Regency Beauty: Beneath the Major's Scars / Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager. Sarah Mallory
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I meant—’
‘Enough!’ They had reached the lane that separated Major Coale’s land from the gardens of West Barton. Dominic stopped. ‘I am a lost cause, Miss Pentewan. I will live my own life, in my own way. I have no wish to consort with my neighbours, and there’s an end to it.’ He looked up. ‘We part here.’
She said impulsively, ‘Even so, there is no reason why you should not treat your wounds. There is a cream, a herbal remedy, it is excellent for softening the skin—’
‘I want none of your potions, madam!’
‘It is not a potion, but it might help.’
‘I hired you as my librarian, not my doctor.’ He glowered at her. ‘Do not push me too far.’
The implacable look in his eyes told her she must accept defeat. For the moment. As a child she had accompanied her father when he visited his parishioners. They had met with pride and stubbornness many times, but her father’s message had always been the same. Where Zelah had been inclined to argue, he would stop her, saying gently, ‘Let the matter lie for now, but never give up.’ She therefore swallowed any retort and merely inclined her head.
‘Thank you, sir, for your company.’
He bowed.
‘It was a pleasure. Until tomorrow.’
It was only a step across the lane to the little wicket gate leading to the gardens, but when Zelah turned to latch the gate there was no sign of the major. He had disappeared back into the woods.
Zelah always enjoyed her days at Rooks Tower, but when she awoke the following morning she felt an added sense of anticipation. A blustery wind was blowing the grey clouds across the sky when she set out. It tugged at her skirts and threatened to whip away her bonnet. She arrived at last, windswept but exhilarated, and made her way through the darkened salon to the library. She looked around her with satisfaction. Most of the books were on the shelves now and in a rough order. She had dusted and cleaned each one, putting aside any that required repair. She was engaged in writing the details in the ledgers, in her neat copperplate hand, when the major came in.
‘No, no, do not get up.’ He waved her back into her seat. ‘Carry on with your laborious task. I would not give you an excuse to shirk your duties.’
He perched himself upon the edge of the desk and turned the ledger to inspect the latest entries. She was pleased that he no longer attempted to present only his right side to her and she laughed up at him, barely noticing the jagged line running down his face.
‘I am obliged to break off now and again to rest my eyes, so I consider your interruption very timely.’
‘If this were my job I would welcome any interruption. It would irk me beyond bearing to sit here all day.’ He pushed the ledger back towards her. ‘Do you not long to be out of doors?’
A spatter of rain hit the windows and she chuckled.
‘Not when the weather is like this! When the sun is shining I admit it is very tempting to go out, but then I open the windows, and I have my walk home to look forward to.’
‘There is that, of course. Now, is there anything you want of me today?’
‘Only to look at the books I have set aside, sir, and tell me if you want them repaired or thrown away …’
She directed his attention to the books piled on a side table. The major went through them with the same decisiveness he gave to every other task she had seen him perform.
‘So, these are to go to the bookbinder for new covers and the rest …’ Zelah paused, picking up a dilapidated copy of Newton’s Principia. ‘Are you quite sure you want me to throw these away?’
‘Perfectly. The book you are holding has been ruined by damp and misuse, it is beyond repair.’ Reluctantly Zelah put the book down and he gave an impatient sigh. ‘Pray do not get sentimental over such an object, madam. There may well be another copy amongst the books from Lydcombe Park. If not, then you can order a new one for me.’
‘Yes, sir. May I pass the old ones on to Mr Netherby? Some of his pupils might make use of them.’
‘If that is what you wish.’ He picked up a small earthenware jar hidden behind a pile of books. ‘What is this?’
‘That?’ Zelah ran her tongue over her lips. ‘It is the cream I mentioned to you.’ His brows snapped together and she hurried on. ‘I, um, I was going to give it to Graddon. I thought he might apply it for you …’
‘Did you now? Graddon is no nursemaid.’
She sighed. ‘Pity. I am sure it would help—’
He interrupted her with a growl.
‘I have told you before, Miss Pentewan, confine yourself to your library duties!’
The jar hit the table top with a thud and he strode off, closing the door behind him with a decided snap.
The jar remained on the side table for three days. It was studiously ignored by the major, although Zelah was sure he knew it was there. Then, just when she was beginning to wonder if she should ask Graddon to try to persuade his master, Major Coale made reference to it.
He had come in for his daily report on her progress and when she had finished he walked over to the side table and picked up the jar.
‘What is in this witch’s potion of yours?’
‘It is no witchcraft, Major, only flowers. Marigold petals, mixed with oil and wax to make a salve. It will help repair the skin and soften the scar tissue. My mother used to prepare it for our parishioners.’ She added coaxingly, ‘I assure you it will not hurt, sir. I helped Mama to apply it often, once to a group of miners injured in a pit collapse. Their injuries were severe and they said it did not cause any pain, but on the contrary, it was quite soothing.’
His inscrutable gaze rested on her for a moment. ‘Very well.’ He handed her the pot. ‘Let us see.’
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He perched himself on the edge of the desk.
‘Apply your magic potion, and we will see how well it works.’
‘Apply it here? Now?’ Zelah swallowed. ‘I am not sure …’
‘Damnation, Delilah, I let you be my barber, surely you do not balk at touching my face—or is the scar too abhorrent?’
‘Not at all, sir.’
She opened the jar and scooped a little of the ointment on to her fingers. She remembered how she had felt when she had cut his hair, standing so close, aware of his latent strength. She felt again as if he was some wild beast allowing her to come near, but at any minute he might turn and savage her. After a very slight hesitation she applied the cream gently to his cheek.
She smoothed it across the skin, working between the hard ridges of his cheekbone and his jaw.
‘There, does that feel better?’ He grunted and she chuckled. ‘Pray do not be ashamed to admit it. A mixture such as this soothes the damaged skin and makes it flexible again, in the same way that wax will soften leather.’
‘Are you comparing my face to a boot, madam?’
Zelah laughed as she massaged the ointment into his cheek. ‘I would not dare be so impertinent!’
She felt him smile beneath her fingers.
‘Oh, I think you would.’
She did not reply, but continued to work her fingers over his skin until all signs of the cream had disappeared.
‘The sabre did not only cut my face. It slashed open my body, too.’
Zelah stopped. She said gently, ‘May I look?’
He untied his neckcloth and tugged it