Chapter Eight

M ark felt unsteady in Helen's presence. She made his blood hot and he had no idea what she would do or say next. He had a hard time focusing on the horrifying snake before him, let alone sketching it.

Oddly enough, he'd never held a baby before today, although young Arthur was certainly a large one. Something inside him changed when he held the boy. He was the younger son and his father had rarely even seen him. Mark was the spare after all. He couldn't imagine the late Earl holding him. Nor taking him with him anywhere. Pelford, however, seemed to revel in his son's company. He was the portrait of a doting father and not at all ashamed of it. He behaved as if nothing could be more enjoyable than a day spent with his toddler son.

Even Mark's mother was not the affectionate sort. When he returned from Waterloo missing a leg, she would not even look at him for months, let alone touch him or embrace him. She'd always preferred James, his elder brother. But even with him, she had not been physically affectionate. There had never been much warmth in his home or between the members of his family.

The only person who had loved him unconditionally was his brother James. He'd been Mark's mentor, friend and the person he looked up to the most. James had taught him how to ride a horse, drive a team, flirt with girls and throw a wicked left hook. His elder brother hadn't looked away when Mark returned from the war without a leg. He hadn't treated him like a cripple or an incompetent fool.

How he missed him! Even more than Mark missed the whole person that he used to be.

Mark realised that one of the ways Helen showed affection was by touch. Like the animals she studied and talked about. That was why she had leaned her head against his leg that day in the garden and his shoulder today. Her touch was more eloquent than a thousand words. She had been comforting him both of those times. But when she took his arm and then his hand, she hadn't been seeking or giving comfort. Nor did she seem to pity him. She had touched him because she wanted to.

He could have laughed aloud. The one woman who was not repulsed by his scars and his wooden leg was already in love with another man. Not that he would have pursued her if she wasn't. Helen deserved a healthy man who could love her and that didn't have past demons. Still, he revelled in the simple pleasure of closeness to another human. A beautiful one at that. Glancing at Helen, he saw her light blue eyes were watching him. He continued to draw the Indian boa.

After several minutes, he held up his notebook. ‘Does my sketch meet your approval?'

She smiled, nodding. ‘You have a rare talent. Your drawings will look marvellous in the centre of my book. I only hope the person who creates the wooden block template will do them justice.'

Mark opened his mouth, but before he could speak a lion roared. He jumped in his chair.

Helen giggled at his reaction. ‘She's ready to hunt, poor thing. But cannot, because she is kept in a cage for people to walk by and gawk at.'

‘The female lion?'

She scooted her chair closer to his, so that their knees were touching. Luckily, she was on his right side and it was his good knee. A jolt of desire flashed through his chest.

‘The female lions are the hunters in the pride.'

‘Fascinating.'

Holding her hand out, he saw that a spider was crawling in her palm. ‘But not quite as fascinating as a spider. After the female mates with the male spider, she eats him.'

Mark laughed, both surprised and horrified at this titbit of knowledge.

‘What are you two talking about?' Pelford asked from behind them. He was carrying Arthur in his arms, the baby's chubby hand still holding Mark's cane, his eyes half closed.

Helen beamed at her brother-in-law. ‘The reproductive habits of arachnids.'

Pelford smiled, nonplussed. ‘Sounds like titillating stuff. But Arthur needs to go home for his nap.'

Helen stood up first, yawning. ‘I could use a nap myself, monkey. I don't like town hours. I don't like anything about London. I just want to go home to the country.'

She didn't offer to help him to his feet and Mark was glad of it. He hated feeling like an invalid. As though he was less than a man.

Once to his feet, he offered her his elbow. Helen grinned at him and placed her hand on his arm, squeezing it. She pressed the side of her body against his. Mark didn't think she was flirting with him. She simply seemed to enjoy his touch for whatever reason. Yet her very presence sent his heart racing and his blood pumping for the first time since he'd returned from war. She had no idea how beautiful, how rare she was. Or how long it had been since he'd been with a woman.

Pelford hailed a hack and they took Mark home first. He tried to return Mark's cane, but young Master Arthur wailed when it was taken away.

Mark handed the cane back to the squealing boy. ‘He can keep it.'

Arthur had the silver ball on the top of the cane back in his mouth and was sucking on it as if it were milk. Pelford thanked him.

Helen smiled and something inside his hollow chest shifted. ‘We shall have to go again so that you can draw the rattlesnake and the anaconda.'

‘Oh, goodie! I can hardly wait,' Pelford said ironically and everyone laughed, including little Arthur.

Turning around, Mark walked inside his house.

Alone.

As it had to be. He was too damaged for anything else.