Beneath the Major's Scars (8 page)

‘There are no books up here, Miss Pentewan.’

Zelah jumped. Major Coale was standing in the doorway, his hat
and riding crop in one hand.

‘Oh, I did not hear you come upstairs.’ She noted idly that his
broad shoulders almost brushed the door frame on each side and was glad when he
moved into the room and his size did not appear so daunting. She waved towards
the window. ‘I was entranced by the view.’

‘Obviously.’

‘I hope you do not mind,’ she hurried on, her eyes searching
his face for some softening of his expression. ‘I have done all I can in the
library today and wanted to look at the tower and did not wish to disturb the
servants...’

He placed his hat and crop on the cupboard.

‘And is this what you expected?’ he asked, drawing off his
gloves.

Her smile was spontaneous, any nervousness forgotten.

‘Not at all. I had not imagined the views would be so
extensive. You can see all the way into the next county! It is such a lovely
room. Imagine how wonderful to sit at this desk—why, in the summer you could
work all day and never need to light a candle.’ She looked up at him. ‘Is this
your desk, sir? Do you use this room?’

He shook his head.

‘This room is as it was when I bought Rooks Tower and so far
this year I have been too busy putting the estate in order to worry overmuch
about the interior.’

‘I would like to use it.’ Zelah clasped her hands together,
hoping her eagerness did not sound foolish. ‘I could bring the books up here to
catalogue them. That way, once the library is tidy, you would be able to use it
for your guests—’

‘There are no guests,’ he said shortly.

‘But one day—’

‘It is not my intention to invite anyone here. Ever.’

She felt the last word was added for her benefit. It was
uttered with such finality that it gave her pause, but not for long.

‘Is... Would that be because of...?’ She touched her own cheek
and saw him flinch. He turned slightly, presenting his undamaged side to her,
his profile reminding her of how dangerously attractive he must once have
been.

‘I did not move to Rooks Tower to be sociable,’ he said curtly.
‘My years as a soldier have left me impatient of society. Its values and petty
tyrannies disgust me.’

‘But you have family and friends, sir. Surely you will not cut
yourself off from them so completely?’

‘Damn you, madam, we are not here to discuss how I choose to
run my life!’

Zelah recoiled from his angry retort. She bit her lip against
further argument, but was not daunted enough to forget her original idea.

‘I beg your pardon, Major. Of course it is no business of mine.
But I would like to make use of this room, if you will allow me.’ She waited for
a moment, then added coaxingly, ‘I promise I will not let the view distract me
from my work.’

His brow cleared.

‘The view is even better from the roof, especially on a fine
day like this.’

She waited expectantly. His hard eyes glinted and she knew he
had read her mind.

‘Would you like to see it?’

* * *

Zelah followed him out to the landing and on to the
spiral stair. It was only just wide enough for one person and she was obliged to
hold up her skirts as she climbed the steep steps. A series of tiny windows sent
shafts of dazzling sunlight across her path, making it difficult to see the next
step.

When they reached the top he threw open the door and the light
flooded in.

‘Do you not keep it locked?’

‘No need. My servants never come up here.’ He turned and
reached down for her. ‘Give me your hand. There is no handrail and these last
few stairs are uneven.’

His fingers curled around her hand, warm and secure as he
guided her up the final steps to the roof. She found herself on a flat roof,
paved over with stone slabs and surrounded by a crenellated parapet.

‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘I feel I am on top of the world.’

She became aware that the major was still holding her hand and
looked up at him warily. Immediately he released her. She gazed out across the
hills, her hands clutched against her breastbone.

‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ He stood beside her, the rough wool of
his jacket rubbing against her bare arm. ‘Do not go too near the edge and do not
lean against the battlements,’ he warned her. ‘The stonework is in poor
condition.’

‘But you will repair it, won’t you, Major? I cannot bear to
think that this view would be lost.’ She swung round and peeped up at him,
trying and failing to suppress a smile. ‘Even though you are adamant you will
not be having any guests here.’

The answering gleam in his eyes made her own smile grow and she
gazed up at him quite unselfconsciously, thinking how much better he looked when
he was not scowling at everyone and everything. In fact, she did not even notice
his scarred face when he looked at her in just that way.

The playful breeze tugged a lock of hair free from her sensible
topknot and whipped it across her face. She was going to sweep it away, but
Dominic’s hand came up first and his fingers caught the errant curl.

