AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Whatever he had expected from her, it certainly hadn’t been that. “Please,” he said, wanting nothing more than to reach the drawing room and escape this woman’s unnerving presence, “think nothing of it.” He made to start off again in his painfully awkward way. But the woman, it seemed, wasn’t done with him, for she remained firmly planted in his path.
“You are most kind. I, however, acted unpardonably. Please, I do hope you’ll forgive and forget, and we may begin anew.” She held out her hand.
He stared down at it, noticing the faintest tremor in her fingers. And then, knowing he could do little else, he reached out and gripped her fingers in his own.
Heat, and energy, and a jolt of something inexplicable and undeniable swirled deep in his belly at that innocent touch. It was a much more potent attraction than what he’d experienced upon his initial sight of her in her grandmother’s sitting room. Her open shock had quickly eclipsed the temptation of her. Now, however, it all came roaring back, and he recalled with stunning clarity what he had seen in her when he’d first entered that room, in the split second before reality had come crashing back down again: large brown eyes with dark, curling lashes; rosy cheeks that framed a sweet, round face; softly curling brown hair that surrounded her head in a veritable halo; a full figure that fairly made his mouth water despite the chaste cut of her violet gown.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening on his. His face heated and he hastily dropped her hand, clearing his throat several times to unstick the words that needed to be said. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“But there is,” she said. Her hands came together before her, her fingers working at the gold band on her fourth finger. “I know what you must be thinking of me.”
He let loose a surprised bark of laughter. “I doubt it,” he muttered. And thank goodness for it.
She gave him an arch look. “You think my reaction was owing to your scars, did you not?”
Well, he certainly hadn’t expected such forthrightness. Most people pointedly refused to acknowledge his appearance at all. Which, of course, only brought it more sharply into focus, their determined dancing about and fumbling making him feel as if he were the maypole in some bizarre dance, getting more tangled by the minute in ribbons of social politeness.
This, however, was something completely new. Though perhaps it should not have been such a surprise, seeing who her grandmother was. He had immediately liked the old woman; she was a blunt one, and he got on best with people like her. Despite the unease her forthrightness had brought about, he would much rather deal with a person who spoke their mind than one who danced about trying to pretend things were well when they so clearly weren’t.
“I assure you,” Mrs. Kitteridge continued with a raised chin when he only stared at her, “your wounds were the last thing I noticed about you.”
He laughed again, but it was bitter this time. Speaking of people dancing about ignoring the obvious. He might have accepted what she said to save further uncomfortableness as he typically did. But suddenly the weariness and strain and pain of the past three days came to a head and he found himself saying, “You needn’t lie to me, madam.”
“But I’m not lying.”
Her expression was so earnest, so sincere, he almost believed her. A dangerous thing, surely. He did not trust easily. In truth, he did not trust at all. Too many people he had respected and revered had betrayed his once-staunch sense of right and wrong. War, he had soon learned after purchasing his commission, did not allow one to follow one’s conscience. There had been too many gray areas, too many lines crossed for king and country.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head and offering her a smile though his demons would insist on breathing down his neck. “I assure you, my looking glass doesn’t lie. Nor does this leg of mine. But I have had four years to learn to live with it. With luck I shall have many more ahead of me. I’m luckier than many men I served with—” He closed his mouth with a snap of teeth a moment too late, mortification filling him. And here was proof of just how hopeless he was in dealing with other people.
“I am so sorry,” he rasped as Mrs. Kitteridge’s face leached of color.
“No need for apologies,” she managed. “What did you speak but the truth?” The trembling smile she attempted died before it could find purchase. She heaved a sigh. “War is not fair, is it, Your Grace?”
An understatement if there ever was one. But he saw from the muted grief in her eyes that she knew as much as anyone just how unfair war could be. “You have the right of it,” he murmured.
She didn’t seem to hear him, the distant look in her eyes proof that her thoughts were elsewhere. Suddenly she shook her head sharply, as if to dislodge whatever held her in thrall. “But there is one more thing I must address before we join the others. My grandmother, I’m afraid, is quite outspoken. I’m so sorry if she pained you by bringing up the war. And I must apologize in advance for anything more she might say to upset you. Which,” she said with a grimace, “I’m afraid will be much more often than you might like.”
“You mustn’t apologize for her, truly. For then I will apologize for something, and then you shall add on, and we’ll never pull ourselves out of the quicksand of our politeness.”
That, finally, alleviated the morose look that strained her features. She smiled fully at him, the sparkle of humor in her warm brown eyes, her cheeks taking on the lovely bloom of summer roses.
Once, when Daniel was a boy, he’d gotten too close to the back end of a particularly ill-tempered horse. The beast had kicked out, catching Daniel in the chest. The force of it had thrown Daniel back. He’d landed on the ground, the wind knocked out of him, not knowing who or where he was for some seconds.
Mrs. Kitteridge’s smile, an expression that turned her from a mildly pretty woman to a stunning creature, had nearly the same effect on him as those horse hooves. He could only stare down at her mutely, unable to form a coherent thought.
“You’re right, of course,” she said in her sweet voice. “And, as we have already determined to begin anew, remaining in the past is not doing either of us any good. That, and we’ll be in close company the next several weeks; it will no doubt grow tiresome if we don’t nip it in the bud now.” She let loose a light laugh that reverberated through his chest in a pleasant way.
But her words reminded him just how neatly her grandmother had trapped him into being an unwelcome burden to Mrs. Kitteridge over the coming month. “I’ve no need of assistance in Synne society,” he lied.
She frowned. “I assure you, Your Grace, it will be my pleasure.”
“Truly, you’ve no need to.”
Her cheeks colored. “If I gave the impression that it was in any way distasteful—”
“Not at all. I just have…other plans is all.”
Again that little dip between her brows, this time one of confusion. “Other plans? You have someone else you’re meeting with?”
