“The fire,” Isobel said in a hooded tone. “Do you remember we spoke of the fire before, my Lady? That is why. I believe the duke… he fears…”
“Ahem.” Bates cut her off with a sudden sharp cough. “I believe that is all we should say on the matter, dear Isobel. The master’s business is not for us to divulge.”
Yet Charity’s curiosity had been piqued. Isobel had mentioned the fire before, and Lord Baxter at dinner had spoken of how far the candles were set away from Seth. It was a curiosity that burned within her now and could not be abated.
She thought of the scars, of the way he had urged her to step away from the hearth in her room despite her better judgment, and the way that the candles had been set apart from Seth in every chamber. And she understood at once what it all had to mean.
A fear of fire. Had he perhaps been…?
She could not blame him for it. Anyone who had suffered in a fire had to be afraid of reliving such a hell on earth again, but how did it happen? And what did happen in that fire that now caused so much pain?
I need to know more.
CHAPTER 13
“May I…?” Charity broke off, her hands drifting toward Seth’s face.
He stalled, not understanding for a moment as he regarded her, confused. After dinner, they had retreated to the drawing room together, where Seth had been startled by her request to read to him. He was no actor, nor a great orator, and he had been so used to silence in this room that the idea of reading aloud had stunned him at first.
By the time he had finished the first chapter, however, it felt natural, with Charity sitting beside him, her shoulders brushing his own as they enjoyed the story together. Now, he halted at the end of the third chapter, with her right hand nearing his face.
No.
Something made Seth’s gut tighten. She was not simply reaching for his face, but lowering her hands a mere inch away fromtouching those scars, feeling upon his skin everything that was wrong.
It was as if she would be touching not just him, but all the memories he harbored, all the horror, all the fear, all those nightmares of dragging his dearest friend out of the fire, only to still lose him, and the tears that he’d shed, the final cries that had torn out of his body when he learned his father was still in the burning building.
“Seth?” she murmured, her voice so forgiving that his thoughts were abruptly torn away from that horrific night.
He blinked, the flames vanished from his vision, and he was staring at the beautiful face of Charity again, the orange glow from seconds earlier fading into pale blue eyes that now enshrouded his soul.
“May you what?” he muttered in bewilderment, staring at that hand and struggling to keep his voice level.
“Please,” she whispered, a gentle frown on her face. “I have an idea of what you look like, but I would like to see more clearly, to map out the contours with my hands. May I?” she asked again, not quite touching him as she awaited his permission.
Seth closed up the book abruptly in his lap. It was the tale ofTreasure Island.Just a minute ago, they had been swimming in the depths of an ocean, halfway across the world, now he felt he had come back to reality with a bump, with her hands inching ever closer to the scars on his neck and chin.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and reached to his side, lifting a glass of port that he downed.
“You touched me last night,” he reminded her.
He could not handle it. He didn’t want her touching those scars again. It would feel too real this time. Last night, they were caught up in their passion for one another. If she touched those scars, she had clearly not marked the feeling of them, but now? Sat here quietly with one another, she would be dwelling on their precise sensations.
You might hate them then and wonder exactly what beast of a man you have agreed to marry.
“I know.” She smiled, her face blushing a pleasant shade of crimson. “But I was so caught up… in the excitement of it all. Now, I wish to take my time. To see you properly, in my way. Please, Seth?”
He leaned away from her, and the retreating rustle of his clothes had her smile falling away. He hated to cause her hurt, but those flames were flashing in front of his eyes again.
“I apologize.” He wished there was more port in his glass now, anything to quench the sudden thirst. “What if you do not like what you feel?”
“Why would I not like it?” She frowned, as if this was the most foolish thing that he had ever said to her. “Seth, in case youhadn’t noticed, I rather like you for all that I know about you. That is not summarized by your appearance, but by what is here.” She moved her hand to his chest and laid it over his heart. She tapped her fingers, in time with his heartbeat, just as he had done to her the night of the storm.
He didn’t see the fire anymore. He just felt her hand on his heart, and that heartbeat as it slowed and settled. He was encapsulated in this very moment, present in this room, rather than dwelling on the past.
His chest rose and fell, and he found his face moving toward hers again. For one so small, so slight, she had a startling power and influence over him. Where seconds before, he was refusing her, now, he was giving in to her every demand.
He raised her hand from his chest and placed it on his cheek, holding his breath as she explored his features.
