She turned her head, not wanting to listen to his insane rants any longer. Instead, she closed her eyes and thought of Drew taking her atop the desk in the study at Blackbird Heath. The whisper of him against the skin of her neck as he gently turned her to press a tender kiss on her lips. Once they’d both found their release, he’d held her gently throbbing body in his lap, stroking her hair until the sound of Mrs. Ebersole’s steps approaching had her tidying her clothing. Hester had never felt so—cherished—in all her life. Safe from the world.
Too late she sensed the warmth crawling over her skin and tried to force the memory away.
“I can see just the thought of the delights we’ll share has you blushing,” he cooed, sounding pleased. “Don’t worry, darling Hester. I’ll be gentle.” Martin pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Think of the children I’ll give you.”
Dear God. A child of Martin’s. Tied to him forever.
“I won’t lie, my darling Hester.”
Her temples ached each time he used that sappy endearment.
“I was happy to know Black couldn’t get you with child. Everyone in Horncastle knew of his injury. But rest assured, if the impossible had happened, I would have raised it as my own.” Martin sat back; chest puffed out as if he’d bestowed some miracle on her. One might almost think him normal, except for the crazed twitching of his left eye.
For the first time, Hester was glad Drew was in London. If he were here, Martin might succeed in killing him.
“Well, as I’ve said. I have preparations to finish.” A triumphant laugh sounded. “I’ll finally have you. Til death do we part.” Martin pressed a tender kiss to her lips before standing and going to the table where the remnants of her oatmeal still sat in a bowl. “I can see you’re anticipating our wedding as much as I. You can barely eat because of your excitement.”
Hester turned away from him once more. If she were lucky, he’d fall off his horse or shoot himself with the pistol he carried in his coat. The thought of Martin touching the most intimate parts of her body made Hester physically ill. Perhaps she could find a way to hit him with something while he was—
“Just stop it.” Martin suddenly shouted at her, dropping the bowl that had held what was left of the oatmeal. “This instant, Hester.”
She looked over at him, heart racing at the scowl on his face and the almost feral look in his eyes. “I don’t—”
“Stop thinking about Sinclair.” His brows drew together, lips curled into an ugly sneer. “You aren’t going to see him again. Ever. He’s in London. Probably in bed with another woman at this very moment. Tupping the bloody life out of her. I doubt he even remembers what you look like.” He wobbled a bit and smoothed down his coat, before running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. “Look what you’ve made me do, darling Hester.”
She took a shaky breath, staring at the shards of pottery strewn across the cabin floor. One had slid beneath the bed. Hester wasn’t sure what good that would do her, considering her wrists and ankles were bound, but he would have to allow her to get dressed at some point. She might have a chance to grab that shard.
“I’m sorry, Martin. Truly. I apologize. I’m not thinking about Sinclair. I promise. I’m deciding whether the stain on the ceiling…” she tilted her chin with a smile. “Looks like a dog.”
He closed his eyes, but she could still see the twitching of his left. The tremor moved along his temple and cheek. “Yes,” he took a deep breath, and blinked. “A dog. I agree. See how well we get along. Much better than me and Ellie. When she toppled over at tea,” he bent to pick up the shards of bowl, “I nearly wept with relief. I do wish she hadn’t coughed up blood. The sight ruined the taste of the scone I was eating.”
Hester kept a polite smile on her face, struck with horror at his words. The broken pottery was sharp. He could just as easily stab her with it. Her best hope was the piece of the bowl still under the bed. She only had to find a way to reach it, then Hester would have a weapon.
Martin was stronger, mad, and had no reluctance at all about harming anyone in his path.
But Hester was smarter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Drew had runout of places to look for Hester, becoming more frantic as the day wore on. Though Dobbins had already inquired at Martin Godwick’s house and been informed Mr. Godwick was not in town at present, Drew decided to venture to the solicitor’s office one more time in hopes of catching Godwick unawares. Reaching the office, he peered through the darkened windows, relieved to see a shadow moving about in the far corner of the room.
He knocked. Loudly.
Godwick’s clerk, a spare little man named Stone who Drew had met on his previous visit, came to the door. “Mr. Godwick,” Stone’s muted voice came through the window, “is not in. Godwick & Sons is closed.”
“But I need a copy of the contract he prepared for me,” Drew blurted out. “Mr. Godwick informed me he’d left a copy in his office, I had only to stop by and retrieve it. Please, it is of the utmost importance. Mr. Stone, isn’t it? Do you recall we met the last time I was in Horncastle? I’m Mr. Sinclair.”
“Mr. Sinclair? Yes, of course.” Stone unlocked the door with a shrug. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I allow you to come inside and watch you comb through his desk. Would serve him right. Come in then, I’ll find the contract. Mr. Godwick,” the words were laced with sarcasm. “Is on holiday.”
“Is he? How strange.” Drew pretended confusion before bestowing his usual charm on Stone. “Mr. Godwick didn’t mention going on holiday to me, but I’m probably not in his confidence as you are. I only just missed him yesterday when he visited Blackbird Heath.”
“Blackbird Heath?” Mr. Stone went to Godwick’s office door and opened it. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Godwick is in Lincoln. Or at least that’s what he’s told me. And everyone else,” he muttered under his breath before pulling out a thick file and slapping it on the desk. “Apparently, there is a young lady in Lincoln who he plans to wed.” A disapproving scowl pulled at his lips. “A widow. Mrs. Godwick is barely cold in her grave. I find it distasteful, as does all of Horncastle.”
Martin Godwick, in addition to the list of other undesirable traits, was apparently a braggart. “A widow in Lincoln?”
“I don’t know who she is, Mr. Sinclair, but I must assume Mr. Godwick has been carrying on with her for some time. He’s been making inquiries about obtaining a marriage license and not through the usual channels, probably due to the haste with which he wishes to wed. I only know because he had me make some of those inquiries.”
Drew knew Godwick had taken Hester, but he hadn’t considered the solicitor meant to wed her. And Godwick had laid the trail perfectly. He’d probably already obtained a license and informed anyone he could that he’d be wedding. Hester had left behind a letter stating she was going to Lincoln. Godwick meant to return to Horncastle, legally wed to Hester all the while spouting his nonsense. Once they were wed, there was little Drew could do.