Zelah held her breath. Their eyes were still locked, and
instead of removing his hand after tucking the curl behind her ear, he allowed
it to slip to her neck while he ran his thumb lightly along her jaw. Her heart
began to pound against her ribs and she kept her hands clenched across her
breast as if to prevent it breaking free. Her mouth dried. There was an almost
forgotten ache curling inside her. Anxiety? Excitement?

With his hand on her neck he held her as surely as if she was
in chains. She could not move. Indeed, she did not want to move, she wanted him
to lower his head and kiss her. She wanted to feel his hands undressing her,
exploring her body.

Oh dear heaven, where had such wanton ideas come from?

Something of her thoughts flickered in her eyes and immediately
he released her. Zelah switched her gaze to the view, trying to recall what they
were saying. Ah, yes. She had been teasing him. Well, that was clearly a very
dangerous thing to do.

The major cleared his throat. ‘If you have seen enough, perhaps
we should go back downstairs.’

‘Yes.’ She was anxious to get away from his disturbing
presence. ‘Yes, of course.’

She went carefully down the steep spiral, one hand on the wall.
Her legs were shaking and she was very conscious of Major Coale following her
down. When they reached the landing she hurried on to the wooden stairs, halting
only when she heard the major’s voice behind her.

‘I have to collect my hat and whip. Feel free to make use of
the room if you wish, Miss Pentewan. I have no objection.’

‘Thank you.’ She forced the words out and glanced back at him.
He was standing once again in the doorway, blocking the light and enveloping her
in his shadow. Binding her to him by some force beyond her comprehension.

Zelah gave herself a mental shake. Fanciful nonsense. She must
not give in to it. She nodded, trying to sound businesslike. ‘If there is
nothing else, sir, I shall go home now.’

‘No, nothing.’

Dominic watched her hasten away. Her hand looked unsteady on
the banister, but she descended the stairs without mishap and disappeared from
sight.

He exhaled, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth. He
had not meant to frighten her, but when they were up on the roof and she stood
before him, her eyes shining with excitement, he had felt the desire slam
through him. He should have known better. He could have moved away, turned his
back on her, but the craving to touch her was so strong that he had given in to
it. Even now he could feel her skin beneath his thumb, soft as a flower petal.
And she had not moved away. Petrified, he thought sourly, for an instant later
he had seen the horror in her face.

What if he had frightened her so much that she did not return
tomorrow? Perhaps that would be for the best. She unsettled him, with her
teasing and her challenging questions. He squared his shoulders. He was a
soldier. He would not be beaten by this slip of a girl! They had an agreement
and
he
would not be the one to break it. Let her
come to Rooks Tower and organise his library. But perhaps it would be wise if he
kept out of her way.

* * *

The walk back to West Barton did much to calm Zelah’s
disordered nerves. She had allowed herself to relax in Major Coale’s company.
After all, one did not tease a gentleman, unless he was a relative, or a very
close friend. Certainly one did not tease an employer. She must be more careful.
No one knew better than she the consequences of becoming too familiar with a
gentleman!

* * *

Each evening at dinner Maria and Reginald asked Zelah
about her day at Rooks Tower. They were naturally interested in her progress,
but even more concerned about the behaviour of her employer. Each time Zelah was
able to reply with complete sincerity that she had not seen Major Coale. For the
first few days after the incident on the tower roof she was relieved that they
did not meet, but gradually his elusiveness began to frustrate her. She had many
questions to ask him and was obliged to leave notes, asking where he wanted
certain books and how he would like them arranged. His answer, via the butler or
Mrs Graddon, was always the same, ‘The master says to do as you think best and
he will discuss it with you later.’

It was nearly two weeks before she saw Major Coale again. By
that time she had removed all the books from their crates and was working on
making a record of every title, bringing small piles of books to the large
mahogany desk to list in one of the ledgers provided.

It was a particularly sunny day and the room was uncomfortably
warm, so Zelah had removed the fine muslin scarf from her shoulders and tossed
it aside while she worked. She heard footsteps approaching and looked up,
expecting to see Graddon or one of the footmen bringing refreshments, and she
was taken by surprise when Major Coale strode in. He looked as if he had come
direct from the stables; his hat was tucked under his arm and in one hand he
carried his gloves and riding crop. His riding jacket hung open, displaying an
embroidered waistcoat that fitted across his broad chest as snugly as the tight
buckskins that covered his thighs. There was only the slightest drag on his
right leg and his step was firm, brisk. He exuded energy.

