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increased until she gasped. “The blindness occurred because I hit my head. The doctors simply have not found the problem. They invent this hysterical paralysis to spare their own egos!”
    It wasn’t possible to reason with a brick wall, she told herself. “Mr. van der Vere, you’re hurting me,” she said quietly.
    All at once, his hands relaxed, although they still held her. He smoothed the soft flesh of her arms through the thin sleeves of her white uniform. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that Do you bruise easily, Miss Steele, despite your metallic name?”
    “Yes, sir, I do,” she admitted. He was standing quite
    close, and the warmth of his body and its clean scent
    were making her feel weak in the knees. She was look
    ing straight up at him, and she liked the strength of his
    face, with its formidable nose and jutting brow and glit
    tering gray eyes.
     
    44
     
    Blind Promises
     
    Diana Palmer
     
    45
     
    For just an instant his hands smoothed slowly, sensuously, up and down her arms. His breath quickened. “How old are you?” he asked suddenly.
    “I’m twenty-four,” she said breathlessly.
    “Do you know how old I am?” he asked.
    She shook her head before she realized that he couldn’t see the motion. “No.”
    “I’m thirty-seven. Nearly thirteen years your senior.”
    “Don’t let that worry you, sir; I’ve had geriatrics training,” she managed to say pertly.
    The hard lines in his face relaxed. He smiled, genuinely, for the first time since she’d been around him. It changed his whole face, and she began to realize the kind of charm such a man might be able to affect.
    “Have you, Saint Joan?” he murmured. He chuckled. “Have you ever been married?”
    “No, sir,” she said, aware of the primness of her own soft voice.
    His head tilted up and an eyebrow arched. “No opportunities?” he murmured.
    She flushed. “As you accused me, Mr. van der Vere, I’m rather prudish in my outlook. I don’t feel superior, I just don’t believe in shallow relationships. That isn’t a popular viewpoint these days.”
    “In other words you said no and the word got around, is that what you mean, miss?” he asked quietly.
    It was so near the truth that she gaped up at him. “Well, yes,” she blurted out.
    He only nodded. “Virtue is a lonely companion, is it not?” he murmured. He let go of her arms, and before she realized what he was doing, he framed her face with his big, warm hands. “I want to know the shape of your face. Don’t panic,” he said.
     
    But she didn’t want him to feel that long, ugly scar down her cheek, and she drew away as if he’d struck her sharply.
    His face hardened. “Is it so intimate, the touch of hands on a face?” he asked curtly. “Pardon me, then, if I offend you.”
    “I’m not offended,” she said stiffly, standing apart from him on legs that threatened to buckle. His touch had affected her in an odd way, “I just don’t like being touched, Mr. van der Vere.”
    His heavy brows arched up. “Indeed? May I suggest, miss, that you have more inhibitions than would be considered normal for a woman of your years?”
    She stiffened even more. “May I suggest that I’d rather have my inhibitions than your ill temper?”
    He made a rough sound and turned away. “At any rate you flatter yourself if you think there was more than curiosity in that appraisal. I can hardly lose my head over a figure I can’t even see.”
    The flat statement cruelly reminded them of his blindness. She felt angry with herself for denying him the shape of her face, but she hadn’t wanted him to feel the scar. It had made her less than perfect and much more sensitive than usual to her lack of looks.
    He started along the beach, faltering. “Are you coming, Nurse, or would you like to see me fall flat on my face in the surf?” he asked sharply.
    “Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Mr. van der Vere,” she said, taking his arm. “I won’t apologize for being