Jenni Fletcher - The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

He’d liked her, too, that much he definitely remembered. He’d enjoyed spending time in her company while Lydia was surrounded by her usual crowd of admirers. There had been a natural, unpractised vivacity and enthusiasm in her manner that had made her face seem to glow whenever she’d spoken on a subject that she was passionate about, like art. It made him want to see her face again now. If she ever removed her veil, that was... Strangely enough, she was one of the few memories of that part of his life that didn’t hurt, but what the hell could have happened to her if her reputation didn’t matter? He found it hard to believe that her character could have changed so much in six years, but then people did change. He certainly had.

‘Is your reputation so very bad then, Miss Webster?’

‘Not bad, just different.’

‘Different?’ He echoed the word, feeling a sudden urge to provoke her, to goad her into taking her veil off to confront him. ‘Then am I the one taking a risk in being alone with you? Perhaps I ought to be concerned?’

‘What?’ She sounded faintly shocked. ‘No! Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Am I being? You have to admit, the evidence is against you. You’re a lady and I’m a gentleman, in name anyway. If anyone knew we were alone together, then it would place us both in a somewhat compromising situation. I might feel obliged to make amends and propose.’ He lifted an eyebrow as she made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat, though whether it was one of protest or horror he couldn’t tell. ‘I’m surprised your sister didn’t think about that.’

‘She wouldn’t think of it.’ There was a bitter edge to her voice all of a sudden. ‘Lydia doesn’t consider me a person who can be compromised.’

‘Because?’

‘Because she just doesn’t.’

‘There must be a reason.’

‘There is.’

‘That being?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘And I don’t appreciate people walking into my house without an invitation.’ He narrowed his eyes pointedly. ‘The reason, if you please, Miss Webster. I believe you owe me that much.’

‘This!’

The cry seemed to burst out of her as she wrenched her veil back and he finally understood. She was scowling, her jaw thrust forward and rigid with tension, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the right side of her face, to the crimson-red cheek and wide, puckered scar running all the way down from her hairline to the corner of her mouth, as if something had gashed the skin open and left it permanently and irrevocably damaged. He let his gaze rest there for a moment before passing it over the rest of her features, so like and yet unlike those of the girl he remembered. What had happened to her? Not just to her cheek, but to her ? The animated glow had been replaced by an air of defiant and yet pervasive sadness. Even so, scar aside, the resemblance to her sister was still striking enough to make him flinch.

‘As I said...’ her lips curled derisively ‘...not a bad reputation, just not one that anyone cares to protect. I suppose they can’t see the point.’

‘Forgive me.’ He half-lifted a hand, but she waved it aside.

‘There’s no need to apologise. I haven’t made anyone faint yet, but I’ve come close. You reacted quite well, considering.’

‘No, I shouldn’t have flinched. It wasn’t because of your scar.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if by doing so he could make her resemblance to Lydia go away. ‘You just look so much like her.’

‘Like Lydia?’ She blinked. ‘She’d be horrified to hear that.’

‘It’s Frances, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Her jaw relaxed slightly. ‘Do you remember me?’

‘Of course. We were friends.’

‘A long time ago. A lot’s happened since then.’

‘To both of us, I think.’ He lifted his hand again, a placatory gesture this time. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know. That’s what everyone says.’

‘Ah.’ There seemed to be a depth of pain behind those words. ‘It doesn’t help much, does it? Sympathy, I mean.’

‘Not really. I appreciate the thought, but sympathy doesn’t fix anything. I have a scar. It can’t be wiped away or mended. It’s just how it is.’

‘And you just want to get on with your life?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes.’

‘Meaning you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

‘Very well. In that case, Miss Webster, I believe we ought to concentrate on your ankle instead. If you’ll permit me to take a look?’

‘I really don’t think—’

‘But I do,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘This is my farmhouse and I intend to see that you’re properly tended to. Now it’s either me or a doctor and, if you’d prefer for nobody to know where you’ve been, I’d suggest you pick me. I can only answer for my own discretion.’

‘All right. You do it.’

‘Then may I?’

She opened her mouth as if to protest some more and then nodded instead, sitting very still as he reached down and lifted her foot carefully on to the stool beside him.

‘I’ll need to remove your boot.’ He looked up, already untying the laces, and she nodded again, her undamaged cheek a noticeably darker shade of pink than it had been a few moments before.

‘There.’ He slid her boot off and pressed his fingers around the swollen ankle, feeling the heat of the injury even through her stocking. ‘It’s not broken, but it’s a nasty sprain. It needs binding, but we’ll need to remove your undergarments first. I can do it if you...’

‘No!’ Her voice seemed to have leapt to a higher pitch. ‘I’ll do it. If you could just...?’

She made a spinning gesture and he turned around obediently, staring out into the hallway as he listened to the rustle of her petticoats behind. It was a strangely enticing sound, one he wasn’t accustomed to hearing, though as a rule he considered himself immune to the charms of womankind. He’d never been as enamoured of the entire female sex as his brother, had always considered himself a one-woman man, or at least he had before he’d decided he was better off on his own. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine the actions taking place just out of sight. She must be drawing her skirt up, untying her garter, rolling her stocking down...

‘Ready.’

‘Good.’ He cleared his throat before he spoke, though his voice still sounded uncharacteristically husky as he spun round again, trying to focus all his attention on the injury. Her ankle was red and swollen, though he could see the lower part of her leg now, too. As calves went, it was surprisingly shapely for someone he remembered as having a boyish figure. She really had changed in that regard, he thought, wrapping the bandage gently around velvet-soft skin. When he’d left she’d still been a girl, whereas now—he risked a glance up at a distractingly full bosom—now she was undoubtedly a woman. The thought was somewhat alarming, making his blood stir and his pulse throb in a way he hadn’t felt for...well, for a considerable amount of time. Years, in fact. The years it had taken for her to grow up...

He tied the ends of the bandage more tightly than he’d intended, irritated by his own errant thoughts. Had he gone quite mad living on his own? She was Lydia’s sister! He didn’t want anything to do with Lydia—and that included her family—and he definitely didn’t want to be thinking about her sister’s legs, stockinged or otherwise!

‘What did you mean about being late?’ He asked the question to distract himself.

‘Mmm?’ She jerked her head up, looking somewhat startled. She must have been chewing her lip, he noticed, because it looked fuller and redder all of a sudden. Wetter, too, coated with a sliver of moisture...