“So, you intend to become a hermit then? Shun everyone, society, your family, all of it, and live by yourself like a troll beneath a bridge, growling at passersby?” Both amusement and aggravation dueled for dominance in her tone. “Perhaps swiping at them when you’re bored.”
“If I do, it’s none of your affair.” He watched her reflection in the window glass, made possible by the darkness outside. Grudgingly, Finn admitted to himself that she made quite a fetching picture, all pale skin and fiery Titian hair that glittered with jewel-encrusted pins. “And I don’t growl.” Why had she chosen that particular analogy? Did she suspect his fondness for fairy stories? Perhaps she was a witch hiding in plain sight with the ton.
Get hold of yourself, man. None of this equates to magic and make believe found in fiction, and neither is she a good model for a book.
“You’re doing it right now.” Obviously not deterred by that, she came abreast, looking at him in the window glass. “You’ll grow old in that chair because you feel your life is over, helpless as the world moves on without you.”
“My life is over,” he ground out from around clenched teeth.
“That’s where you’re wrong. The life you knew before is over. This one is new with unlimited possibilities.”
“How dare you!” His intense whisper didn’t put her off. Finn sputtered as he attempted to form his next words. How had he been so unfortunate as to have himself beset by the likes of her? “What difference does it make? My new life is a prison.” He hadn’t meant to tell her that; the words had merely tumbled out.
“Not from what I can see.” Her tone rang with merriment, and every jolly inflection made him frown and his chest tighten with irritation. Again, she assumed to make judgments, no doubt erroneous.
“Then, pray, enlighten me. Finn rolled his eyes as he turned his head to glance at her. “For I see a life cut short of activity and purpose, but long on dullness and depression.” Why he’d told her the barest truth of what he was living, feeling, he couldn’t imagine. Perhaps he was indeed in desperate need of conversation with someone other than his mother or his valet.
Or his cat.
“Hmm. That’s unfortunate.” She shrugged. The light scent of orange blossoms filled the air—sunny, like her damnable personality. “You’re handsome and vital. A member of good standing in the ton. Well connected. A war hero—”
“Stop.” The order was just shy of a snarl. “I am not a hero.” Didn’t he possess the ring that proved it? The ring he’d been too much a coward to return to its rightful owner? Surreptitiously, he moved a forefinger over his waistcoat pocket where the slight outline of the trinket rested. The ring that his best friend had entrusted him with giving to his intended? It sat like a hot coal in the small pocket. A shaft of guilt speared through his chest, stealing his breath. He could have saved his best friend, but he’d failed. Hell, he’d failed at the one task the man had given him. What good was he? The heavy weight of depression sank in on him. “The rest doesn’t matter,” he finished in a whisper and wished like mad he was alone.
As if he’d left the battlefield mere seconds ago, hot, all-consuming pain shot through his back. The muscles in his legs were heavy and didn’t obey his brain’s command to move with alacrity. Cannon fire thundered in his ears. The earth beneath his prone body trembled. Closer and closer the charge of the enemy came…
“Major Storme?” The sound of a woman’s concerned voice yanked him from the nightmare. Her fleeting touch on his shoulder sent heat through his chest. “Major Storme? Are you with me?”
Finn wiped at the sweat on his upper lip and gave a shaky nod. “Yes. A memory suddenly terrorized me.” It was the only way to explain it. “What were you saying?” He needed to concentrate on something other than the past.
“Uh, I said, I think you’re wrong.”
“Is that so?” God, did she know how to say anything else? He didn’t have time to argue with the woman, for it would take all his concentration not to let the gripping sadness consume him while in polite society. His curiosity bloomed. He turned his chair to face her. There was nothing in her expression to indicate she’d found fault with his temporary foray into insanity. Damn, but she was a daring miss to play with his brand of fire. Nothing good could come from it, and the thought both impressed and annoyed him. “Why is that?” Was it in answer to her question or his thought?
“Yes.” The addlepated lady nodded as if she had no idea how her tossed off words had affected him. “You don’t need working legs to feel self-worth. There is a whole life ahead of you, Major Storme. Don’t let bitterness or jealousy rot your soul or jade your attitude.” Concern shadowed her eyes. “Neither will help.”
Though he wanted to deliver her a sound dressing down, Finn shook his head while anger mounted in his chest and the voices in his head told him he was useless as a man now. “You know nothing of it.” There was nothing else to say. “We’re done here.” He attempted to wheel away and put much-needed distance between them, but Lady Jane blocked his path. The silk of her gown brushed his knee and slid over his left leg.
Oh, but he wished he could feel the rasp of that fabric or ascertain the warmth therein against his lower extremities. How long had it been since he’d touched anything having to do with a woman who wasn’t his mother? He knew how long, of course. Once the initial wound had healed and he realized his paralysis was permanent. Forcing the thoughts away, he glared up at her while heartily resenting her optimistic outlook, her easy smile that brought out a dimple in her right cheek, her damned inexplicable interest in him.
“What do you want, Lady Jane?” he finally asked, though he would no doubt begrudge her answer. She knew him not at all and he wished to keep it that way. Before he glimpsed pity in her eyes or disgust in her face.
As everyone showed eventually.
The crowd in the room shifted, and he started in surprise. For the moments that he’d spoken—sparred—with her, he’d forgotten the presence of other people. Before she could answer, a young gentleman came over to her.
“Good evening, Lady Jane,” he said, his words tripping over themselves in his haste to secure her full attention. The man completely ignored Finn. “Your friend Fanny told me I should come talk with you.”
“How wonderful. I’ll have to remember to thank her,” she replied, and the melodious tones of her voice reflected the same graciousness that was in her expression. She shot a glance at Finn and shrugged in apology. “However, I was in the middle of a conversation with—”
“I missed you at the last event you and I both attended,” the man rushed on, interrupting her.
“Oh. I’m afraid I don’t recall your name.” She blinked and a frowned creased the smooth perfection of her forehead. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
Finn ignored their conversation. He took the opportunity to study her in profile. The flare of her hips and the swell of her breasts offset her narrow waist. The creamy tops of those globes caught his attention purely for the aesthetics, for they certainly didn’t provoke a reaction from his shaft thanks to the damned injury. In that time since his rehabilitation and his return to England, he’d never let himself think about a woman erotically, for there was no point. However, now, staring at her, breathing in her sunny scent, he couldn’t help himself from wondering.
What did her skin feel like? If he were to kiss her, would her pillowy lips cradle his? When her hair was let down, would it brush her bum? Were the curls hiding her sex the same color or a bit darker? For that matter, if the two of them knew each other better, would she consent to use those luscious lips on various portions of his anatomy in order to stimulate an erection?
For the love of God, man, rein yourself in! Even if that were possible and she were willing, you can’t maintain enough hardness to actually pleasure her.