“You can’t be sure of that. You said Roberts roused you, so you were sleeping.”
He let that stand, coward that he was.
“I am glad you survived unscathed,” she said softly.
“Mostly unscathed. I suffered some burns. The worst was on the back of my left leg. The scarring is unsightly, but I never see it. I should have warned you about that when I was proposing yesterday. I would have eventually, so you could change your mind if it mattered.”
That was not how he normally informed his women, but he did warn them, right after he came to an arrangement and gifted them with expensive jewelry.By the by, I must tell you that I have a disfiguring scar on the back of my leg. As with our affair, I expect unerring discretion about it. You are never to speak of it with anyone. You are never to ask me about it. If you do, I will ensure that you are never again received by anyone who matters. It was not that he wanted to keep that scar a secret. His best friends were aware of it. He just did not want anyone prying into how it had happened.
“It would have made no difference to me,” she said. “I have seen terrible scars. More damaging than anything you have, I am willing to wager, because you walk normally. I know what fire can do to human flesh. There are far worse scars to have than yours.”
He did not doubt she meant it when she said it would not have mattered. In that moment, he regretted deeply that she had refused his offer. Such a woman deserved to be a duchess.
“Why did you come in here after all these years?” she asked.
“I am thinking of pulling it down.” He looked around. “Either I do it now, or nature does it over the next half century.”
“I think you should. I really do. Not to improve the view of the house, or even to rebuild. I think you have blamed yourself all this time, and this has become a monument to that blame. Take it down, I say. Remove it and remove the guilt.”
“I will still have the scar.”
“You said you never see it. Only your lovers do. If one recoils because of it, you will know what you have in her.”
She turned to go back into the house. He fell into step with her. “You are being a little harsh, Davina. Not all women have medical experience and take scars in stride. I have been told it is very unsightly to females.”
“I am sure you have seen it, using a looking glass. Did you find it unsightly?”
“Fairly so.”
She pushed through the drape. “So, you are not perfect, Brentworth. Did you think being unflawed was part of your birthright?”
* * *
Davina took her walk alone. Brentworth occupied her thoughts the whole way.
He had looked so lost in himself out there. He had never appeared less ducal than in that ruin. She had wanted to gather him into her arms to comfort him, even without knowing what he pondered.
She had recognized his inclination to snarl at her when he saw her. Instead, he had told her about that fire.
Not everything, she was sure. She did not need everything, however. She did not even need to know what he had shared with her. He had honored her with that confidence. She did not think he told many people about that night.
No wonder he had not visited this house in all these years. She had been quick to think the worst, to assume he neglected his Scottish property because it did not signify much to him. Instead, he avoided it because it signified too much.
She had wanted to kiss him over and over and express how she understood. Her own words had kept her from doing so.You will not touch me. Spoken in anger and pride, they prevented her from releasing the emotion she had felt.
She wished he were not a gentleman. She wished she were not an innocent. What a stupid word to have branded on one’s body. Untouchable Innocent. Unruined Innocent. She supposed it wasn’t as bad as Virgin Spinster, but it was all of a piece in terms of how he treated her.
She did not regret refusing his marriage offer. That would be a mistake, she was sure. There had to be something binding two people besides signatures and pleasure. Nor did she think marriage would bring any recognition of her rights to this property. More likely no one would bother ever learning the truth if they wed.
She thought about Mr. Hume, whom she had not considered in days. He would be horrified if she married Brentworth. The lands should have a Scottish laird, in his view. She rather thought so too, but of all the reasons to refuse the proposal, that one had not entered her mind at all.
Back in her chamber, she called for her dinner to be brought to her there. She did not want to dine with Brentworth. She was not sure why. No, that was a lie; she knew exactly why. Being with him would make her sad and wistful. She would behave normally and chat, but the whole time she would be aching for him to kiss and caress her even though she had warned him off in no uncertain terms.
She picked at her food. She thought some more. She pictured him in the ruins. She felt his touch.
She made a decision.
Chapter Twenty
