Beneath the Major's Scars(35)

He turned on his heel and stormed out. Damn the woman! Did she     think he was made of stone? He was no saint, but she would turn him into a     veritable Lothario. He had not meant to kiss her, but she had looked so damned     alluring with the flush on her cheeks and those sparkling eyes.

And she had wanted him to kiss her, he would stake his life on     that. She had been right to stop him, another few moments and he would have made     good use of that ancient bed. But why had she ripped up at him? Why was she so     afraid to admit the attraction?

He had reached the yellow salon by this time and saw the answer     in the mirrors. A dozen reflections of his scarred face. Gritting his teeth, he     strode through the room. She had touched that scar, kissed it, but in the end     the thought of his disfigured body was too much for her. Well, the sooner she     was removed from Rooks Tower the better!



It was another hour before Sally returned in the     curricle. Dominic took an umbrella out as the carriage pulled up on the drive,     but when he informed his groom that he was to take Miss Pentewan to West Barton,     Sawley shook his head.

‘Not with this team, sir. I’ve nursed ’em this far, but I don’t     want to take ’em any farther.’

‘We had a slight mishap as we were leaving Lesserton.’ Sally     took Dominic’s proffered hand and alighted. ‘The doctor’s hack broke loose from     the smithy and charged into us. The off-side horse took a blow to his     thigh.’

‘Aye, and t’other’s started limping,’ added Sawley. ‘I think he     might’ve taken a kick on his fetlock.’

Dominic handed the umbrella to Sally and went to inspect the     horse, running his hands gently over the suspect leg.

‘You are right. It’s beginning to swell.’

‘Pray don’t blame Sawley,’ Sally implored him, observing his     black frown. ‘He did well to avoid overturning us. You can imagine that     everything was confusion, until the blacksmith’s apprentice managed to quieten     the poor runaway creature.’

Dominic straightened, exhaling. Just his luck for this to     happen today. He waved Sawley away.

‘Take the team round to the stables and look after them, Jem,     and have my match greys harnessed to the curricle. I shall drive to West Barton     myself.’



Thus when Zelah presented herself at the front door it     was to find Major Coale holding the reins. Briefly he explained the situation,     adding when he observed her hesitation, ‘I am afraid Sawley must stay here to     look after the horses and I will allow no one else to drive my greys.’

For a moment Zelah thought it might be a ploy, but Dominic     looked as dissatisfied with the arrangement as she was, so she allowed herself     to be handed up into the carriage.

‘You have the manuscript?’

‘Yes.’ She held up the rolled parchment, safely wrapped in     oilskin.

They set off, Dominic holding the greys to a sedate trot along     the drive. The rain had eased, but the grey clouds were still threatening and     Zelah hoped they would not have to stop to put up the hood. It was bad enough to     have to sit next to a man whose whole demeanour was one of barely controlled     anger, she had no wish to be trapped in a confined space with him. She stared     ahead, trying to maintain a dignified silence, but her conscience was making her     uncomfortable. The tension between them was palpable and they had not gone far     before she could no longer bear the strained atmosphere.

‘Major Coale!’ She clasped and unclasped her hands, forcing     herself to speak. ‘What happened earlier, it was as much my fault as yours. For     me to say such terrible things to you—I am ashamed. It was unjust and...and I     beg your pardon.’

His countenance did not change. Not by the flicker of an eye     did he acknowledge that she had spoken. Zelah’s spirits sank. He could not     forgive her.

She ought not to be surprised. She had intended to wound him     and had done so magnificently. She was mortified now even to think of it and to     be barred from Rooks Tower—and its owner—for ever would be a fitting punishment.     A silent tear slid down her cheek.

‘My own conduct was reprehensible.’ Dominic spoke without     taking his eyes from the road. She sucked in a ragged breath.

‘Oh, if you only knew how much I wish my words unspoken!’

‘That is impossible, but if we both regret what happened this     afternoon, if we admit that we were both at fault, could we not put it behind     us?’

She looked down. ‘I had determined never to come back to Rooks     Tower.’

‘That would be sad indeed. Is that what you really want?’

She blinked back the tears. ‘Not at all.’

He took one hand from the reins and reached out to cover hers.     ‘Then let us cry friends, Zelah.’

‘Do...do you think we can?’

He turned his head to smile at her. ‘I have a damnable temper,     my dear, but if my black scowls don’t frighten you...’

‘They do not. They never have.’

‘Then, yes, I think we can be friends.’

Her fingers twisted under his and she clasped his hand. She     said shyly, ‘Then I would like that very much, Major.’

‘Dominic.’

‘Dominic.’ The name rolled off her tongue. She relished each     syllable.

The sun breaking through the clouds lifted her spirits, so much     so that when Dominic mentioned the forthcoming ball she was able to reply with     perfect candour.

‘I am glad I am not to be excluded, I am looking forward to it,     very much.’

‘And will you save one dance for me?’

‘As many as you wish,’ she replied recklessly. ‘I am unlikely     to have many partners, I know so few people.’

‘You underrate yourself, my dear—’ He broke off to guide the     curricle through the gates of West Barton. A closed carriage was already     standing at the door.

‘Well, that is very good timing,’ declared Zelah. ‘Here is     Reginald just arrived home. Now you will be able to give him the charter     yourself.’

Dominic brought his team to a stop and a groom ran out to hold     the greys. Zelah climbed down and shook out her skirts, glancing towards the     carriage where her brother-in-law had alighted and was waiting while another     gentleman clambered out.

‘Reginald has brought a guest home,’ she murmured, as Dominic     came round to join her. She handed him the manuscript. ‘It makes no odds, you     can still give this to him, it is too important to wait and I am sure he will     be...’

Her words trailed away. The fashionably dressed gentleman     beside Reginald smiled, lifting his hat from his carefully arranged blond     curls.

‘Zelah, my dear. How good to see you again.’





Chapter Eleven

Zelah could not speak. She did not resist     when the gentleman picked up her hand and pressed a kiss upon her fingers,     holding them for far longer than was polite. He looked up and smiled into her     eyes and the years fell away. She was eighteen again, gauche and tongue-tied.     Dominic shifted impatiently at her side and she pulled her hand free, giving     only the slightest nod of recognition.

Reginald was beaming.

‘What a stroke of luck, my dear. I met Lerryn at the White     Hart. Major Coale, let me present Mr Timothy Lerryn to you. His father is the     squire in my wife’s home town of Cardinham.’

Timothy’s eyes flickered over Dominic’s scarred face, but his     smile never wavered.

‘I am travelling to Bristol and I thought, since it is on my     way, that I would call upon Mrs Buckland at West Barton. When Buckland told me     that Miss Zelah Pentewan was staying here too, I could hardly believe my good     fortune.’

His smile had turned to a caress, but it only made her shiver.     Reginald laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

‘What could I do but invite him to join us for dinner. And you     too, Major, if you are free.’

‘Thank you, I regret that I cannot stay. I came only to give     you this.’ He handed Reginald the manuscript. ‘It relates to the dispute with     Sir Oswald. Miss Pentewan will explain it all.’