“Please don’t blame him; he told me about it that first night. He said that what you did saved him—and lots of other men, too. So, if that’s the kind of bad thing you meant, then it saved the lives of other people.”
“That’s true, but I didn’t have to kill him to do that. I could have just choked him until he was unconscious.” His jaw flexed. “But I chose to kill him.”
“Albert said that he’d already killed other men—several others.”
“If it had been your father on that ship, do you think he would have killed Graybow, or merely left him stunned?”
Martha opened her mouth, but then closed it.
“I thought so,” he said. “Anyway, that is the least of the bad things that I’ve done. And I will do more after I leave this island. It is in my nature to be selfish, Martha. It was selfishness that made me kiss you earlier.” He lowered his voice. “There is no future for us, Martha. Somebody like you needs—”
“Somebody like me? Just what does that mean?”
He groaned. “Christ.”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence, Hugo.”
“See?” he said, “That’s just one of the many reasons why I can never be the man you want or need.”
Martha scowled, hoping it hid her pain. “You presume too much, Mr. Buckingham. I never for a minute thought of you … that way.”
His lips quirked into a disbelieving smile. “Oh really?”
“Despite what you seem to think, I am not angling after you. I’d all but forgotten about you until you began coming around again.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so,” she insisted, beyond infuriated by his snide, mocking tone.
He snorted.
“I was only being kind when I agreed to walk out with you,” she said. “After all, I’m betrothed to Robert Clark.”
Hugo’s eyes bulged.
Martha bit her lip. Hard. Why had she said such a thing? Robert had never asked her to marry him, and she wasn’t sure that she would say yes if he did.
She wanted to yell—or hit something. Or somebody. What in the world would Robert say if he learned what she had just said?
Martha opened her mouth to take back her spurious claim.
“Congratulations to you both.” Hugo sneered. “I’m sure you will make each other very happy.”
She flinched, stung by his nasty, condescending tone. “Why Mr. Buckingham, could it be that you are jealous?”
“Ha! That’s not jealousy, sweetheart, that was sarcasm. And more than a little relief. I think you’re perfect for each other.”
Martha refused to let him see how much his words cut her. “Think whatever you like in the privacy of your own mind,” she retorted. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. It’s a private matter.”
He gave a rude hoot of laughter. “As difficult as it might be for you to believe, the subject of you and Robert rarely comes up in any of my conversations.”
“Good. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get some sleep.”
He pushed up off the blanket and shook out his coat before slipping it on. Instead of going elsewhere to lie down he relighted the other lamp.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m suddenly not sleepy,” he snapped. He began to stalk across the sand but then stopped and turned. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
So, he wanted to get away from her? Fine.
“I’ll be better by myself.” She turned her back on him. “Please don’t disturb me when you come back.”
Martha’s ears strained for some sound, but there was nothing other than the gentle lapping of the water.
The tears she’d held back suddenly broke free. Say something, Hugo, she willed him. Don’t leave like this. Tell me … something.
But the light in the cave flickered and grew dimmer.
And then Martha was alone.
Chapter 19
“Well done, arsehole,” Hugo muttered under his breath once he’d left the main cave.
He stopped and glared at the rock walls around him.
What the hell was he doing? The last thing he wanted to do was creep around these bloody caves. Still, it was better than sitting beside Martha after hearing that she was betrothed to Clark.
Hugo clenched his jaws hard enough to make his teeth hurt; he wanted to hit something—to break something.
Why the hell had she only told him that now—after he’d spent ten days making a fool of himself over her? If she’d admitted to being betrothed when he’d asked her to spend some time with him, he could have passed the message along to the vicar and he’d be in London right now.
Maybe it took a few days with you to convince her that Clark was the more appealing option.
Hugo snorted contemptuously. That would be fine by him. As if he had ever wanted to saddle himself with a wife! And a vicar’s daughter, at that.
Liar.
Hugo ignored the mocking laughter in his head and stomped down the tunnel that led away from the water—and away from Martha—and deeper into the island. He didn’t get far before the cave shrank to the diameter of a badger hole.
Well, good. Because he had no desire to wander off, he’d only needed to get away from Martha before he said something he’d regret.
His crude words—about wanting to fuck her—came back to him in a rush.
Hugo scowled. Fine, before he said something else that he’d regret.
“Bugger.” He lowered himself to the rocky but dry floor of the cave and leaned against the wall, grimacing at the cold that penetrated even through his coat and shirt.
He yanked his thoughts away from Martha, only to have them slide in another—even more unwelcome—direction: Cailean.
Where the hell was the boy? He knew this island like the back of his hand. If he was missing, then something was wrong. Hugo should have guessed that Cailean wasn’t down here. Regardless of what Martha said, Cailean had looked genuinely terrified when Hugo had suggested exploring the caves.
