Page 18 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Well, naturally he was. He was still one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom, still a marquess. He knew well enough that was all it took for some people. Such blessings could turn the most disagreeable and ill-favoured men into prime husband material.

Sally wasn’t like that. She was kind. Yet she had not pitied him, or she had known enough not to show it, at least. It was more than though, he realised.

She had not known him before the accident, only knew this new incarnation of himself, and somehow that was freeing, allowing him to shake off the shackles of a life he could never claim again with a little less grief.

Whatever had possessed him to ask her to take a bite of the tomato he could not fathom.

He’d never have done it before he’d lost his sight.

Lord, for all he knew, she was cross-eyed and pockmarked.

No, his mind rebelled against that idea.

She was beautiful, inside and out. Yet if she wasn’t, what did he care?

He could not see her, could only sense the beauty of her existence in the world.

The calm, peaceful presence she exuded had struck him the moment she appeared in his bedroom.

He had felt it again today when she arrived on the terrace, her sweetly teasing voice a balm to his angry soul, and yet that peaceful aura had fled the moment she had knelt beside him, her soft hands guiding his to her mouth.

When he had felt her warm lips brush his fingers, he had almost leapt from his skin, the sensation so shockingly erotic, so tantalisingly forbidden.

Desire had risen and burned, and he had been at once elated that he could still feel such visceral need, and appalled he was so shamelessly tempted to dally with a serving girl.

It must not happen again. So he had been cruel, dismissing the gift she had given him when the sweet, tangy flavour of the tomato had exploded upon his tongue, all the more pleasurable for knowing he shared it with her.

That same flavour had flooded her senses, had covered her tongue.

His thoughts snagged on the idea of her tongue, imagining taking it into his mouth and seeking more of that tartly delicious—

No!

“Are you sure? I felt certain you’d like a top up.”

Stonehaven really did jump this time, so startled he nearly dropped the glass.

“Damn you, Beaumarsh! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a blind man? Your idea of a joke, is it?”

“I didn’t sneak. It’s not my fault you were daydreaming. What in heaven's name were you thinking about? You looked positively transported.”

“Mind your own damn business,” Stonehaven snapped, irked and unnerved to realise he had been observed. He had not even realised he had spoken aloud. “And you knew very well I could not see you. How did I know you were offering me brandy?”

There was a pause as Beaumarsh considered this. “No idea, honestly. You just said no as I was about to ask you if you wanted more. I forgot you couldn’t see me.”

“Hmph! Well, I do.” Scowling, he held out his empty glass and listened as Beau refilled it.

“That had better be a healthy measure,” he groused, lifting it tentatively to his lips.

He had discovered drinking was a far more complex undertaking when you could not judge how much was in the glass after upending several full glasses down his front.

“Did you see Bea?” Beaumarsh asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Clemmie is looking for her.”

“No,” Stonehaven replied, grateful for that.

He did not want the beautiful young woman around him.

He feared he could sense her pity and, worse, he would never see the admiration shining in her eyes again.

She had been too polite, too innocently pure and perfect to attract his interest, but he was male enough to enjoy the regard of a woman most men would consider a nonpareil.

His tastes had always run to females with minds of their own and the audacity to speak the truth.

He could not be doing with pretty nothings, and polite conversation bored him witless, which was why he had never bestirred himself to find a wife.

The marriage mart was filled with such well-bred girls.

It was why he and Anne had always been such good friends, for she was too headstrong and outspoken, but having known her since she was a babe, he had only ever felt brotherly affection towards her.

Yet, seeing her again after such a long absence, and in the light of Beaumarsh’s marriage to Clementine, he had thought, why not?

It was easier, after all, than trying to find another woman who wouldn’t bore him to tears.

Yes, he and Anne would likely murder each other in a very short space of time, but at least that was better than contemptuous indifference.

The idea of marrying her now, however, when she was doing so only out of guilt and pity, well that was another matter.

But it held a certain appeal too. She was strong enough to stand up to him, and honourable enough never to lie to him.

Anne would do just as she promised, she would run his household and ensure no one pulled the wool over his eyes, or the rug out from under him.

“Anything new, then?”

“Like what?” Stonehaven demanded irritably. “You’ve spent all day with me, save for however long I’ve been sitting here giving my ears a rest. What could be new?”

For a moment, Stonehaven felt a stab of alarm, wondering if Beaumarsh had seen his interaction with Sally.

