Page 53 of Sinfully Mine
“Somewhere you’ll be safe. I’ve got to secure a marriage license and I certainly can’t do so in Grantham or Horncastle, can I? Society is unlikely to be understanding of our quick marriage so soon after Ellie’s death. I considered just running off to Scotland, but I’ve no desire to be married over an anvil or give any reason to invalidate our marriage.” He made a disdainful sound. “I am a prominent member of Horncastle. I have a reputation to protect. But I’ve found someone who is willing to assist me in securing a license, so don’t you worry, darling. Our vows will be ironclad.”
Hester cringed as Martin wrapped his arm around her waist. She hadn’t thought he’d take her to Horncastle, but she had hoped that a more populated town or city would give her the chance to slip away.
“I’ll visit Blackbird Heath in a day or so and pretend great surprise that you’ve gone to Lincoln by yourself. As a gentleman, and your solicitor, I will volunteer to go to Lincoln and find you.” His hold on her tightened. “We’ll be wed and return to Blackbird Heath. A whirlwind romance.”
Hester stared straight ahead, her stubborn resolve hardening to stone inside her.
Shewouldget away from Martin.
Somehow.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Drew.” Jordan clappedhim on the back, holding out a glass of whisky. “I’ve insulted you at least a half-dozen times since you entered the drawing room. Sniveling popinjay.”
“Scurrilous fop.” Tamsin sidled over.
“Ratbag,” Aurora whispered to him.
“Stop,” Drew laughed. “I am merely preoccupied, somewhat. And I did not expect to be welcomed to Tamsin’s wedding by being slandered.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dear God, that sounds so strange. Tamsin and wedding in the same sentence.”
Tamsin raised a brow. “I’m to be a duchess. You’ll have to call me ‘Your Grace.’”
Drew snorted. “Never. No duchess I’ve ever met goes about breaking noses and punching gentlemen in their stomachs.”
“She doesn’t do that anymore.” A massive presence loomed over Drew’s sister, blocking the sunlight coming through the drawing room window. “At least not that I’m aware of.”
The Duke of Ware, one of the largest and certainly the most eccentric dukes in England gazed at Tamsin with rapt adoration, discreetly ogling her bosom. His massive arm lingered along the delicate curve of her back with sharp possessiveness. Not that anyone would ever challenge Ware for Tamsin. Drew’s sister was an acquired taste for most, though she was stunningly beautiful. Far too bold. Opinionated. Preferred breeches to petticoats. And possessed a right hook that would take your chin off.
Drew wished Ware all the best.
They were gathered in the drawing room at Emerson House and shortly to be seated in the dining room, to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of the scandalous Tamsin Sinclair to His Grace, the Duke of Ware. Honestly, he’d been terribly confused when he arrived in London. Drew had assumed the reason for the ridiculous charade the two were involved in at the end of the last Season had been to avoid thisvery thing.
“I’m pleased you managed to make time to return to London. Did you sell the estate or was it a farm?” Jordan asked. “Patchahoo wasn’t very clear.”
Patchahoo, who had the hearing of a hunting dog, raised his chin and stopped his discussion with Jordan’s wife Odessa, to say, “I was abundantly clear, my lord. It is an estate that has become a farm. I’m not sure why you find the information to be confusing.”
Jordan turned back to Drew. “Well, that doesn’t muddy the waters at all. If Patchahoo wasn’t so bloody good at soliciting and managing the affairs of Dunnings, I’d show him the door.” His brother said the last to ensure the solicitor didn’t miss his remarks.
“I take it the coal mining operation is going well.” Drew sipped his whiskey. He’d missed good Irish whiskey.
“It is. To be clear, if you want to spend the rest of your life doing nothing more than playing cards, I’m assured by Patchahoo that you can.”
Drew smiled back and lifted his glass, knowing now that he had only to ask for the sum he needed to form the partnership with Worth and Jordan would give it to him. It wouldn’t even be charity. Patchahoo, on Jordan’s instructions, had set up a trust for each of his siblings. None of the Sinclairs need ever worry over money or banishment ever again.
“I’ve other plans,” Drew answered, not ready to mention the partnership with Worth.
“So,” Jordan regarded him over the edge of his own whiskey. “Did you sell the estate in Lincolnshire? You were there overly long, which I found out of character given you detest the country.”
“I don’t detest it. I—found I enjoyed myself.” Drew had belatedly realized, after stepping back into Emerson House, that London no longer held his attention as it once had. The streets were too crowded and noisy. The amusements seemed frivolous. Not even an evening with Worth had improved his mood.
“Who is she?” Jordan was watching him, lips tilted in a grin.
Home.
Home for Drew wasn’t a place, but a person. And it came in the form of a stubborn, shrewish red-headed widow. Only he hadn’t known it until now.
An entire fortnight had gone by and with each passing day, the ache over leaving Hester had intensified until it now bloomed over Drew’s chest with a stinging awareness that could no longer be ignored. He was happy to see his family. Thrilled for Tamsin, though he did worry for Ware’s safety. But over the course of the afternoon and into this evening, the ache had morphed into a sensation of impending doom, an insidious creeping dread that Drew couldn’t ignore no matter the merriment surrounding him.
