Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,54
his thumb and sucked in a breath when she licked the pad of his thumb.
“Let’s tell Mr. Martin to come back tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’m not interested in receiving anyone except you.”
“I wish I could.” He set his hands on either side of her head, careful not to hold her too tight. “Whatever happens, remember that I love you. That I have always loved you.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and left. Helena was completely nonplussed—she had no idea she was meant to receive this Mr. Martin by herself.
Why?
The man who walked in a minute later was an agreeable-looking fellow, with an air of scholarship to him—and an air of timidity. He seemed just as surprised as she at the absence of her husband.
“H— I mean, Lady Hastings, how do you do?”
“I am very well, thank you. And you, Mr. Martin? Won’t you have a seat?”
He sat down gingerly, stealing glances toward the door as if expecting Hastings to return any moment. Only after a minute of awkward silence did he clear his throat and turn his full attention to her. “Are you well, H—Lady Hastings?”
She relaxed slightly—this man might not be the most graceful of conversationalists, but she sensed in him a sincerity and much goodwill—at least toward her. “Yes, I am, thank you very much. Although I am sorry to inform you that I have lost a great deal of memories and therefore do not know who you are, except what my husband has told me—that I am your publisher and that he introduced us to each other years ago at my brother’s place in the country.”
Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on Mr. Martin’s face. “You—you lost your memories?”
“As a result of my accident. Apparently I ran into oncoming traffic and received a hard knock to my head.”
He pulled out a neatly folded, snow white handkerchief and dabbed at his upper lip. “You mean to say I am a stranger to you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She thought she’d made herself perfectly clear from the beginning, but he stilled all the same. His handkerchief hovered in midair, like the white flag held up by a surrender party. “I…I see.”
“Please feel free to tell me anything I need to know. Lord Hastings assured me that I delighted in publishing your books, so I am certain whatever you tell me would be quite welcome.”
Mr. Martin swallowed. “There is—there is not much to tell. I’d always wanted to write histories. When you started your publishing firm, you encouraged—compelled me, I might say—to hand over my manuscripts. The books have been very well received and I am exceedingly grateful to you.”
“That is wonderful to hear. I am glad I’ve been able to be of assistance to one of Lord Hastings’s friends.”
Mr. Martin looked down. He reached for the cup of tea that had been brought for him. She was startled to see that his hand shook.
“I apologize,” she said immediately. “My husband did mention that you were also a dear friend to me. How remiss of me to think of you only as his friend.”
“No, no, if anyone should apologize, it is I. I believe you were coming after me the day of your accident—probably concerning a matter having to do with my latest manuscript.” He laughed a little, not from mirth but from what seemed to be a great and growing uneasiness. “I’m quite despondent to be the cause of so much trouble.”
That could explain some of his discomfort, if he thought himself the culprit in her accident. She felt sorry for him, but she also felt as if she’d rehearsed for one play, but had been thrust onstage in the middle of another. “How can I blame you for my own inattention while crossing the street? And you must not blame yourself, either.”
He raised his face. “That is perhaps easier said than done.”
She realized that he shared her coloring, though his was less intense—reddish brown hair and hazel eyes. “I’m alive and hale—and really not terribly bothered about what I cannot remember.”
His face only became more anguished. Why did he and Hastings both exhibit such extreme reactions? Was it possible he was afraid to lose her as a publisher? “Am I contracted to publish further works by you?”
His teeth clamped over his lower lip. “Yes, two more volumes on the history of Anglia.”
“Then I shall stand by my commitment. And I will read your works and familiarize—or refamiliarize—myself with them, so as to better prepare for your next manuscript. Our publishing