Nonplussed, Zelah reached for her scarf and quickly knotted it
across her shoulders as she rose and came around the desk to greet him.

His brows twitched together, the slight movement accentuating
the ragged scar and deepening the unsmiling look into something resembling a
scowl as they approached each other. Zelah tried not to feel intimidated.

‘Have you come to see how I progress?’ She summoned up a smile.
‘The rooms looks much better without all the boxes, I think.’ She waved her hand
towards the bookshelves. ‘Of course, they are not yet in any great order, but
this way it is easier to see just what books we have.’ She became more natural
as she warmed to her theme. ‘I need you to tell me how you want them arranged.
Are you happy to have sermons and music ranked alongside books on ratcatching,
shoeing horses and draining bogs?’

She observed a definite glint of humour in his eyes, albeit
reluctant.

‘I doubt if that is how you would place them. I think the last
three should be grouped with estate management.’

‘And your novels, Major? I thought to put them on these
shelves, near your chair by the fire. They would be at hand then when you wish
to sit in here and read.’

‘That seems a good idea. You are not using the tower room?’

‘No, not at present.’

The room held unsettling memories of the feelings he had roused
in her. He tapped the riding crop against the palm of his hand as he glanced
around the room, his expression unreadable.

‘I came to tell you that you will soon have more books
arriving. A few months back I purchased the contents of Lydcombe Park Library.
The books have been in storage with my man of business since the sale. They are
in a number of large crates, too big for the pack ponies, but now the road is
finished they can be brought here by wagon, as soon as I can spare the men to
fetch them.’

‘Oh. Well then, it is a good thing I have not yet put
everything in order.’ She bent an enquiring gaze upon him. ‘Are these
useful
books, sir, or might we find more classical
texts in this consignment?’

‘I have no idea. I have never seen them.’

‘So we may well have more than one copy of some titles,
sir.’

‘If that is the case then I shall leave it to you to decide
which one to keep.’ His tone was cold, indifferent, and Zelah wondered if he was
perhaps displeased with her way of working. She was framing the question in her
mind when he reached out and flicked the edge of the muslin scarf. ‘If you
covered up your charms for my benefit then you were wasting your time, Miss
Pentewan. I have no interest in hired staff.’

His words hit Zelah with the shock of cold water. She was
rendered speechless, but thankfully she was not expected to respond. The major
turned on his heel and marched out.

Zelah retreated to the desk and sank down on the chair,
shaking. He had seen her put the scarf about her, was that the reason for his
brusque manner? Had he taken her action as an insult? She shook her head. It had
been a defensive gesture to cover her bare neck and shoulders, because she did
not want him to think she was flaunting herself. He had taken it as a personal
slight, as if she thought he had designs upon her virtue. She could have
laughed, if she had not been so angry. Slowly, with trembling hands, she began
to pack up. She would do no more today.

Chapter Five

Z
elah set off across the grass, heading for
the woodland path that led directly to West Barton. She had not gone far before
she heard the major calling her name. She stopped and turned to see him striding
towards her.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home.’ She waited for him to come up to her.

‘It is still early.’

She looked away from his hard, searching gaze.

‘I have done enough for today.’

‘You are angry with me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because I accused you of covering your...charms?’

‘It was uncalled for, uncivil and unnecessary.’ She added more
quietly, ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

He was her employer, he could dismiss her if he objected to her
comments, but she did not regret her words.

‘You are quite right. I was very rude. What can I do to make
amends?’

She did not hesitate.

‘I would like you to show a little more interest in your
library. I have no idea if you are happy with my work so far, if it meets with
your approval. You have not been near the library until today.’

‘On the contrary, I visit the library every evening.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, Miss Pentewan. I am taking a close interest in your
progress, but I visited West Barton last week, to enquire after Nicky. Your
brother-in-law considers your employment at Rooks Tower nothing short of
scandalous. I thought by taking myself out of the house every day it would
mitigate the impropriety.’

