Page 34 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
Duncan held up a steadying hand. He stood hardly any distance away, clearly concerned by the way she had flinched back on seeing him, her reflexive pleasure at recognising her unexpected visitor veering immediately into dismay.
Jane stayed very still, horror pinning her to the spot. Her face was bare and her head uncovered and there was nothing she could do to stop him from seeing the full extent of her scars, her disfigurement laid out before him, stark red against white. She saw his eyes flicker over the network of raised skin and felt a vivid wave of shame wash over her, the back of her neck growing warm despite the icy ground.
So. Now he knows.
Mortified heat flared in her cheeks. She wanted to cover herself but she seemed to have lost the use of her hands, only able to stare in silent torment as Duncan bowed.
‘Forgive me for calling unannounced. Your maid let me in and as she seemed busy, I took the liberty of going to look for you myself. I hope I’m not intruding.’
He straightened up again, his dark hair gleaming as he moved in the pale sunshine. His eyes met hers: after that first lightning-fast glance at her scars his gaze didn’t waver again, although Jane knew he had already seen too much. His expression was carefully controlled, whatever he was thinking well concealed behind his usual good manners, but she was no fool. He’d be feeling the same combination of pity and distaste as everyone else who had caught a glimpse of her since the accident and her heart sank that any sweet past memory of her he might still have carried would now be soured by the present’s unpalatable truth.
‘Not at all,’ she managed faintly. ‘Will you come inside?’
Privately, she prayed he’d refuse, but she wasn’t to be granted any reprieve.
‘Only if it’s convenient. There’s something my mother would like me to ask you.’
‘Of course. Let’s go in.’
She gestured for him to walk ahead of her. She had no idea what Mrs Fitzjames could want to ask her and even less real interest. Duncan’s presence and the feeling of oppression that soaked into her as she entered the great gloomy house were overwhelming, grief and embarrassment obliterating everything else. It was an odd feeling, caught between delight at seeing Duncan again and wishing he would leave, and she wasn’t sure which side would triumph as she followed him into the parlour and waved him towards a chair.
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘No, thank you. I won’t stay for long.’
She sat in her usual place on the sofa, glad to be able to angle herself away from him. Her heavily frilled cap lay on the table next to her and she itched to put it on, only the thought of drawing more attention to her face stopping her from snatching it up.
Duncan settled himself in his seat. He looked slightly ill at ease but was clearly trying to hide it; the sole giveaway was in the way he constantly spun the brim of his hat through his fingers as he shifted in his chair and, straightening her skirts, Jane risked another glance at him out of the corner of her eye.
I recall us sharing that armchair, a dangerous little voice piped up in the back of her mind.He’d wait until Auntie went to bed and then draw me onto his knee, his hands pushing into my hair as he turned my face to his—
Her fingers locked together on her lap in a punishing squeeze.
Stop that.Thinking such things will do no good whatsoever.
She’d never thought to see him in Maybury Place’s parlour again and it was difficult to keep the memories under control. At one time there would have been such tension between them she could have tasted it, their need to touch each other simmering just below a surface so exhilaratingly fragile it might have broken at any moment. As soon as Deborah left the room they would be pulled together as if by a magnetic force, Duncan’s kisses chaste to start with, but rapidly growing in passion until they’d had to break apart to stop things from going too far.
Jane tightened the vice-like grip of her hands. She would have given anything to be able to fall into his arms again, but of course that was a wish that wouldn’t come true. Duncan had seen her for what she was and any nostalgic fondness he might have entertained for her would never again kindle into desire.
Pain had begun to grow deep inside her. It was a dull ache, building every time she moved, but she tried to push it aside.
‘You mentioned your mother had a question for me.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded, looking away from her to examine the glossy black silk of his hat. ‘She was wondering…that is, if you still had no more pressing engagements…if perhaps you would do us the honour of joining us. For Christmas.’
He shot her a swift, unreadable look, still holding his hat in front of him like a shield, and Jane felt her eyes widen.
‘Spend Christmas with you?’
‘And my mother and nieces,’ Duncan amended hastily. ‘I can’t promise it would be a very restful time, but it might perhaps be more agreeable than the alternative.’
Jane’s heart leapt against her ribs. A whole week with the Fitzjameses? Day after day of waking to know that Duncan was never more than a few rooms away?
She took a breath. It was the most agonisingly tempting offer she’d received since he had proposed three years earlier and she felt the same powerful urge to accept as she had when he’d turned to her on one knee.
A change of scene wouldallow her some respite from the unceasing burden of her grief, she thought dazedly. Any distraction from her unhappiness was certainly a strong inducement to take Mrs Fitzjames up on her invitation—but she’d be lying if she pretended it was the only one, her yearning to be close to Duncan a threat she couldn’t ignore.
It would be a mistake to spend more time with him. My feelings would grow stronger whereas his would not, leaving me even more sorrowful than when I arrived.
