Page 10 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Helena bit her lip, one hand scratching the back of the other. “I do apologize. I forget myself sometimes when I play.” She cast a somewhat wistful glance at the harp by the window. “Does he have some guest or another coming and wishes me to go to my room?”
“How can he not?” Aunt Phoebe looked long and hard at her, to where Helena flinched under the scrutiny. “You have not been using the unguent the doctor has given you. The sores on your face and neck are worse than ever.”
“But I have!” Helena insisted, raising her hand to her cheek, and feeling the roughened skin there. “Mostly.” She frowned a little. “The days blend together so. Maybe I have not.”
“No, you have likely not. Honestly, you get so caught up in your music, I suppose you also fail to remember what day it is?” Phoebe’s look was one of well-deserved censure.
Helena brightened immediately. “Is Grandmother coming? She had promised it, after Christmas. On the fourteenth. Wait, ’tis the fourteenth already. Oh, itis! Is that why Papa wished to me? You wicked thing to not tell me! Grandmother is here! Am I right?”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “In this snow?”
But Helena was no longer listening, for she’d flown to the window to look. Sure enough, while she had been busy idly dreaming the day away, a carriage had arrived. With a squeal of delight, she dashed for the door.
“Helena! Your gloves!”
But Helena had no care for gloves. Grandmother seemed to not care about the wicked condition that left her skin mottled and raw. And better, Grandmother always brought the finest gifts. The last time she had visited, she’d brought the finest shawl from Paris, with the most exquisite lace along the edge.
Ignoring her aunt’s entreaties to slow down and walk like a lady, Helena skidded across the parquet flooring and nearly fell down the stairs in her haste to arrive at the bottom. Laughing and breathless, she came crashing to a halt but still upright at the bottom of the stairs only because a large, very male hand caught her as she was about to fall.
Helena, laughing, put one hand to her head, feeling the masses of red-brown curls that were tumbling down about her face. “Antony, you have indeed saved me. I suppose I had best clean up before showing myself to our guest, do you not think so?”
“I would say it might be a trifle late for that. Do you not think so?”
Aghast, Helena sprang backward, and landed ungracefully on the stairs themselves, sitting down hard about three stairs up from the bottom, but still low enough that she had to tilt her head back to see the strange man in his entirety who’d caught her, her father standing just beyond, looking absolutely aghast.
The stranger was tall. But then from this vantage point, of course, he would be tall. He wore a dark blue waistcoat over light blue pants, a cravat tied neatly at his neck. These things were easy to see, for looking at clothing was ever so much easier than taking the rest of the journey to face and eyes. But she must see, for she knew, she just knew that this man would have to be as handsome as his voice dictated.
As indeed he was. She looked at his hair first, as golden as the sun, cut neatly in the proper style of the day. Full lips, not pouty but twisted up in a sort of wry amusement as he bent to offer his hand to help her to her feet. Blue eyes that might have been pieces of sky.
She knew him. She knew him with every fiber of her being and could not bring herself to take his hand, much as her father tutted and made flustered apologies at his side.
This, of course, was James Campbell, the Duke of Durham. And she had just made a right fool of herself.
Chapter 6
She came out of nowhere, skidding down the stairs as though a thing possessed her, hair flying wildly in all directions. It was a wonder she hadn’t half killed herself coming at him that way. It had been a thing to watch that he would not soon forget.
“Are you all right?” James asked, unable to help himself. They had not been introduced, and the rules of etiquette were somewhat lacking in situations where a lady lay sprawled at your feet.
Her father though had not allowed them more than a moment to talk. He had hauled the girl to her feet himself and scolded her soundly. James watched as her cheeks went from crimson to pale, and the tears welled in her eyes. She was genuinely distressed that she’d caused her father embarrassment. She did not seem the sort to make cruel demands upon an elderly servant who had acted impulsively.
Nor did she seem necessarily going out of her way to restore the impression she’d made upon him. There was nothing coquettish or flirtatious about her. As her father ran out of steam, she actually turned toward James to ask ifhewere all right and whether or not her tumble had hurt him.
“I am fine, thank you. It is you who I am worried about,” James said, losing himself in the depths of her eyes.
A sharp word from her father sent the girl to her room,rather peremptorily, James thought, for he had only just started to get to know her. Or at least to get an idea of her. Though truth be told, the banishment was not without merit. They were strangers to each other after all, and the father would be expected to protect his daughter from strange men.
But even as he was led to his host’s library, James could not erase the image of the young lady from his mind. What had left him all the more intrigued though was the way her eyes had lit with pleasure as she came down the stairs. The laughter that followed her, the flush to her cheeks had attracted him to her. She was the very embodiment of life itself, and he wanted to get to know her better.
Whatever his host said as he invited him into his office was lost on him. It took James a moment to realize that The Duke of York, Harcourt Barrington, was asking to see the letter that had summoned him to this place.
Now though, seated in her father’s study, James had little interest in the letter the man was perusing, his attention entirely taken by the girl. Oh, she was a wild thing, a woman untamed, full of fire and life. So completely opposite every young lady he’d been afflicted within the past year of his life since taking the title of Duke that he was, in fact, quite intrigued.
He also had a precious bauble to return to her. Only now wasn’t the time.
“Well, this is the strangest thing, Campbell.” Harcourt Barrington flung the paper down upon his desk after reading and rubbed at the line forming over his brow. “I truly do not remember inviting you, though I am most intrigued by your proposition regarding opening up American concerns for trade.”
Of course, he would not remember inviting him. The letter had been obviously penned by the girl on the stairs, giving James entry into the house that he might carry out his supposed duty. From everything he could see, Barrington was a man much given to study and trade. Shipping schedules littered his desk. His attention seemed to be on half a dozen things at once.
