The whip cracked again; Martin gritted his teeth. Reason told him that, although pre-empting the marriage ceremony was precisely the sort of behaviour he would contemplate without a flicker of conscience, Hedley Swayne was not of that ilk. Reason was not enough. He wanted to make sure of Helen without delay.
As he checked his team for the turn into the narrower road leading to the village of St Agnes, Martin reviewed his options for getting rid of the redundant Mr Swayne. If necessary, he would buy him off. At the thought, Martin’s lips twitched in a self-deprecatory smile. His father had paid a small fortune to extricate him from Serena Monckton’s clutches. Now he was prepared to pay an even larger fortune to release Helen from her misguided promise to Hedley Swayne. Doubtless, as fair Juno herself had once observed, there was a moral in this somewhere.
It was market day at St Agnes, which proved a severe trial to Martin’s temper. He carefully edged the curricle and his high-bred horses through the mêlée, muttering curses at the delay. Then they were through and heading out of the village to the hamlet of Kelporth, beyond which Helen’s little cottage lay.
Joshua had not thought it possible to be glad to see such an out-of-the-way place as Kelporth again. Yet, when they gained the crest of the small hill before the village and went smartly down the lane towards it, he heaved a decidedly heartfelt sigh of relief. He glanced about at the neat little cottages, set back from the road with their neat little gardens, tinged with autumn’s colours, before them. Ahead, to their left, a gaggle of children were playing about the back of a carriage drawn up to the side of the road. As they drew nearer, Joshua made out the dark mass of a lych-gate and surmised that a church must lie beyond. He paled, then looked at the straight back of his master, presently fully occupied with his fretting horses. Joshua coughed. ‘Master, I don’t rightly know as how this is important but take a look to the left.’
‘What now?’ Martin snapped but did as directed.
The horses plunged, hauled to a halt so abrupt that the curricle rocked perilously, nearly flinging Joshua from his perch. He
hung on grimly, then, as soon as it was safe, jumped to the ground and ran as fast as his stiff legs would allow to the horses’ head. His master had already sprung down, throwing the reins haphazardly towards him.
As Martin stared at the children playing in the dust behind the carriage decked with white ribbons, his blood ran cold. Slowly, he dragged his eyes from the horrifying sight and raised them to the church door, just visible through the lych-gate. What if she had married him already?
The thought jerked him into action. He ran up the path to the church, all but skidding to a halt in the stone-flagged porch. A few of the heads near the door turned his way, but he ignored them, his eyes going to the sight which held most of the congregation spellbound.
Was he too late? His heart was pounding so hard he could not hear. Martin clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. Gradually, his hearing returning. He frowned. As he was not familiar with the words of the marriage ceremony, it was an agonising three minutes before he realised he had one last chance remaining. Hard on the heels of relief came the vicar’s sonorous tones, ‘Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace—’
Martin waited for no further invitation. ‘Yes!’ he declared, adding, ‘I do,’ just in case the vicar had misunderstood. He strode forward, his boots echoing on the flags, his gaze fixed on the object of his desire.
At the totally unexpected sound of that deep voice, a voice she had convinced herself she would never hear again, Helen froze. Abruptly, she lost all feeling, all sense of time and place. Her breathing suspended, her eyes had grown round with disbelief even before she turned to find Martin all but upon her, his grey eyes clear and bright and burning with determination.
To her amazement, he took her arm in a vice-like grip.
‘I want to talk to you.’
He would have drawn her out of the church then and there but for the combined expostulations of the vicar and the putative groom.
‘I say, Merton, she agreed to marry me, y’know!’
‘What is the meaning of this, sir?’
Martin looked at the vicar, a frown rapidly developing.
But the vicar, secure in his own house and thoroughly disapproving, was not readily cowed. ‘This is a marriage ceremony. How dare you interrupt?’
Glancing up into Martin’s arrogantly handsome face, Helen saw the cynical gleam in his eyes. Her heart sank. Oh, God! He was going to be outrageous.
‘But you asked for objectors to speak up,’ Martin replied reasonably. ‘I’m merely obliging.’
For one instant, as the truth dawned, the vicar looked blank. Then he looked thunderstruck. ‘You’re objecting?’ His gaze took in Martin’s austerely expensive dress, and his commanding visage. Then the vicar turned to gaze at Hedley Swayne. ‘I knew I should never have agreed to such a hubble-bubble affair,’ he said snapping his bible shut.
‘No such thing!’ Hedley had turned several shades of puce and was all but flapping in agitation. ‘Ask him what his objection is—this is nothing more than some lark because he knows she agreed to marry me!’
Hedley glared at Martin. Helen felt ready to sink. But the grip on her arm eased not one whit.
The vicar glanced uneasily from Hedley to Martin. ‘If you could, perhaps, tell me what your objection is?’
Without a blink, Martin said, ‘Lady Walford agreed to marry me.’
Hedley gasped at what was, quite obviously, a brazen lie. Helen decided it was time for her to take a hand. Despite all, Martin could not be allowed to give up his dreams— not after all the mental agony she had been through to save them for him. ‘I did not, nor have I ever, agreed to marry you, my lord.’
Martin looked down at her. As she watched, a glow of warm appreciation filled his eyes, shaking the grip she was endeavouring to keep on her senses. Her eyes widened as that look was superseded by an expression she could only describe as unholy. ‘You did, you know,’ he said with a slow smile. ‘When you were in bed with me that afternoon.’
Helen felt her mouth fall open. Her cheeks were aflame. How dared he say such a thing? In church, with the entire congregation for witness?
The vicar threw up his hands in scandalised horror. ‘I should have known better than to have anything to do with fashionable folk. London folk,’ he added, glowering at Hedley. ‘In the circumstances, I must ask you—all three of you—to leave the church immediately! And I most seriously advise you to look to your souls.’ And with that parting shot the vicar turned and marched into the sacristy.