mistress?” Ellen gasped. “Oh, how could you think that? John Hartwell was the kindest, most generous man who ever lived, and he would have never…never— Oh, you dreadful man! How could you think such an awful thing?”
David’s face grew hot in the face of his mistake. “Hey, I just assumed…your living here all these years. You’re so beautiful, I just figured… Hell, why else would anyone who looked like you want to hide away on the top of a mountain?”
Ellen scrambled to her feet, fumbling for her cane. “I’ll tell you how it is, Mr. David Hartwell,” she exclaimed. “I was born here in Montana. My parents were attorneys down in Floweree and very good friends with your father. They were going about county business when they were killed in a plane crash, six years ago. I was seventeen—an only child of only children—about to be fostered when John heard and intervened.” How to explain the kindness of an old man to a young girl? Taking her in at an age when most men were planning their retirement, asking nothing in return except some decent dinner conversation. Surely he had given more than he received, but how to explain that to David? Her words sounded inadequate, even to her own ears.
“Took you in, you mean?” he asked uncertainly, amazed at his father’s generosity.
“Took me in,” she repeated proudly. “A grief-stricken teenager who also happened to be blind. Quite a handful for a man about to settle into his senior years, don’t you think? Young as I was, I knew that. I knew the generosity of his act. The day I walked through his front door, I vowed never to make him regret his decision, and he never did!”
David stared into her grass-green eyes, shiny with tears—or was it anger? It didn’t matter. The look she harbored was unforgiving. “Look here, Ellen, I didn’t know.”
Ellen’s body language was her answer to the apology in his voice. She was rigid, her breathing shallow, her voice arctic and impersonal, when finally she spoke. “My cane, please. I thought I left it near the fireplace.”
He found it at once, a beautifully carved mahogany staff inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He’d bet anything it was an antique, and a gift from his father, but he didn’t dare ask.
“Thank you,” she said coldly. “Now, if you’ll point me toward the door, I seem to have lost my bearings.”
Turning her in the direction she requested, David’s fingers clasped Ellen’s shoulders, his touch light. But her stiff resistance made him want to shake her. “Listen, Miss Candler, I’m only trying to understand how things were. There was a lot of distance between my father and me, and now I’m here, I’m beginning to see it was greater than I thought. I mean, look how it is for me! He never even mentioned you, for Pete’s sake! Don’t you think there’s something odd in that?”
He must have touched a chord because he felt her ease up, ever so slightly. “I suppose,” she admitted slowly.
“Yes, you had best!” David agreed with mock severity. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why he kept your presence a secret from me?”
“None whatsoever!” A thin chill clung to Ellen’s words. “I didn’t even know he had. I always assumed you knew about me. After all, he talked about you!”
“And you never thought it strange that we never met?”
Ellen frowned. “Of course I did, but after a while I just figured you were busy and couldn’t be bothered with an old man and a blind, adolescent girl.”
“I would never be so unkind!”
“How could I know that?”
“Why would you not? Did John portray me as some sort of monster?”
“A monster?” she repeated, vaguely amused.
And in that instant, in the innocence of her smile, David knew that Ellen knew nothing about his scars, that his father had been kinder than expected, and he was grateful. Although he had long learned to live with his disfigurement, regret was an old wound that never fully healed. Ordinarily he was philosophical about those things beyond his reach, but something about Ellen had touched him, and for all she confused him, she seemed a gentle, straightforward soul. And then, certainly she was a great beauty, and he was a great respecter of beauty, he himself so badly maimed.
She sighed so charmingly he wished they could call a truce and begin again. But then, he wished many things that were never going to happen, and wishing had made him a bitter man. So he shrugged away his curiosity and bartered her ignorance for a rare moment of peace, when he could pretend for an hour that he was normal and uncut. He cupped her cheek, watched as she blushed, and was grateful that, for once, it had nothing to do with revulsion. “I give you my word, Ellen Candler, that for as long as I know you, I will never willfully cause you pain.”
Since she couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, her only gauge was the sound of David’s voice. She stepped back, hoping she was out of range of his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection, wasn’t sure if this knight’s armor was all that shiny, even if he was John’s son.
“Harry Gold, your father’s attorney, will be here tomorrow. He said he had important things to say about John’s will.”
Perceiving that Ellen was trying to create a physical distance, David was careful not to trail her. “I know Harry quite well. He helped my father to raise me, after my mother died.”
“That’s good. Then you have someone you can trust. And now, Mr. Hartwell,” Ellen sighed, unable to fight the heaviness in her heart, “if you don’t mind, I’m very tired and I’d like to go to bed.”
Not daring to argue with the sadness in her eyes, David watched as Ellen left, her path unerring as she headed for the door. The tables turned so swiftly, he was helpless to do anything but stare as she closed the door behind her. He stood lost in thought until the night chill finally roused him. Throwing a fresh log on the fire, he found the decanter of bourbon and retrieved his glass. It would be a long night and he had no other friends.
Chapter Two
Harry Gold, attorney for the late John Hartwell, arrived promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. The witching hour for lawyers, Ellen mused as she made her way to the library. As far away as the hall, her sensitive nose picked up the aromatic scent of an expensive cigar that always seemed to be in the air when Harry was around. Harry would probably die with a Havana clenched between his teeth. Turning the doorknob, she tensed involuntarily. Cigar smoke may have disguised any scent of David Hartwell she might recognize, but when he cleared his throat, she knew he was in the room. Her red curls severely anchored by tortoiseshell combs, her stiff spine sent an unmistakable message as she entered the library.
To David, looking up as he pored over some papers, Ellen looked every inch a queen as she glided across the room. Damned if she wasn’t intent on behaving like one, too, he grinned as he watched her raise her elegant chin and purse her dainty pink lips against any threat of conversation. From him! Harry Gold was another matter altogether. He watched as Harry hurried to her side, whispering his condolences, positioning a chair for her, assuring her comfort. Feeling slighted, David pulled his chair alongside Ellen’s and sat so heavily the chair squeaked in protest. By the way she frowned, he guessed that Ellen would have liked to protest, too, and it gave him bad-tempered satisfaction. But if he were honest, his temper had more to do with the hangover he had given himself than anything Ellen had done. Still, he felt as though he’d just won a small skirmish in a larger battle. What
