Helen drew herself up haughtily. ‘Mr Swayne, I cannot— will not—accept your proposal. Please,’ she said, holding up one dough-encased hand to halt his reaction, ‘say no more on the matter. I have no intention of remarrying. My decision is final.’
Hedley’s weak-featured face turned sulky. ‘But you must marry me—stands to reason. Merton won’t marry you. He’s ruined you and now there’s nothing left for it but that you must marry. You should marry me, indeed you should.’
What little reserve was left to Helen evaporated at his petulant tone. ‘Mr Swayne, I am not constrained to marry anyone!’
Hedley returned her glare belligerently.
Just how long they would have remained so, locked in a contest of wills, Helen was destined never to learn, for at that moment the sounds of an arrival reached them. Another carriage, wonder of wonders. Her breathing oddly suspended, Helen waited, eyes glued to the door, to see who it was this time.
When a large, well-remembered broad-shouldered figure blocked out the light, she was not sure whether to feel relieved or apprehensive. She might have guessed Martin would come to find her.
The cool gaze swept the room, alighting on the occupants frozen in a most peculiar tableau. Martin instantly realised he had walked in on an altercation of sorts. As if on a stage, Helen stared at him from the other side of a deal table, her hands sunk in a copper basin, her golden curls rioting about her face. One glance was enough to tell him that she had not been taking care of herself as she should. Annoyance at her unwise bolt from the capital, which had developed over the long miles from London, grew. But his immediate concern was to relieve her of the obviously unwelcome presence of Hedley Swayne.
Martin nodded coolly to Helen and strolled into the room. Then he turned his attention to Hedley Swayne. ‘Swayne.’ With the curtest of nods, Martin acknowledged Hedley Swayne’s flustered bow. The man’s face was evidence enough that he had heard the rumours. Had he had the temerity to approach Helen with them? Martin decided that the sooner Hedley Swayne left, the safer it would be—for Hedley Swayne. ‘But I believe you were about to leave, Mr Swayne?’
Hedley Swayne swallowed. He glanced nervously at Helen.
Helen sensed his glance but did not return it, too busy drinking in a sight she had convinced herself she would never see again. It meant that she would have to argue with him again, but, right now, she did not care. Just the sound of his deep, raspy voice had sent tingles down her spine. She was alive again. Her eyes roamed the large figure, noting the broad shoulders stretching the blue material of his coat, and the long sweep of muscled thighs encased in buckskin breeches. One lock of thick dark hair had fallen across his brow. She had forgotten the excitement his mere presence generated; for a moment, at least, she would bask in the warmth.
‘Actually—no.’
The tentative response concentrated Martin’s attention firmly on the flustered fop. ‘What do you mean, no?’
Sheer aggression vibrated in Martin’s growl. Helen blinked and realised the danger. Good God—the last thing she needed was to have to save Hedley Swayne from annihilation by throwing herself into the breach! Knowing Martin, that was what it would take, once he got started.
‘What I mean, my lord,’ said Hedley, screwing his courage to its highest pitch, ‘is that before you interrupted, her ladyship and I were engaged in a delicate negotiation and I really don’t think it would be at all considerate of me to leave before we’ve come to an agreement on the matter.’
A black scowl had invaded Martin’s face. When the stormy grey gaze flicked her way, Helen was no longer sure which of her suitors it was safest to encourage. Martin radiated menace. He also looked very determined. His jaw was set, his eyes were co
ld. Just how far he would go to gain her consent to their marriage she did not feel qualified to judge. Hedley she was sure she could manage; Martin she was sure she could not.
Martin stalked the few paces to the other side of the table. ‘Just what sort of “delicate negotiation” were you discussing?’
Helen wished she could have kicked Hedley but he was too far away. Predictably, the fool thrust his chin in the air and stated, ‘As a matter of fact, we were discussing a topic I doubt you have any interest in, my lord. We were discussing marriage.’
Martin’s black brows flew. ‘I see. Whose?’
Helen closed her eyes.
Hedley blinked. ‘Why—ours, naturally.’ He bridled, but before he could say more Martin’s deep voice, carefully controlled, cut him off.
‘Contrary to your suppositions, I rather suspect I’m close to becoming an expert on marriage proposals.’
His grey gaze flicked Helen’s way. Opening her eyes in time to catch it, she suppressed a wince.
‘As it happens, I’ve already proposed to Lady Walford. I’m here to repeat that proposal and ask for her ladyship’s… final answer.’
Hedley Swayne’s jaw dropped.
Helen resisted the impulse to close her eyes and fake a faint. The subtle emphasis on the last two words did not escape her. Martin was telling her this was the last time— the last chance she would have to grab happiness. He had turned until he was facing her. The grey eyes were watchful, sharply acute. Then, as she watched, a slight smile twisted his long lips.
‘Well, my dear?’ The grey gaze became slightly mocking, distinctly untrustworthy. ‘Now that our liaison is public property, it would seem the only respectable solution for you is marriage. It seems you have a choice. The Countess of Merton or Mrs Swayne. Which is it to be?’
Helen only just managed to swallow her gasp. Outrageous! He had jockeyed her into the position of accepting one of them, or appearing a reckless wanton, blind to society’s rules. Her instinctive response to his manipulation was to reject them both summarily. Martin, at least, knew she did not have to marry. He, damn his grey eyes, was merely using the situation to further his ends. She opened her mouth but was forestalled by his deep, gravelly voice.
‘Think carefully, my dear, before you choose.’
The look in his eyes warned her that flat rejection of them both would not work. Helen drew a tortured breath and struggled to think. Hedley Swayne was looking at her in fascinated wonder. The fact that she had not immediately leaped to accept Martin’s proposal no doubt gave him heart. If she refused them both, then she would face continued pressure, not just from one, but from both. Martin might say it was her final chance—she did not believe him. He was determined and she suspected few had successfully gainsaid him—not in the past thirteen years. Hedley, on the other hand, would hold out hope undiminished if she rejected Martin. He, too, would persist—he had for the past twelve months, with even less encouragement.