She forced herself into one of the chairs. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“I can’t imagine he’d ever return to Lincolnshire. I’m only relieved that he agreed Blackbird Heath rightfully belonged to you.”
“Most—welcome news.”
“I think so. I had nearly exhausted my efforts to force his departure,” Martin smiled.
Hester gripped the arms of the chair. “Forced?”
“With Bishop Franks, of course,” he assured her with a wink. “Unfortunately, the rumors of your relationship with Sinclair were making things difficult with the good bishop.” Martin nodded to the papers sitting on the table between them. “But thankfully, there’s no need to doanythingelse.” He shook his head. “Though I would have gladly done more. The official document from Sinclair’s solicitor. A man named—”
“Patchahoo,” Hester finished. Wager? She refused that to be the case. Drew didn’t evenknowMartin Godwick. She found it highly unlikely he would share a brandy and confess that his relationship with Hester was no more than a wager made to him by a friend.
“I never understood why Sinclair was so determined to sell Blackbird Heath. He doesn’t need the money. Cuts quite a swathe through London by lifting every skirt he meets and fleecing their husbands of cards.” A tiny grin lifted Martin’s lips. A cruel one.
“He’s a gambler,” Hester offered. “Such men always need a steady source of funds.”
“Yes, but Andrew Sinclair isalsothe brother of the Earl of Emerson.”
“The Earl of Emerson?” Hester regarded Martin carefully. Drew had mentioned his brother and all his siblings with great affection, but he’d left out the fact his brother was an earl.
“I found out quite accidentally,” Martin continued. “From an acquaintance lately returned from London. Sinclair is one of the finest rakes in London society, I’m told.”
Yes, and Martin seemed delighted to remind Hester of that fact, repeatedly.
“Runs in a fast set,” he continued. “One of his closest friends is the younger brother of Viscount Worthington.”
Her heart thudded. “Mr. Worthington attended the house party.”
“Well, there you have it.” Martin snapped his fingers. “What sort of gentleman must you be to find amusement by toying with some poor widow in the country? Threatening to sell your home and demanding to live here must have been vastly entertaining. Not to mention parading you about when his friends arrived from London while laughing behind your back. Howcruel.”
The corner of Martin’s left eye twitched in an alarming manner.
“After all, the brother of an earl has little use for you or Blackbird Heath.”
Hester’s heart thudded dully in her ears, panic rose deep inside that she was unable to push away. Had she truly been so gullible? Martin made sense, in a terrible, horrible way.
“But I’m sure he enjoyed your attempts to convince him to allow you to manage the estate for him.” Martin leaned closer and Hester had to stop herself from flinching. “Didhe enjoy your attempts, Hester?” His fingers stretched and released along his thigh, then began to beat out a rhythm. Like a deranged drummer.
“I don’t believe that is any of your affair, Martin.” A wave of dizziness assailed her. “Nor is it true.”
“Oh, I think it is. I’ve spent a good amount of time listening to the conjecture about you and Sinclair in Horncastle. So much ugly gossip in Horncastle. I was forced to defend you, Hester. I could have allowed you to flounder but did not.”
A trickle of fear slid down her spine. This entire conversation had grown inappropriate and Martin’s behavior far too unsettling for Hester. She listened for Mrs. Ebersole, or even Mary in the hall, but the house was silent.
“I never asked you to defend me, Martin.”
“There are many things you never asked of me, yet I did them all the same. You could at least show me some appreciation for my efforts.” His palm slapped on the arm of the chair he sat in.
Hester jumped at the sound. “What exactly have you done, Martin?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer because it would make her a foolmanytimes over. Drewhadbeen shot; she’d seen the blood darkening the fabric of his trousers. That fact was irrefutable. But she no longer assumed it to be an accident.
Martin regarded her with a slow burning intensity filling the blue of his eyes. “I thought you’d be happier. I’m rather disappointed that you are not.”
“You don’t look well, Martin.” Hester tried to stay calm.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
But he wasn’t, his fingers kept jerking about and the twitch of his left eye was unnatural. And why was the house so bloody quiet? Why hadn’t Mary at least come in to offer tea? “I—believe I’ll find Mrs. Ebersole.” She stood. “Some tea might set you to rights.” Her skin prickled with the urgency to get away from Martin. “Maybe some of those little cakes. You like those, don’t you?”