It sickened him to think of his cousin Hamish and cadre of bullies finding the boy while Hugo was stuck down here. He couldn’t do a damned thing except pointlessly fret about the lad for the next twelve bloody hours.
Speaking of pointless, what about that argument you just fled from like a vaporous miss?
Hugo gritted his teeth, but he didn’t try to argue. For once, the voice in his head was right: their disagreement had been foolish and pointless.
But then so had entertaining the futile hope that there could ever be something between them. All she felt for him was animal attraction. He knew better than anyone that physical attraction could happen between strangers and even between people who hated each other. It had nothing to do with the finer feelings that led to love or marriage.
Hugo could only be grateful that he’d kept his pitiful feelings for her to himself.
“Feelings,” he scoffed, absently grabbing a handful of sand and letting it drain through his fingers. Since when did he give a damn about—or even notice—any feelings other than the desire for money, security, and physical pleasure?
It was being on this bloody island and out of his element that was causing him to behave like such a gudgeon. Once he was back in London—back in the only milieu where he really belonged: a whorehouse—he could forget this whole nightmare had ever happened.
But first he had to get through the next five days, thanks to his asinine promise to the vicar to extend his stay. He couldn’t believe that he’d allowed Mr. Pringle to talk him into courting Martha. He’d enjoyed spending time with her these past few days, of course, but it had been pointless.
Well, not entirely pointless. His lips curled into a smug smile; he’d hugely enjoyed annoying Clark with his presence.
But his amusement at that thought was short-lived. He tossed the handful of sand onto the ground and brushed off his palm before leaning back and closing his eyes. He was bloody exhausted; today ha
d been one of the worst days in memory. Not as bad as the day his father had sold him, or as terrifying as being abducted and tossed naked into the hold of a convict ship, but still the sort of day he never wanted to re-live.
Being stuck in this cave while Cailean might be hurt somewhere was bad enough but learning that Martha and Clark were betrothed had made things even worse.
And imagining Martha married to Clark—making love to him?
Hugo scowled; no, he couldn’t bear to think about it.
Sleep. Or at least get some rest, he ordered himself.
Several minutes passed. His body refused to unclench and his mind still raced.
Go back in there, apologize, and quit sulking.
Hugo opened his eyes. He refused to crawl back there with his tail between his legs and—
You’re wasting precious lamp oil sitting here.
Hugo perked up. Yes, that was why he needed to go back; not because he wanted to be near her, but to preserve the lamp oil.
Martha was curled up on her side on the blanket, as close to the edge as humanly possible. He decided not to offend her sensibilities by lying beside her. He found a spot that had more sand than rock and settled down.
“Hugo?”
He was just about to snuff the light but paused. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry if I was snappish with you.”
Hugo hesitated, and then said, “I’m sorry, too.”
“You don’t need to lie over there on the sand. We can share the blanket.”
He opened his mouth to say he was fine, but then noticed she was shaking. “Martha, are you cold?”
“J-Just a little.”
Hugo got up, shrugged off his coat, and draped the ratty garment over her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not cold,” he lied.
Her body remained tense for a moment, but then relaxed. “Thank you.”
Hugo reached for the lamp and snuffed the light.
The darkness was so complete it was almost tangible. And it was also damned chilly. Hugo wrapped his arms around his torso, closed his eyes, and tried to listen to the sound of the water rather than the chaos of his thoughts.
Where was Cailean?
Had somebody hurt him or Lily?
Would Martha be happy with Clark?
Would Solange’s still be his when he returned to London?
Would—
Hugo must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because he was wakened by something warm and soft and fragrant pushing against his side. “Martha? What’s wrong?”
“I’m so cold, Hugo.” Martha’s words were broken by the sound of chattering teeth.
Hugo was awake in an instant. In fact, he was astounded that he’d ever slept he was so bloody cold.
“Have we slept long?” he asked.
“I haven’t slept at all, but it’s maybe an hour since you turned off the lamp.” She sounded miserable.
“I can keep you warm, but I need to hold you.” He gave a snort of laughter. “I know that sounds like I’m—”
“I understand.”
Hugo turned onto his side and she immediately pressed her back against his chest, her bottom against his crotch.
Hugo gritted his teeth, grateful he wasn’t hard, but not sure he could maintain his slumberous state for long. Still, he pulled her closer, tucking her into his chest. “Lift your head,” he said. When she did, he slid his biceps under her. “Go ahead, you can use me as a pillow.”
“It won’t be too uncomfortable?”
“If it is, I will tell you.”
After a moment’s hesitation she lowered her head onto his arm.
“Better?”
“Much.” After a few moments her body stopped its violent trembling. “Thank you, Hugo.”
“You’re keeping me warm too.” Lord. Was she ever.
“You must be freezing without your coat. Do you—”
“I’m fine.” Hugo snuggled a bit closer. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be so cold.”
“Did you find anything interesting in the other rooms?”
