‘Please,’ she begged him. ‘Please let me apologise.’
He glared at her, eyes blazing, his chest rising and falling as he fought to contain his rage. She held her ground and after a moment he turned and walked away. Silently she followed him into the room and shut the door.
‘I did not understand, until I saw the mirrors.’ He was standing with his back to her, staring down into the empty fireplace. She said quietly, ‘Forgive me, Major. I did not mean to make you angry.’
‘So now you will go back and close the room up again.’
‘Must I?’
‘Yes! I do not wish to be reminded of the monster I have become.’
‘You are not a monster!’ Angrily she caught his arm and turned him towards her. ‘You are a man, a soldier with a scarred face. Is that so very bad? You went to the assembly—’
‘That was an aberration, a moment of madness.’
‘Perhaps it was so, for you, but you were not shunned. One or two were shocked, of course, people who had not seen you before, but the majority—those who know and respect you—they accept you for what you are.’
‘What I am is a freak.’
‘Now you are just being foolish! There are many men with worse disfigurements than this, many whose wits are addled.’
‘And there are many who lost their lives!’ he flashed. ‘Do you think I am not aware of that? Do you think I do not know? Every time I see this scarred face it is a reminder of all those men that died, good men, with more right to live than I will ever have—’ He broke off and swung away towards the window. ‘From the moment we crossed into Spain I was writing letters of condolence. To wives, fathers, mothers, as more and more comrades perished. And still they died, those poor souls, never to see their homeland again. You have no idea of what it’s like to wake up at night asking, why me? Why should I live when all around me perished—Graddon was a fool to bring me back. And the others who helped him. They should have left me to die like the rest at Cacabelos—’
‘No!’ Zelah grabbed his arm and pulled him round again. ‘How dare you say such a thing. Any life lost is a tragedy, yes, but a life saved—it shows the love and respect in which you were held that so many put themselves out to bring you home! So your scars remind you of your fallen comrades. Is that so very bad? You are not the only one to have bitter regrets about the past. Perhaps instead of wallowing in your self-pity every time you look in a mirror you should feel proud to have fought beside those men.’ She stepped closer and put up her hand to touch his face. ‘These marks are not so very bad—’
He grabbed her wrist and whipped her hand behind her back. They were so close that her breast brushed his waistcoat. Immediately her body tensed. She could see every detail of the long black lashes that fringed his eyes, the fine lines etched into his skin. She dropped her eyes to his mouth, the curve of his lips, the slight droop on the left where the scar ran close. In her mind she put her arms about his neck and gently touched her lips to the livid scar, kissing his brow, his cheek, his mouth, making him forget his injuries and remember that he was a man, like any other.
‘You go too far, madam.’ His voice was rough, not quite steady.
Not far enough. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She felt her body softening, yielding to the magnetic power of the man. She felt naked under his scorching glance. It had been so long since any man had held her thus, but the desire for that first youthful love had not been as strong as this, as unconfined. She had never wanted a man as she wanted Dominic. His eyes wandered to her mouth and nervously she ran her tongue over her lips. Surely he would kiss her now, or she would die.
He released her so suddenly that Zelah swayed.
Dominic turned away from her, rubbing his eyes. This would not do. Only by an extraordinary effort of will had he resisted the temptation to kiss her. She was willing enough, he knew that look; the darkening lustre of the eyes, the soft flushing of the lips. He could have taken her, made love to her there and then in this very room, but what then? To have her working in his library was giving rise to scandalous rumour, but while it remained only that, she could still become a governess and maintain her independence. If he took her as his mistress it would outrage the neighbourhood and ruin her reputation for ever. When they grew tired of each other what would there be for her, save another man, another protector, until her looks had quite gone.
‘I b-beg your pardon,’ she said quietly. ‘I...perhaps I should leave. You could find another archivist.’
He swung round. She was very pale, but outwardly composed.
‘Is that what you want?’ She shook her head and Dominic realised he had been holding his breath for her reply. He nodded. ‘Very well. We shall say no more of this. Go back to work, now, Miss Pentewan.’
She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers together and running the tip of her tongue over her lips. Dear God, if she continued to do that it would be his ruin! He said roughly, ‘Well, madam?’
‘The salon. May I...will you allow the shutters to remain open?’
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘You are nothing if not persistent, madam. If it is your wish.’
‘Thank you. You might of course remove the pier glasses.’
‘No, let them stay. The room is designed for them.’
He was surprised by his response and took a moment to consider how he felt. Exhausted, drained, but somehow calmer than he had felt for years. Somehow his outburst had been a catharsis. He had spoken to no one of his guilt and it had built inside him, reaching such proportions that it had distorted everything, even, he suspected, his view of his own disfigurement. When he looked up Zelah was still standing before him, uncertainty in her hazel eyes.
‘Will—will it prevent you coming to the library?’
He thought about it. ‘I do not know. Shall we put it to the test?’
He walked to the door and stood there, looking at her. After a brief hesitation she accompanied him back across the hall. The doors to the salon still stood wide. Beyond, the room glowed with the afternoon sunlight. It glinted off the gilded plasterwork, twinkled from the mirrors. His step slowed at the threshold and he held out his arm.
‘Will you do me the honour?’
She placed her fingers on his sleeve and they processed slowly through the salon.
‘I had no idea you had returned from Exeter, Major.’
‘Evidently, or you would not have turned my house upside down.’ She shook her head, refusing to respond to his teasing. He continued. ‘I have ordered a carpet for the library. It will mirror the pattern on the ceiling, I hope you will approve.’
She looked up quickly, surprise and pleasure in her eyes.
‘I am sure it will add the finishing touch.’
They had gone more than halfway across the long room before Dominic realised that he had held out his left arm to her, so that when he looked to the left his eyes were drawn to her reflection rather than his own. And there was something else. The man in the mirror was walking with a sure, steady gait. He was no longer dragging his right leg.
Dominic stretched and rubbed his eyes. He had slept well again, untroubled by dreams or nightmares. That was three nights in a row. He put his hands behind his head, thinking about the change in him. It was due to Zelah. She had accused him of wallowing in self-pity. He could not deny it. She had coaxed and bullied and nagged him until finally he had erupted, his pain, anger and guilt spilling out and the relief, to finally confess it all to someone, had been overwhelming. That was three days ago and now he felt purged, ready to rebuild his life, to face the world.
And it was all due to his little librarian.
Graddon brought his shaving water and Dominic considered how best he could reward her. Money? The razor rasped over his cheek. No. He knew her well enough now to know her proud independent spirit would never accept such a gift, or any gift. Damnation, then how was he to thank her? One thing was certain, he would not let her become a governess. She deserved to be her own mistress, with her own servants to command. But how was he to engineer such a change in her life? It must not look as if he had any hand in the affair. He could set up an annuity and have his lawyer tell her it was from some long-lost relative, but that would mean taking her family into his confidence, and if her father was the upright clergyman she had described then he might not be happy to collude in such a lie. Besides, there was not much time. The work in the library was almost complete. Every day he dreaded that Zelah might come to him and say she had accepted another post. And once she had left her sister’s house—