Regency High Society Vol 3: Beloved Virago / Lord Trenchard's Choice / The Unruly Chaperon / Colonel Ancroft's Love. Elizabeth Rolls
her, however, bringing her almost to the verge of tears, was the clear evidence of past suffering, and unmistakable bravery.
Without conscious thought, she reached out and began to trace the path of the longest scar, which ran from his right shoulder almost down to his pelvis, only to have her fingers swiftly captured in a firm yet gentle clasp.
‘What is it, Katherine?’ Daniel wasn’t slow to detect long lashes moistened by tears barely held in check. ‘What has occurred to upset you?’
‘I-I feel so very ashamed.’ Her voice was little more than a shaky whisper, but there was no mistaking the heartfelt contrition it contained. ‘So very ashamed that I ever thought so badly of you; that I foolishly attempted to hold you responsible for dear Helen’s death, when I always knew deep down that it wasn’t your fault.’
Although she didn’t attempt to draw her hand from his, she seemed unwilling, or unable, to meet his gaze, and her complexion had grown worryingly quite ashen. He didn’t doubt her sincerity, but was puzzled by the admission. He had been inclined to dismiss her dislike of him as nothing more than a pampered young woman’s childish spite. Now that he had come to know her a little better he was certain that that initial judgement had been sadly flawed. She was no foolish ninnyhammer prone to take a pet for no reason. Far more, he now realised, lay behind her former conduct towards him.
‘Why were you so determined to dislike me, Katherine?’ There was no response. Undeterred, he added, ‘Come, do you not think that the man you’ve treated with such contempt on occasions deserves an explanation?’
This succeeded in drawing her eyes briefly to his, before she turned her attention to his most recent injury. ‘Because it was far easier to blame you than myself,’ she finally admitted, astonishing him somewhat.
Removing her hand from his at last, Katherine delved into the pocket of her skirt for her handkerchief, and proceeded to dab at the wound, which blessedly was little more than a scratch. ‘I’m a scourge, Daniel. Everyone I have ever loved, or cared for deeply, every person with whom I have lived, has died. I tried to convince myself that Helen, at least, might have survived had she not lost the will to do so because she was mooning like a lovesick fool over you. It was grossly unfair of me to try to pin the blame on you. She was far too immature to capture a gentleman’s interest. I suspect you were hardly aware of her existence … just as you were hardly aware of mine when I lived with my grandfather for those few short months. How I wish now that I had never resided in Dorsetshire!’
Not knowing quite how to respond, and feeling confused by these startling disclosures, Daniel remained silent as he watched her rise to her feet, and move in that graceful way of hers over to the tiny stream which gurgled its way through the woodland just a few yards from where he sat.
He didn’t doubt for a moment that for some obscure reason she was determined to hold herself in some way responsible for the deaths of her grandfather and her friend, and possibly her parents too. He had no idea how Mr and Mrs O’Malley had met their maker, but there was no mystery about Colonel Fairchild’s demise, and Helen Rushton was by no means the only person to succumb to that outbreak of smallpox. Unless he was mistaken, her mother had perished too. So why was Katherine so determined to blame herself?
Although he would be forced to admit that, as yet, he didn’t know her very well, he wouldn’t have supposed for a moment that she was a young woman prone to indulging in foolish flights of fancy. So what deep-rooted fear was persuading her to believe such absolute nonsense? There was something … there simply had to be! And he was determined to discover precisely what that something was.
Deciding not to press her for an explanation quite yet, and thereby risk damaging the rather sweet rapport which had surprisingly developed between them, he changed the subject the instant she returned by remarking that he was relieved to see that the sight of blood didn’t turn her queasy. ‘Not that I’m unduly surprised,’ he added, bestowing a look of the utmost respect upon her, as she began to dab at the slight wound with the handkerchief which she had soaked in the clear waters of the stream. ‘Any young woman who possesses the courage to do what you did back there in that village isn’t likely to flinch at the sight of a little blood.’
She cast him a distinctly rueful smile. ‘You may as well know now that I have been cursed with an appalling temper, Major. I’ve learned to control it over the years … well, at least for the most part,’ she added, incurably truthful. ‘But the sight of those four men setting about you made me fume. Damnable cowards!’
‘And you came to my aid without any thought for your own safety,’ he murmured, experiencing a wealth of oddly contrasting emotions which left him not quite knowing whether he wished to kiss or shake her for doing such a foolhardy yet courageous thing. ‘Wellington could have done with you out in the Peninsula, my girl. Who did you say taught you to handle firearms, by the way?’
‘My father,’ she reminded him, before asking if he had a handkerchief about his person.
He delved into the pocket of his breeches and drew out a square of linen, which she promptly pressed over the cleaned wound. ‘You’re a damned fine shot. You’d have made an excellent rifleman had you been a boy.’
This time he didn’t miss the faintly sheepish expression, and was puzzled by it until she announced, ‘It’s no good. My conscience simply won’t permit me to allow you to continue to view me as some sort of wonder woman. I’ve discovered today that I’m not that good a shot.’
He raised his brows at this. ‘You managed to down that rogue who was doing his level best to get away,’ he reminded her.
‘Yes, and no,’ she responded, confounding him still further, before once again casting him a glance from beneath long lashes. ‘Did you not notice the inn sign lying in the road?’
‘I noticed something, certainly.’
Katherine decided to confess before she had a chance to change her mind. ‘Well, the truth of the matter is … I hit the sign, shattering its hinge, and the sign hit him, plump on the head.’
For several moments Daniel regarded her in silence, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. The woodland area surrounding them resounded with the infectious sound, and Katherine found it impossible not to laugh herself.
‘It isn’t that funny!’ she chided gently, regaining control first. ‘I was mortified, I can tell you, when I saw that dratted sign fall. My aim has never been so awry before.’
‘I doubt anyone would have stood the remotest chance of hitting his mark with that monstrous weapon,’ he assured her, as she rose to her feet and blithely tore a strip off the bottom of her underskirt.
The sight of a neatly turned ankle, swiftly followed by the renewed touch of those gentle fingers on his arm, as she deftly wound the strip of material over his handkerchief, certainly put a further strain on his self-control. Desperate to turn his thoughts in a new direction, he searched about for something, anything, that might take his mind off earthy masculine desires, and his gaze swiftly fell upon her bloodstained handkerchief, lying on the ground.
Reaching for it, and earning himself a stern reprimand in the process for not sitting still, he studied the beautifully embroidered monogram in one corner. ‘Is this your stitch-work, Katherine?’
‘No. Bridie embroidered it. She was my nursemaid when I was a child,’ she explained when he raised an enquiring brow. ‘Now she’s my personal maid … housekeeper … you name it.’
‘What does the “F” stand for?’
A moment’s silence, then, ‘Fairchild.’ She grimaced. ‘I’ve Bridie to thank for that too!’ she informed him, her disgruntled tone evidence enough that she wasn’t best pleased. ‘Apparently she took one look at me and announced that I was the fairest child she’d ever set eyes on. My mother, much struck by this, as it happened to be her maiden name, decided it would be most appropriate, and as Papa had chosen my Christian name he allowed her to have her way.’
‘Fairchild,’ he echoed. ‘Yes,