by staring at his body like some sort of depraved person. She heaved an exaggerated sigh and nodded. “Fine.”
He released her arm. “I’m not who you think I am.” His lips flexed into a grimace. “Or maybe I am.” He shook his head, as if to dismiss the comment. “What I’m trying to say, is that I might not have been guilty of the crime that landed me on that ship, but I have done many things far worse than thieving.”
“You mean like what you did to Graybow?”
His dark eyebrows slammed together. “How did you know—oh, Albert told you. Just wait until I see him ag—”
Hugo and the Maiden: A Steamy Virgin and Rake Regency Romance (The Seducers Book 3) Page 15