‘Some would still consider it improper if you were to take
yourself out of the
country
while I am working for
you! It is unfortunate that my brother-in-law does not approve but he
understands my desire for independence. The fact that he has not thrown me out
of the house shows he is prepared to put up with my “scandalous” behaviour, even
if he cannot condone it.’ She had hoped he might smile at this, but when he did
not she added impatiently, ‘For heaven’s sake, you have some rare books in your
collection. Pine’s
Horace
, for example, and Hooke’s
Micrographia
.’ She exhaled through clenched
teeth. ‘You have engaged me to work for you, Major, and I would much rather
discuss matters directly with you than be forever passing messages via Mrs
Graddon.’

At last his forbidding frown was lightened. There was a glimmer
of understanding in his hard eyes.

‘Very well, Miss Pentewan. I will make efforts to be available.
Starting tomorrow.’

‘Thank you. I will bid you good day, sir.’

‘You are still going?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I will walk with you.’ One side of his mouth quirked at
her look of surprise. ‘I know what you are thinking: I am now taking too great
an interest in my hired staff. You would like to throw my earlier comments in my
face.’

‘I am not so impolite.’

‘Unlike me?’

‘Yes, I thought you impolite.’

‘Pray do not let yourself be constrained by your good breeding,
Miss Pentewan. Rip up at me, if you wish, you have my permission!’

A smile tugged at her mouth.

‘It would be no more than you deserve.’

‘I am aware of that. So let me make amends now by walking to
the edge of my land with you.’

She gave in, nodding her assent, and he fell into step beside
her.

‘You walk this way every day?’

‘Yes. It is much the quickest route.’

‘Then you have seen the changes. I have cleared the paths and
thinned out the trees—that was what I was doing when I first met you and Nicky
in the woods.’

She remembered her first sight of him. A bearded woodsman, his
hair long and wild and with a fearsome axe at his side. It was a powerful image
that remained with her, even if the major looked so much more civilised now.

‘You have done much of the work yourself, I think.’

‘Yes. I like to keep active.’

‘And it sets your people a good example.’

‘There is that, too.’

They were walking through the woods now and Zelah could see the
signs of clearance everywhere, but new growth was already appearing, bright
splashes of green pushing up from the ground. The Major raised his hand to
acknowledge a woman and her children coming through the trees. The woman dipped
a slight curtsy, then she murmured a word to the children, who tugged at their
forelocks.

‘You do not mind the villagers coming here to collect their
firewood?’

He shrugged.

‘Once we have cut up the logs and taken them away they are
welcome to anything that is left, although Phillips, my keeper, tells me there
has been a marked increase in the number of people coming into the woods of
late.’

‘The villagers no longer have access to Prickett Wood,’
explained Zelah. ‘Reginald tells me the new owner is going to fence it off. Do
you know Sir Oswald?’

‘A nodding acquaintance only.’

‘But I thought his land borders your own.’

‘Not quite, so I have had no reason to make contact with Sir
Oswald. I told you, I do not socialise, Miss Pentewan.’

‘Perhaps you should.’ She screwed up her courage. ‘People would
soon grow accustomed to your...to your scars.’

His short bark of laughter held more than a touch of
bitterness.

‘I would be accused of frightening the children.’

‘No! Think of Nicky.’

‘A lonely child, desperate for company. When he is with his new
school friends I doubt he will be as keen to acknowledge me.’

‘That is not true, he is proud to be acquainted with you.’

‘Kind words, ma’am, but I fear you know very little of human
nature. But it is not just that.’ He paused, and, glancing up, she saw him
gazing into the distance, as if looking into another world. ‘Spain was a very
sobering experience for me, Miss Pentewan. There is no glory in war, in all the
death and carnage that takes place, but I found the life infinitely preferable
to what I had been before—a rake, a fop, whose only interest was to wear a
fashionable coat and flirt with all the prettiest women. That is what society
expects of a gentleman, madam, and I want none of it now.’

‘But the people here are not fashionably idle, Major Coale.
There are many good, hard-working men who want nothing more than to better
themselves and their families.’

‘Then good luck to them, but they shall not do so on my
coat-tails.’

‘That is not what 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 off, leaving his shirt
open at the neck. Zelah pushed aside the material to expose his left shoulder.
The skin was golden brown, tanned, she guessed, from working shirtless on the
land. It was marred by a wide, uneven white line across his collarbone and
cutting down his chest, where it carved a path through the covering of crisp
black hair. Her heart lurched at the thought of the pain he must have endured.
She forced back a cry of sympathy, knowing it would not be welcome. Instead she
tried to be matter-of-fact, scooping up more cream and spreading it gently
across the ragged furrow of the wound.