Beneath the Major's Scars(9)

She selected a sweetmeat as the butler came up to refill her     glass. The major waved him away.

‘Thank you, Graddon, that will be all. Leave the Madeira and I     will serve Miss Pentewan.’ He waited until they were alone before he spoke     again.

‘Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but you do not look old enough     to be a governess.’

She sat up very straight.

‘I am two-and-twenty, Major Coale. Not that it is any of your     business!’ She bit her lip. ‘I beg you pardon. I am a guest in your house—’

‘Guest be damned,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘That is no reason     you should endure my incivility. Being a guest here should not put you under any     obligation.’

Zelah chuckled, her spurt of anger dying as quickly as it had     come.

‘Of course I am under an obligation to you, Major. You have     gone to great lengths to accommodate us. And how could I not forgive you for     paying me such a handsome compliment?’

He gave a short laugh and filled their glasses.

‘So why are you intent on becoming     a governess? Can Buckland not support you?’

‘Why should he do so, if I can earn my own living?’

‘I should not allow my sister to     become a governess.’

‘But your father was a viscount. Reginald is only a brother by     marriage, and besides, he has a family of his own to support.’ She picked up the     glass he had filled for her and tasted it carefully. She had never had Madeira     before, but she found she enjoyed the warm, nutty flavour. ‘I would not add to     his burdens.’

He reached out, his hand hovering over the sweetmeats as he     said lightly, ‘Perhaps you should look for a husband.’

‘No!’

The vehemence brought his head up immediately and she was     subjected to a piercing gaze. She decided to be flippant.

‘As I am penniless, and notoriously difficult to please, I     think that might be far too difficult. I do like this wine—is it usual for     gentlemen to drink it at the end of a meal? I know Reginald prefers brandy.’

To her relief he followed her lead and their conversation moved     back to safer waters. She took another glass of Madeira and decided it must be     her last. She was in danger of becoming light-headed. Darkness closed around     them. The butler came in silently to light more candles in the room and draw the     curtains against the night, but they made no move to leave the table, there was     still so much to say.

The major turned to speak to Graddon and Zelah studied his     profile. How handsome he must have been before his face was sliced open by a     French sabre. It was a momentary thought, banished as soon as it occurred, but     it filled her with sadness.

‘You are very quiet, Miss Pentewan.’

His words brought her back to the present and she blushed, not     knowing how to respond. In the end she decided upon the truth.

‘I was thinking about your face.’

Immediately he seemed to withdraw from her.

‘That is why I wanted you upon my right hand, to spare you that     revulsion.’

She shook her head.

‘It does not revolt me.’

‘I should not have shaved off my beard!’

‘Yes, you should, you look so much better, only—’

‘Yes, madam? Only what?’ The hard note in his voice warned her     not to continue, but she ignored it.

‘Your hair,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I am surprised your valet     does not wish to cut it.’

‘I have no valet. Graddon does all I need.’

‘But I thought he was a butler...’

‘He does what is necessary. He was with me in Spain and brought     me back to England. He stayed with me, helped me to come to terms with my new     life.’

‘And Mrs Graddon?’

‘She was housemaid at Markham and decided to marry Graddon and     come with him when I moved here.’ He raised his glass, his lip curling into     something very like a sneer. ‘You see, my misfortune is their gain.’

She frowned.

‘Please do not belittle them. They are devoted to you.’

‘I stand corrected,’ he said stiffly. ‘I beg your pardon and     theirs.’

‘I think you would look much better with your hair cut short.     It is very much the fashion now, you know.’

He leaned closer, a belligerent, challenging look in his eye.     It took all her courage not to turn away.

‘I need it long,’ he said savagely. ‘Then I can bring it down,     thus, and hide this monstrous deformation.’ He pulled the ribbon from his hair     and shook the dark curtain down over his face. ‘Surely that is better? I would     not want to alarm the ladies and children!’

He was glaring at her, eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin, taut     line, one side pulled lower by the dragging scar.

‘Nicky is not afraid of you,’ she said softly. ‘Nor do you     frighten me.’

For a long, interminable time she held his eyes, hoping he     would read not pity but sympathy and understanding in her gaze. He was a proud     man and she was dismayed to think he was hiding from the world. To her relief,     his angry look faded.

‘So would you have me trust myself to a country barber?’ he     growled. ‘I think not, Miss Pentewan. Perhaps next time I go to London—’

‘I could cut it for you.’ She sat back, shocked by her own     temerity. ‘I am quite adept at cutting hair, although I have no idea where the     skill comes from. I was always used to trim my father’s hair, and since I have     been at West Barton I have cut Nicky’s. I am sure no one could tell it was not     professionally done.’

He was frowning at her now. She had gone too far. The wine had     made her reckless and her wretched tongue had let her down. Major Coale jumped     up and strode to tug at the bell pull. He was summoning a footman to escort her     to her room.

‘Graddon, fetch scissors and my comb, if you please.’ He caught     her eye, a glint in his own. ‘Very well, Miss Pentewan, let us put you to the     test.’

‘What? I—’ She swallowed. ‘Are you sure it is what you     want?’

‘Are you losing your nerve, madam?’

Zelah quite thought that she was. Two voices warred within her:     one told her that to dine alone with a gentleman who was not related to her was     improper enough, but to cut the man’s hair would put her beyond the pale. The     other whispered that it was her Christian duty to help him quit his self-imposed     exile.

The glint in his eyes turned into a gleam. He was laughing at     her and her courage rose.

‘Not at all. Let us do it!’



‘Major, are you quite sure you want me to do this?’

He was sitting on a chair by the table and Zelah was standing     behind him, comb in hand. They had rearranged the candelabra to give the best     light possible and the dark locks gleamed, thick and glossy around his head,     spreading out like ebony across his shoulders. The enormity of what she was     about to do made her hesitate.

The major waved his hand.

‘Yes. I may change my mind when I am sober, but for now I want     you to cut it.’

Zelah took a deep breath. It was too late to go back now, they     had agreed. Besides, argued that wickedly seductive voice in her head, no one     need ever know. She picked up the scissors and moved closer until her skirts     were brushing his shoulder. It felt strange, uncomfortable, like standing over a     sleeping tiger. Thrusting aside such fanciful thoughts, she took a secure grip     of the scissors and began. His hair was like silk beneath her fingers. She     lifted one dark lock and applied the scissors. They cut through it with a     whisper. As she continued her confidence grew, as did the pile of black tresses     on the floor.

His hair was naturally curly and she had seen enough pencil     drawings of gentlemen with their hair à la Brutus     since she had arrived at West Barton to recreate the style from memory—Reginald     and Maria might live in a remote area of Exmoor, but they were both avid     followers of the ton, receiving a constant stream of     periodicals and letters from friends in London advising them of the latest     fashions. She cut, combed and coaxed the major’s hair into place. It needed no     pomade or grease to make it curl around his collar and his ears. She brushed the     tendrils forwards around his face, as she had seen in the fashion plates. Her     fingers touched the scar and he flinched. Immediately she drew back.