“Well, it’s just I was speaking to Clemmie and Bea told her that Anne visited you. Knowing what I now do about your past, well… I wondered.”

There was a hint of reproach in Beau’s voice, and Stonehaven sighed.

He did not know why he had never mentioned his friendship with Anne to Beau over the years, or why he had refused to explain their past when he’d discovered her in Little Valentine.

Perhaps because the world he inhabited with Beau, and the one he had lived in with Anne, growing up in Wiltshire, had seemed entirely separate.

When Anne had arrived for her first season in town, it had felt wrong to find her there, and he had deliberately not sought her company often.

That had hurt her, he knew, and but when he had realised she had developed a tendre for him it had been imperative he keep his distance until the affliction wore off.

He knew it would. Young women of that age were forever forming passions for fellows only to change their minds a short time later.

He had seen his friends come a cropper often enough to know it was only a girlish fancy and would wane in time.

“Did you ever propose to her?”

“Yes. Before—” Stonehaven waved a hand at his face.

“And?”

“Turned me down flat.”

“Oh.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Stonehaven snorted.

“Good God, Beau. I wasn’t in love with her. I didn’t get my feelings hurt,” he said, pouting like a small boy denied a treat.

Beaumarsh tutted. “You are such an arse. Just because you’re blind doesn’t mean I don’t know it, you realise?”

Stonehaven grinned, relieved beyond measure Beau treated him no differently than before. Save having the patience to read to him for hours on end in the hopes he wouldn’t lose his mind entirely.

“Fine. You proposed because you couldn’t think of anything better to do, she turned you down. So why was she here?”

“To ask me to marry her.”

Stonehaven enjoyed the following silence while Beau digested this. There was a sigh.

“Well, damn you. Don’t leave it at that!”

“The foolish creature believes the accident is her fault because she created a situation that might have been avoided,” Stonehaven replied, wishing he could see Beau’s face.

It was so much harder to judge people's reactions when you could not see them. “She feels guilty and now thinks I’m a lamb in need of saving before my staff slaughter me and steal all my worldly goods.”

“Ah.”

“I refused.”

“Naturally.”

“Will she try again?”

“Damn it, don’t sound so hopeful!” Stonehaven said crossly.

“Sorry. I just—”

“I know . I know you’re worried about me, about the future, Good lord, does everyone believe I lost my wits with my sight?

Do you all think I don’t know I’m likely to be a prisoner in one small corner of a house so bloody vast the staff can’t find all the rooms?

Does that mean I ought to saddle myself with a woman who is only marrying me because she feels bad?

I have a little pride left, you realise. ”

“Yes, but you asked her before, you must have—”

“Temporarily lost my mind,” he cut in, before Beau could spin some wild tale about realising he had feelings after so many years or some such tosh. “The truth is, I was jealous.”

“Of Anne?”

“No! Good God, you’re dim,” Stonehaven objected crossly, taking a large swallow of his brandy. “Of you, of this… this thing you have with Clementine.”

“The thing?” Beau repeated blankly. “With Clementine?”

“Yes.”

“You mean that I love her, and she loves me?” his friend suggested.

“Yes, yes, that,” Stonehaven said dismissively, waving his hand in Beau’s direction, or hoped was his direction, anyway.

“You were jealous of what we had, and so you asked a woman you don’t love, who doesn’t love you, to marry you.”

“Yes, exactly,” Stonehaven said, relieved the penny had finally dropped.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why? It makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Stonehaven objected.

“Talking to you gives me a headache,” Beau said with a sigh.

“Fair enough. Talking to you gives me the pip,” Stonehaven retorted.

Beau gave a snort of amusement but let the topic drop, much to Stonehaven’s relief.

Anne’s proposal was one he must refuse, but the future loomed before him like a great thick fog, filled with sheer cliff faces and rocky terrain.

Anne had been a dear companion once, and one he might lean on, rely on, if only he could put his pride to one side for long enough to let her.

Yet his pride was all he had left, that and a pig-headed determination that no one should ever have cause to pity him.

There must be a way to make a life for himself without being a burden to a wife or employing a nursemaid to ensure he didn’t hurt himself the moment he got out of bed.

Such a life would take courage, though, courage of a sort he was uncertain he possessed.

Stonehaven knew he was no coward. He had always stood up for himself, and for those weaker than him when the need arose, yet the courage to live when his life was no longer what he had assumed it would be… that was something else entirely.