Page 73 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Why?”
“I was asked to, and I find I enjoy it. I like being useful.”
“Would you like a medal?” He jerked a hand toward the mantel. “Have one of mine. Much good they’ve done me.”
Mortification and anger heated her face. Even her eyes felt hot. “No, I do not want a medal. You asked me for news, so I told you. What would you have me do—sit in the dark doing nothing all day, like you do?”
As soon as she said the harsh words, remorse engulfed her. His doctor had told him the darkness would ease the headaches. How cruel of her. For a moment he said nothing, the tension between them heavy. She expected a rebuke or a dismissal. Instead he gentled his voice.
“I deserved that. I see we are both quite skilled in lashing out when in pain.”
“I am not—”
He lifted a hand. “Forgive me. May we start this visit over? Please?”
“Yes. And I am sorry too.”
Uncomfortable under his intense gaze, she picked up the post. “There is a letter from your lawyer. Shall we start there?”
“Very well. Though that man’s letters usually bear bad news.”
Viola unfolded it and began reading, “I regret to inform you that...”
She paused. The man’s scrawl was difficult to decipher. “I am sorry. I cannot make out this line.”
She squinted at it, then glanced up and started, disconcerted to find the major standing close to her. Very close indeed.
“Man’s handwriting is atrocious,” he said. “What has thwarted you?”
Feeling oddly dizzy at his nearness, his height, she pointed unsteadily to the line.
He bent nearer to study it with his good eye. “The county rate is rising. Thunder and turf. It was high enough as it was.”
The words deciphered, she expected him to move away, but he did not. She looked up at him in question.
His gaze swept over her face.
He lifted his hand, and his fingers hesitated inches from her cheek. “May I?”
May he what?
She didn’t know but nodded mutely anyway.
His finger touched the side of her mouth, and she flinched.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, brow furrowed.
She shook her head. “Surprised me.”
His fingers neared again, this time lightly, ever so lightly, tracing the outline of her lips. Her skin tingled under his touch. Were her lips really so full, so curvy? Or did his fingers exaggerate their shape?
Then his finger lingered on the thicker, coarser skin of her scar. She knew when he’d reached it; no fine hairs bristled under his feathery touch.
“I still can’t believe you wore a veil to cover this,” he said, voice low. “You have a beautiful mouth. A beautiful ... everything. Never doubt it.”
No one had ever touched her mouth so ... sweetly. So admiringly. And her mouth ... beautiful? Tears pricked her eyes.
Viola didn’t want to say it. But the truth fermented and bubbled within. He might as well know all. That would chase that look of admiration from his face in a hurry.
