He shrugged. She was an exceptional student. “I have played enough in my past that I am able to picture the board in my mind. What I amunableto visualize and what I most wish I might is your face.”
“Me?” Genuine surprise rang in her voice. “I should think there are hundreds of other things you might wish to see more. Why, the whole of the Highlands is magical, mysterious, stunningly beautiful. Each place we have visited or plan to visit would be far more fascinating to view.”
He disagreed. “I can imagine those, particularly with your apt descriptions. But I cannot imagine you. You have not describedyourselfto me.” Theodore leaned back in his chair, considering. “But that is a brilliant idea. Will you do just that—tell me what you look like?”
She did not answer at once, then, “I fear you will be disappointed.” Her voice was quiet. “I am no great beauty like Violet.”
“Violet’s beauty did not travel beyond her complexion.” He saw that now, how he had been attracted solely to herphysical appearance and then swept up in her flattery of his.As many men would have been.As he might still have been, had he not been forced to see the world with means beyond his eyes. “I have seen your soul, Miss Worthington—Beatrice. May I call you that?” He had wanted to for some time and did not wait for her to answer his query in the negative. “You emanate both true beauty and joy. Did you know that is the meaning behind your name? Beatrice—bringer of joy or happiness.”
“I did not. Where did you learn such a thing?”
“From a book, no doubt.” Theodore turned his head, imagining the shelves lining the room. It was not as grand as the library at his English estate, but it still held a great many volumes that he had enjoyed over the years. “There are several famous Beatrices, from Shakespeare’sMuch Ado About Nothingto the Beatrice who serves as Dante’s guide through paradise inTheDivine Comedy.”
“I have read neither,” she admitted, sounding embarrassed. “Aunt Margaret grants me very little access to their library, even if I were permitted time to read.”
A slow smile grew on Theodore’s face. “It seems there is something else I can share with you—my library and my love of literature. We’ll start today if you are not opposed to reading out loud to me?”
“Not at all. Would you like to begin now? I can put away our game while you decide on a book.”
Theodore heard her rise but reached out and managed to grasp her wrist before she had moved too far. “The books can wait. They will still be here in a few minutes or whenever we are ready for them. Won’t you tell me what you look like first?”
“Is that really necessary? I don’t know what you look like either. Your bandages cover half of your face.”
Did she really wish to see his entire face, or was that a ployto get out of describing hers? There was only one way to know. “I’ll take them off if you’ll tell me of yourself.”
“Can you? Is that advisable?”
Theodore shrugged. “It is only three more weeks until the doctor’s visit in which he is to remove them. If I don’t open my eyes, I cannot see that harm will be done—pun intended.” He grinned.
“It’s not amusing,” she scolded. “I don’t wish you to do anything to further harm yourself. If the bandages are to remain on longer...”
“Are you afraid to see me?”
“No.”
“Only afraid for me to see you?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
Theodore’s hand slid down her wrist to twine her fingers with his, trying to reassure her. She had mentioned scars from her burns. Was that what worried her, that he would be repulsed by those? On the contrary, he considered them battle wounds and felt only admiration for her that she had survived. “I have put a great deal of trust in you these past weeks. You have seen me stumble and fall, you’ve seen me frustrated and angry, humiliated, hopeless. You have helped me to stand, wiped my face and shirt front when I was clumsy, tied my cravat, removed my shoes. You have turned away to spare me when you knew I was embarrassed. Can you not trust me now and believe that no matter what you tell me, no matter your appearance, I will still cherish our friendship?”
“Very well.” She sounded resigned rather than pleased at his request. “What do you wish to know?” She sat once more, and Theodore released her hand.
“Begin here.” He leaned closer, over the chessboard still between them, and reached out to where he imagined her head might be. His fingers brushed against something soft. He stilled and allowed his hand to rest. “What color is your hair?”
“Dark brown. Not golden as Violet’s. It is straight, not curled. It is thick and so heavy that at times when it is pinned too tightly, it causes my head to ache.”
“Do you let it down, then?” His fingers slowly moved over the silken strands, and he imagined long dark hair trailing to a woman’s waist.
She shook her head and his hand fell away. “It is not proper for a woman to wear her hair down.”
“Ridiculous rules,” he muttered. “We’ve no use for them here. You should wear it down whenever you wish.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps nothing. We don’t stand on propriety here at Broughleigh. How many other men have you dined with who march their fingers across the dinner table in order to locate their wine glass and the utensils they are to eat with?”
“None, though there are some who drink much and ought to employ that tactic.” She laughed lightly.
