Yesterday's Scars. Carole MortimerЧитать онлайн книгу.
twenty-one, even though the age of consent was eighteen. But in a week’s time she would be twenty-one, and able to be her own boss and not ordered about as if she was still a child.
As she had expected, Trisha was sitting at her desk at the head of the room, marking the exercise books of the day. Hazel crept quietly into the room, hoping to surprise her friend. She hadn’t written telling Trisha of her return; the whole thing had been arranged in such a hurry there hadn’t been the time to do so even if she had wanted to.
‘Hi!’ she cried happily.
Trisha looked up, startled. Her face lit up as she recognised Hazel, throwing down her pen to rush over and hug her. ‘Oh, Hazel!’ She held her at arm’s length, her blue eyes mirroring her excitement. ‘When did you get back?’
‘Just now.’ Hazel’s smile was warm with happiness. ‘Literally. I only took time out to shower and change before coming over to see you.’ And visit the cabin, but she didn’t want to talk about that!
‘I’m flattered,’ her friend grinned. ‘Goodness, I’ve missed you!’
‘And I you. Your letters have been very welcome, though. I was so pleased for you when you passed all your exams. How does it feel to be teaching in the school you yourself went to?’
‘A bit strange at first. But I’m enjoying it,’ Trisha enthused. ‘You know I told you the authorities are trying to close the school down? Well, Rafe’s been really fantastic about it He’s persuaded them to keep it open for at least another year or so.’
‘That is a breakthrough.’
Hazel knew that the authorities were trying to close some of the smaller schools, believing them to be a waste of money. But she also knew that Rafe believed that the children should be kept in the area for as long as possible, and obviously he had managed to persuade the people concerned to his way of thinking, even if it was temporarily. She knew Rafe well enough to know that it would become a permanent thing.
‘Mm,’ Trisha gathered up the marked books, ‘Rafe’s been very helpful.’
‘And Celia?’
Trisha’s face darkened. ‘Celia is—Celia.’ She said the last with a shrug.
‘Sorry,’ Hazel grimaced. ‘That was a bit unfair. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve just left her.’
‘I see. It was terrible about Rafe, though, wasn’t it?’ Trisha effectively changed the subject. Celia’s resentment towards her brother’s young ward was public knowledge among the local people, and it was something that Hazel and Trisha had often discussed together, usually when Hazel had run from Savage House in tears after one of her slanging matches with Celia. ‘It’s quite a shock when you first look at him.’
‘Yes,’ Hazel agreed huskily. She wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t even seen him yet.
Trisha shuddered. ‘I can still remember the first time I saw him when I came back. God, he was a mess, Hazel. His face! At first I thought it had ruined his good looks, but I don’t know, now that the scarring has faded slightly I think it may have added to them. He was always a handsome devil, but now—wow!’
Hazel didn’t see how a scarred face and limp could add to a man’s attraction, but she didn’t argue with Trisha. To do that she would have to admit that she didn’t even know the full extent of Rafe’s injuries, that she hadn’t even known he had been injured until this morning.
She still didn’t know how Celia could have kept such a thing from her. Rafe could have died and she wouldn’t have known until it was too late. She shuddered at the thought. And Rafe had been burnt. She didn’t need to be told how horrific burns could be—or how painful. Rafe’s smooth brown skin, scarred and disfigured … She couldn’t bear it.
‘I would have come home myself if I’d been asked,’ she said coolly. ‘I—I didn’t realise just how seriously ill he was.’
‘Perhaps it’s as well that you didn’t. Mummy says Celia was acting like Lady Bountiful while he was ill in bed, ordering the estate workers about as well as the household staff. Half the people were threatening to down tools by the time Rafe was back at the reins.’
‘Someone should have told him what was going on.’
Trisha began to wipe the blackboard clean. ‘Impossible. To see Rafe you had to go through Celia, and she wouldn’t let you anywhere near him if she knew what you wanted to see him about. They all tried, but were told politely but firmly that the boss wasn’t to be disturbed.’
‘And I thought they’d all deserted me,’ drawled a deep lazy voice from behind them.
Trisha’s face flushed with dismay as she looked guiltily at the man standing a few feet behind Hazel. ‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed.
‘That’s right. I thought I might find you here, Hazel,’ he spoke to her rigid back. ‘Aren’t you going to turn around and say hello?’ His voice hardened.
Hazel had tensed as soon as she heard his voice, his deep drawl unmistakable. Rafe was standing just a few feet behind her, tall, attractive, arrogant Rafe. Yes, he was standing just behind her—and she couldn’t move! Her legs felt frozen to the spot and she just couldn’t move!
How could she face him again, remembering everything that had passed between them? She hadn’t seen him for three years, he would be a stranger to her now, a tall scarred stranger who had taunted and cajoled her for most of her twenty-one years.
But she had to face him, had to show him, as well as herself, that she wasn’t afraid of him. He would be a complete stranger to her now, but she had never understood him that well. He was too deep for her unsophisticated mind, too sensual for her unawakened innocence to take in. But three years had passed since their last meeting, three long years during which she had grown up.
Yes, she had to face him now, if only to prove to herself that she could do it.
SHE stiffened her shoulders, turning slowly, her gaze going straight to that scarred face still strangely dominated by taunting blue eyes. A deep scar ran from temple to jawbone on the left side of that dark compelling face, a scar dangerously close to the eye, although that appeared uninjured. Besides, James hadn’t mentioned an eye injury. The scar continued down the firm column of Rafe’s throat until it was obscured by the navy sweat-shirt he wore.
The scar gave him a rakish appearance. And while she realised it must have been very painful at the time, Hazel agreed with. Trisha, it did add to his attraction. He looked more devilish than ever. And women have always been attracted by that which offers a challenge.
He was leaner than she remembered, his thick black hair worn longer, well over his collar, although it suited his dark arrogance. Those deep blue eyes still mocked and scorned, the cynical twist to those firm lips was more pronounced.
He stood facing her, legs apart, arms folded in front of his muscular chest, challenge in every muscle and sinew of his powerful body. Hazel felt herself stiffen under that challenging gaze. So it was to be a fight as before! Well, she wasn’t quite the inexperienced teenager she had been before her stay in America.
‘Hello, Rafe,’ she said obediently, time enough to show him her newly acquired confidence at a later date.
His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, the scarring even more pronounced. ‘Not a very affectionate greeting after three years’ absence. Can’t you do better than that, Hazel?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ she snapped angrily, her poise momentarily forgotten. ‘Get down and grovel at your feet?’
He laughed outright at her outburst, a deep throaty sound that she found attractive even against her will. ‘Still the little hell-cat,’ he drawled softly, moving forward