“No, the tunnels are just as you said and too small for people.”
There was a long silence, and then, “I can’t sleep, Hugo.”
“Maybe once you warm up.”
“No, it’s more than that.”
“What is it?” he urged.
“I don’t know. I just feel … unsettled.”
“Well, being trapped in a cave might do that to a person.”
“I was feeling this way before we got trapped. I’ve just been feeling …” He felt her shrug. “It will sound foolish.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I suppose the best word for it is fey.”
“I don’t know that word,” he admitted.
“It just means you have a feeling of impending dread—that something is wrong.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good feeling.” Hugo wondered if what she was sensing was her father’s ill health. He thought Mr. Pringle owed it to Martha to warn her, but it was no business of his.
“Do you mind talking for a while?”
“I thought that’s what we were doing?”
She chuckled. “I meant about personal matters?”
What could be more personal than admitting to a feeling of impending doom?
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said quickly.
Talking about personal matters only meant lying, but what did it matter at this point if he told her more lies? He’d be gone in a short time and never see her again.
“What did you want to ask?” he said.
“I was just curious about growing up in London.”
Ah. That was easier than he thought. “It’s nothing like here.”
“I could have guessed that much. Tell me about it.”
“Tell you what?”
“You mentioned you worked for a whip-maker. How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Did you have to leave school?”
He could hear the disapproval in her voice. “Yes, but that’s not unusual where I’m from. Most people leave school much younger—ten or eleven—to start working.”
She clucked her tongue. “I suppose it isn’t so different than here—many children work on their family boats or farms. But most can get schooling in the winter. Did you father apprentice you to him?”
Hugo smiled faintly. “Yes, that is exactly what happened.”
“You said he beat you. Was it—”
She sounded so anguished—so sad—for him that he regretted ever mentioning Caton’s predilection for whippings.
“It didn’t happen often,” he lied. “He wasn’t a bad man, just … impatient.” And exceptionally horny for a man his age.
Hugo decided to leave out that tidbit.
She paused, and he suspected she was wishing that she’d never brought up the whip-making. “Er, do you have brothers and sisters?”
There was a subject Hugo didn’t often think about. “Yes, eight.”
“Oh, goodness. Eight?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You must be very close if you had such a large family.”
Hugo tried to recall an image of any of his brothers and sisters, but he couldn’t summon any faces—which was odd, considering he’d not been that young when he’d left home. But his siblings had all been so much older and all he could remember was that they’d considered him an annoyance.
“Er, we’re not as close as we used to be.”
“Oh.”
She sounded so disappointed that he amended, “Mainly because we all live so far apart. But we visit each other.”
“That sounds lovely.” She sounded much happier at that, but also wistful. “Do you have a favorite?”
“Favorite what?”
“Sibling.”
“Oh.” Faces and names drifted around in his head, nothing but pieces in a bland flavorless stew of memories. “Er,
Susan.” At least he thought there’d been a Susan.
“Is she older or younger?”
“Older. They were all older.”
“Were? Did something happen?”
“No, no, nothing happened. It’s just a figure of speech.”
“The youngest child of nine. I’ll wager they spoiled you rotten.”
“Yes, they spoiled me,” he agreed.
“What did your father do? Was he a man of business, too?”
Hugo’s father was the one he remembered best. Maybe that’s because he was the last one Hugo had seen. He could still see him in his mind’s eye. He’d had thin, sandy hair and a worn face; his rounded shoulders had been slumped as he took the money Mr. Caton gave him. And then he’d turned and walked away without a word or backward glance.
“Hugo?”
“Hmm?”
“Your father, what did he do?”
“He sold things.”
“Things? You mean he was a shopkeeper?”
“Something like that.”
“Do your parents live in London?”
“Yes.”
“They must be worried sick about you.” Her voice pulsed with sympathy for Hugo’s mythical loving, worried family.
“They’re accustomed to me working hard and not hearing from me for long periods of time.” Sixteen years, in fact. “I doubt they are worrying.” That was certainly true.
“You must have worked hard to become so successful. Your family must be so proud of you.”
Hugo made a non-committal noise. “Are you warmer, yet?”
“Yes, I’m quite cozy.” Her bottom wiggled adorably—and dangerously—against Hugo’s groin. “What about you?”
“Much better. Tell me about your family,” he said, trying to take his mind off his cock, which was nestled between her cheeks and showing signs of liking it there.
“There isn’t much to tell. My mother didn’t have siblings and my father’s were all older. It is just me and Papa.” She hesitated and then said, “I have always yearned for a big family.”
“You’ll be happy with Clark, then—he has a large family, does he not?” There, that took care of any incipient erection he might have worried about.
Her body stiffened. “Erm, yes.”
She was silent so long he thought she’d fallen asleep.
Hugo and the Maiden: A Steamy Virgin and Rake Regency Romance (The Seducers Book 3) Page 16