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.
‘It is a pity you did not rub something in this sooner,’ she said, absorbed in her task, ‘but it is not too late. If you apply this regularly, it will soften the skin and help the scarred tissue to stretch.’
She worked the ointment into his skin, moving over the collarbone and down to his breast. A smattering of black hair curled around her fingers as she stroked the finely toned muscle.
Zelah could not say exactly when the change in the atmosphere occurred, but suddenly the air around her was charged with tension and she realised just what a perilous situation she was in. Not merely the impropriety of being alone with a man who was not her husband, but the dangerous sensations within her own body. She concentrated on the skin that she was covering with ointment, forcing herself to think of that small area of scarring and not the whole body. Not the man. It was impossible. She should stop, move away, but she could not. Of their own accord her fingers followed the scar across the solid breastbone and on, down.
Dominic’s hand clamped over hers.
‘That will do.’ His voice was unsteady. ‘Perhaps I should finish this myself. Later.’
Zelah blushed, consumed from head to toe with fiery embarrassment.
‘I … um …’ She had to take a couple of breaths before she could continue. ‘It is best applied every day, and directly after bathing.’
She tried to look up, but could only lift her eyes as far as his mouth. The faint, upward curve of his lips was some comfort.
He released her hand. ‘You are far too innocent to be Delilah, aren’t you?’
She dare not meet his eyes. Her cheeks were still burning. She put the lid back on the jar and handed it to him.
‘It was never my wish to be such a woman.’
‘No, of course not. You are far too bookish.’ He pushed himself off the desk and picked up his neckcloth. ‘I must go. I want to see Phillips today about restocking the coverts.’
Zelah glanced towards the window as another shower of rain pattered against the glass.
‘Should you not wait until the storm passes?’
‘Why? It will not harm me. In fact, I think I would welcome a cold shower of rain!’
With a brief nod he strode out of the room and as his hasty footsteps disappeared so the calm and silence settled over the library again.
Zelah sat down at the desk and dropped her head on to her hands. So she was ‘too bookish’ to be Delilah, the beautiful temptress. She should be pleased that Dominic did not think of her in those terms, and she was pleased, wasn’t she?
With a sinking heart Zelah realised that she was just a little disappointed.
*
