He had scarce been able to believe it when she had flung herself out onto the ice like that. And when he had heard her scream…For one sickening moment he had pictured her lying injured, her face distorted with pain, frozen for all eternity in agonised death throes…
And then, when he had realised that scream was bordering on a cry of exhilaration, that she was relishing the danger, totally oblivious to the effect her reckless escapade might have upon him…
She gazed up at him in shock, all her pleasure from the little adventure dashed to pieces.
‘If you think me an idiot,’ she retorted, stung by his harsh words, ‘you should not have asked for my opinion!’ She swatted his hands away from her shoulders, taking such a hasty step backwards that her skirt ripped. ‘And now look what you have made me do! Whenever I come anywhere near you it ends in disaster!’
Disaster? he echoed in his mind. This girl had no notion of what disaster truly was. She had come nowhere near disaster.
He tamped down on his surge of fury, acknowledging that it was not her with whom he was angry. Not really. God, Lucinda! Would her ghost never leave him be?
Nobody deserved to die so young. No matter what she’d done. For a moment he was right back in the day he had heard of Lucinda’s death, ruing the decision he had taken to wash his hands of her. He should have stayed with her, curbed her. She had been so wild he ought to have known she could be a danger to herself. He had lived with the guilt of her death, and that of the innocent baby she’d been carrying, ever since. Guilt that was exacerbated by the knowledge that a part of him had been relieved he was no longer married to her. Yes, she had set him free. But death was too great a price for any woman to pay.
It was with some difficulty that he wrenched himself back to the present, and the woman who was examining the damage to her gown with clear irritation. It was only a gown. Just a piece of cloth that had been torn. Had she no sense of perspective?
‘I have already told you I am willing to replace your gown…’
‘That was another gown!’ she snapped, made even angrier because he had not noticed she was wearing an entirely different colour today. ‘And I have already told you that giving me such things is out of the question!’
That was correct. He had forgotten for a moment that she was merely a guest in his house. That he had no right to buy her clothing. To question her conduct. To be angry with her.
To care what happened to her.
Helen saw his face change. He no longer looked angry. It was as though he had wiped all expression from it.
‘I asked for your opinion,’ he said in a flat, expressionless tone, ‘because you are never afraid to give it. You tell me the truth. Because you care nothing for what I may think of you.’
‘Oh, well,’ she huffed, feeling somewhat mollified. It was true that, from what she had observed, most of the people who had come here for Christmas had some kind of hidden agenda. ‘Then I apologise for my angry words.’ She had lashed out in a fit of pique because he very clearly had no problem keeping his mind off her lips. No, he could not possibly have entertained one single romantic thought towards her, or he could not have chastised her in that overbearing manner. Speaking of having some responsible adult to watch over the children, implying he thought she was most definitely not!
‘Though,’ she said ruefully, ‘I do not know as much about children as you seem to imagine. The post I am about to take is my first. However, I do think this will be a lovely surprise for them.’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at the glassy smooth surface he had created. Then she looked straight at him. ‘Or for any adult who does not have too inflated an opinion of their own dignity.’
‘So you think I have an over-inflated view of my importance?’ he replied coldly. ‘You think me a very dull fellow, in fact? As well as being hard and unfeeling when it comes to the plight of elderly relatives? I see.’
He gave her a curt bow. ‘Perhaps it is time we returned to the house.’ He eyed her nose, which had a fatal tendency to go bright red in cold weather. His lips twisted with contempt. ‘I can see that you are getting cold.’
She knew it looked most unattractive, but did he really have to be so ungentlemanly as to draw attention to it? Anyone would think he was trying to hurt her.
As if he wanted to get back at her for hurting him.
Oh. No…surely not?
But if that were the case…
‘I never said I thought you hard and unfeeling. Well, not exactly! Don’t go pokering up at me like that!’ she protested.
To his back.
He was already striding out in the direction of the house. She would have to trot to keep up with him, never mind catch up with him. She stopped, hands on her hips, and gave a huff of exasperation.
If only it had snowed recently. There was nothing she wanted so much as to fling a large wet snowball at him and knock his hat off!
Except, perhaps, put her arms round him in a consoling hug and tell him she had never meant to insult him. Though she would have to catch up with him to accomplish that. And he had no intention of being caught.
‘Ooh…’ she breathed, shaking her head in exasperation with herself. What on earth had made her fancy there had been a glimmer of attraction burning in his eyes when he had invited her to come walking with him? Well, if it had ever been there it was gone now. He had just looked at her as though she were something slimy that had crawled out from underneath a rock.
It was not the kind of look she was used to getting from men. Aunt Bella had reminded her only recently that she was a pretty girl. Had urged her to win Mr Cadwallader over with one of her smiles. Had she become vain in recent years? She lowered her head in chagrin as she began to trudge back to the house in Lord Bridgemere’s wake. Though she had never actively sought it, she had come to regard flattering male attention as her due.
There were some who would say she was getting a taste of her own medicine, no doubt. Because whenever one of the men of Middleton had sidled up to her in the market, or some such place, under some spurious pretext, to tell her how pretty she was, she had felt nothing for them but contempt. And now the first man she had met who had actually awoken some interest was completely impervious to her charms. He had not paid her a single compliment, nor tried to hold her hand, or snatch a kiss. And yet whenever she was in Lord Bridgemere’s vicinity kissing seemed to be all she could think about.
Whereas he, to judge by the stiff set of his shoulders as he drew steadily further and further away, found her annoying.
She flinched, wondering why that knowledge should hurt so much. These days he was out of her reach socially, anyway. Perhaps, she decided glumly, it was just that he represented everything that was now out of her reach. The social standing and the affluence that she had taken for granted when she and Aunt Bella had been so comfortably off.
There was nothing so appealing as something that you knew you could never have.
That afternoon Helen took the opportunity to slip away to the library, since the light in there was so much better than it was in their room, with her sewing basket tucked under her arm. She had told her aunt that she intended to make a start on the alterations she had already decided her gowns needed, and the minor repairs her encounters with Lord Bridgemere had made necessary. But really she wanted to get on with the little gift she had been sewing for Aunt Bella. Besides which, the floor-to-ceiling windows contained some heraldic designs which she wanted to sketch. She had decided to use them as a basis for another project which, it had occurred to her, she must complete very swiftly, since it lacked only three days until Christmas.
She