The congregation erupted. Under cover of the ensuing uproar, Martin dragged Helen through a side-door and into the graveyard. They were midway across the grassed expanse, dotted with worn headstones, before Helen found the strength to haul back, bringing them to a halt.
‘My lord! This is ridic—’
The rest of her words disintegrated under the force of his kiss. Fiery passion seared her lips, then, when they surrendered, threatened to cinder what was left of her wits. She struggled, trying to escape a too well-desired fate, trying to deny the hunger that rose up to overwhelm her reason. In response to her ineffectual wriggling, Martin’s arms tightened about her, pressing her more fully against his hard chest, until, at last, she admitted defeat and melted against him.
Only when all trace of resistance had been vanquished did Martin risk releasing her lips. She was a stubborn goddess, as he had every reason to know.
‘Don’t talk,’ he said, laying one finger across her reddened lips to enjoin her obedience. ‘Just listen.’ Gazing down into her wide green orbs, he smiled and enunciated clearly, ‘My fortune is mine. Not my mother’s, not even vaguely dependent on her whim. I’m excessively wealthy in my own right and have every intention of choosing my own bride. Do you understand?’
The wide eyes widened even further. Helen could barely find the breath to speak. ‘But your brother said…’ was all she could manage.
‘Regrettably,’ said Martin, his jaw hardening, ‘Damian was labouring under a misapprehension.’
Helen detected his anger but knew it was not directed at her. ‘Oh,’ she said, struggling to decide what it all meant.
‘Which means I’m going to marry you.’
The decisive statement brought Helen’s eyes up to Martin’s grey ones. His stern, not to say forbidding expression gave her pause. ‘Oh,’ was all it seemed safe to say.
‘Yes, “Oh”,’ Martin repeated. ‘I’ve asked you three times already, which is more than enough. I’ve given up proposing. You’re going to marry me regardless.’
Helen simply stared, too enthralled by the vision of the rainbow rising once more on her horizon.
When she said nothing, Martin went on, entirely serious, ‘If necessary, I’m prepared to lock you in my apartments at the Hermitage and keep you there until you agree.’ He paused, brows rising. ‘In fact, that’s a damned good idea—far more appealing than proposing.’
Helen blushed and looked down. Things were moving so fast; her head was spinning, her heart was beating an insistent but happy tattoo. She could barely formulate a thought, with her mind whirling with the giddy promise of happiness his words had implied. Could it really be true?
Martin examined her flushed countenance, conscious of a medley of emotions coursing his veins. Relief that she was once more in his arms was slowly giving way to pride that she had loved him so much she had been willing to accede to another meaningless marriage to save his dreams. An urgency to secure her hand, beyond all possible loss, was slowly growing. He was about to speak, to assure her that he now understood her odd behaviour, before showing her that he appreciated it as he should, when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Hedley Swayne, also leaving the church by the side-door. The fop saw them and turned away, disgruntlement visible in the slump of his shoulders as he made his way jerkily through the headstones.
Reluctantly, Martin released Helen. ‘Wait here. And don’t move!’ He enforced his command with a meaningful look, then strode after Hedley Swayne.
Mr Hedley Swayne had tried very hard to get Helen to marry him—why? Martin held no fears for his future wife—he intended to keep her safe from all danger. But the stone of Hedley Swayne’s interest was too intriguing to leave unturned.
Hedley heard him and stopped, all but sulking with disappointment. ‘What do you want now?’ he asked as Martin drew near.
‘One simple answer,’ Martin said, coming to a halt directly before the slighter man. ‘Why did you want to marry Lady Walford?’
Hedley scowled, then, after a pregnant pause, gave a petulant shrug. ‘Oh, very well. You’re bound to learn of it sooner than late, what with your business connections.’ He eyed Martin with resignation. ‘That little cottage of hers is on land bordering my estate. I own many of the tin mines around here. But the purest deposit my people have ever found lies under those five acres. Can’t be accessed by any other route.’
For one long moment, Martin stared at the fop, now seen in a new light. Abruptly, he made up his mind. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling out his note-case, and extracting a card. ‘Come and see me when we get back to town. We can discuss a lease then.’
‘A lease?’ Hedley took the card, speculation dawning in his pale eyes.
Martin shrugged. A crooked smile twisted his lips. ‘I warn you you’ll have to wait a few months but by then I think it very likely that both Helen and I will feel somewhat in your debt.’
With a nod, he left Hedley Swayne pondering over that cryptic utterance.
Helen was seated on the marble coping of a grave, trying to see her way forward. Could she safely agree to all Martin said—or was he making their situation appear more rosy than it, in reality, was? He wanted to marry
her—that was beyond question. He was ruthless and determined and very used to getting his own way. Was it really in his best interests to marry her? And, most importantly, how could she find out? She looked up as he approached, a frown nagging at her fine brows.
Martin ignored it, holding out his hands to her. Dutifully, Helen put her hands in his and he pulled her to his feet. ‘And now, fair Juno, it’s time for us to depart.’
‘But Martin—’
‘I’ll leave Joshua here to collect your maid and baggage. We can send a carriage for them from the Hermitage.’ Martin paused to glance at her dress. ‘Where’s your coat?’
‘In the carriage. But Martin—’