“And you never thought it strange that we never met?”
Ellen frowned. “Of course I did, but after a while I just figured you were busy and couldn’t be bothered with an old man and a blind, adolescent girl.”
“I would never be so unkind!”
“How could I know that?”
“Why would you not? Did John portray me as some sort of monster?”
“A monster?” she repeated, vaguely amused.
And in that instant, in the innocence of her smile, David knew that Ellen knew nothing about his scars, that his father had been kinder than expected, and he was grateful. Although he had long learned to live with his disfigurement, regret was an old wound that never fully healed. Ordinarily he was philosophical about those things beyond his reach, but something about Ellen had touched him, and for all she confused him, she seemed a gentle, straightforward soul. And then, certainly she was a great beauty, and he was a great respecter of beauty, he himself so badly maimed.
She sighed so charmingly he wished they could call a truce and begin again. But then, he wished many things that were never going to happen, and wishing had made him a bitter man. So he shrugged away his curiosity and bartered her ignorance for a rare moment of peace, when he could pretend for an hour that he was normal and uncut. He cupped her cheek, watched as she blushed, and was grateful that, for once, it had nothing to do with revulsion. “I give you my word, Ellen Candler, that for as long as I know you, I will never willfully cause you pain.”
Since she couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, her only gauge was the sound of David’s voice. She stepped back, hoping she was out of range of his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted his protection, wasn’t sure if this knight’s armor was all that shiny, even if he was John’s son.
“Harry Gold, your father’s attorney, will be here tomorrow. He said he had important things to say about John’s will.”
Perceiving that Ellen was trying to create a physical distance, David was careful not to trail her. “I know Harry quite well. He helped my father to raise me, after my mother died.”
“That’s good. Then you have someone you can trust. And now, Mr. Hartwell,” Ellen sighed, unable to fight the heaviness in her heart, “if you don’t mind, I’m very tired and I’d like to go to bed.”
Not daring to argue with the sadness in her eyes, David watched as Ellen left, her path unerring as she headed for the door. The tables turned so swiftly, he was helpless to do anything but stare as she closed the door behind her. He stood lost in thought until the night chill finally roused him. Throwing a fresh log on the fire, he found the decanter of bourbon and retrieved his glass. It would be a long night and he had no other friends.
Chapter Two
Harry Gold, attorney for the late John Hartwell, arrived promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. The witching hour for lawyers, Ellen mused as she made her way to the library. As far away as the hall, her sensitive nose picked up the aromatic scent of an expensive cigar that always seemed to be in the air when Harry was around. Harry would probably die with a Havana clenched between his teeth. Turning the doorknob, she tensed involuntarily. Cigar smoke may have disguised any scent of David Hartwell she might recognize, but when he cleared his throat, she knew he was in the room. Her red curls severely anchored by tortoiseshell combs, her stiff spine sent an unmistakable message as she entered the library.
To David, looking up as he pored over some papers, Ellen looked every inch a queen as she glided across the room. Damned if she wasn’t intent on behaving like one, too, he grinned as he watched her raise her elegant chin and purse her dainty pink lips against any threat of conversation. From him! Harry Gold was another matter altogether. He watched as Harry hurried to her side, whispering his condolences, positioning a chair for her, assuring her comfort. Feeling slighted, David pulled his chair alongside Ellen’s and sat so heavily the chair squeaked in protest. By the way she frowned, he guessed that Ellen would have liked to protest, too, and it gave him bad-tempered satisfaction. But if he were honest, his temper had more to do with the hangover he had given himself than anything Ellen had done. Still, he felt as though he’d just won a small skirmish in a larger battle. What that battle was about, he had no idea, only that he and Ellen were its main combatants—its only combatants—and that she was fully engaged, too. Well, let the hostilities begin, he thought bitterly as he gave the go-ahead to Harry Gold.
“For the record, David, my condolences. Unfortunate business, eh? So sudden—John’s passing, I mean. You should have been told that he was ill but he refused to tell you. Kept saying he’d bounce back. He didn’t want you to think that you must come home, not if you didn’t want to.”
“Harry, we all knew it was for the best I left Montana. Better for me, better for my father.”
Harry shook his head, his mouth a melancholy twist. “We knew you believed that, David, but we never could figure out how to persuade you otherwise.”
“Too many memories,” David explained with shrug. “You know that better than most. There were some things I had to do alone. Make my own way, on my own terms.”
“Ah, well, what’s done is done. Shall I start with the pensions and endowments? There are quite a few.”
“Perhaps we might skip over them,” David suggested. “After all, we’re among friends, aren’t we, and I’m sure my dad wouldn’t have wanted us to drag this out. The endowments are probably everything they should be, especially since you drew them up. Don’t you agree, Ellen?”
If she didn’t understand his words, she surely understood his meaning when David covered her hand with his own. “Of course,” she agreed quickly, startled by the unexpected contact.
“Good,” he said softly, his hand hovering over hers. “Please, continue, then, Harry. We won’t say another word.”
“Well, then. In aid of cutting to the chase…” Throwing down the papers he was holding, Harry leaned back in his chair, his fingers a temple over his vast belly as he fastened his eyes on the ceiling. “John Hartwell has left the bulk of his estate to you both—equally.”
“Everything left is to be split down the middle. My guess is about two million each. With certain stipulations,” he warned as he lowered his eyes to face his audience of two. “Certain ironclad stipulations,” he added ominously.
This time it was Ellen who reached for the hand that had late imprisoned hers, her sightless eyes wide with surprise. David stared at the long, delicate fingers that curled around his hard knuckles, his mouth a tight slash that pulled at his scars. He watched her green eyes fill with tears, her lips quivering as she spoke.
“David, I had no idea, you must believe that! I mean, I knew he was leaving me something, he’d told me so. But two million dollars! I’ll sign it back over to you immediately. I only need a very little to tide me over. You’re his son, after all. I don’t deserve this.”
Harry reshuffled his papers and peered over his glasses. “I think, young miss, that perhaps I ought to finish before either of you makes any decisions. These ironclad stipulations, you see…” he explained, almost apologetic. “The situation is such that—I’m sorry, David, but this is the case—that you, ‘said David Hartwell, is required, in order to meet the terms of the will, to attend to the well-being of one Miss Ellen Candler, for the next four months…’”
“Excuse me?”
“‘…twenty-four hours a day,’” Harry continued, his voice becoming sharper and sterner, “‘seven days a week, until such time—deemed by her doctors, in writing—as no longer essential to her well-being.’ John has left behind for you, David, a sealed letter explaining his reasons. But in essence, if you refuse—or in the unlikely event