Emmaline's heart stopped. “The duke?” she asked. There was more than one duke in attendance that evening though none she had met had been quite so young and bold looking as he.
“Theduke,” Jane said, nudging Emmaline in the ribs with her elbow. “Lord Alexander Black, the Duke of Westmarch.The Scarred Duke.”
Emmaline sucked in a deep breath. He didn't look at all scarred to her. In fact, he didn't look at all how she had picked the reclusive scarred duke that was so often the talk of gossip mongers and bored wives.
The man she pictured whenever she heard talk of him was balding, scarred and hunchbacked. He was a grim, gruesome, grotesque beast with a foul temper and a mouth that could breathe fire.
Clearly, she had read far too many fantasy books over the years. Lord Westmarch was so beautiful she could only picture him as the Prince of any fairytale.
As if he felt her watching him, the prince—no, the duke—turned his attention on her again. Still, she only saw the one side of his face as he did not entirely turn from the gentleman he had been talking to. Though their conversation continued, it appeared his attention was entirely upon her.
And again, Emmaline could not look away.
She was caught once more by those wonderful, dark and mysterious eyes, wondering what it might be like to look in them up close. Were they truly as dark as they appeared?
She was so enamored by him that she barely heard Jane explaining, “The gentleman with him is Lord Sean Seymour. The son of Viscount Seymour.”
Emmaline nodded her head but still couldn’t blink. A smile played upon the corner of the duke's lips but just as quickly as it began, it was gone.
He blinked and looked away, leaving Emmaline disappointed once more.
Those eyes were intoxicating.
“Emmaline, are you quite alright?” Jane asked, squeezing Emmaline's forearm. Even through their gloves, Emmaline could sense her sister's concern.
Clearing her throat, Emmaline blinked several times, feeling as if her mind were on the verge of being melted.
“I… umm… I do believe I might actually be coming down with a headache, after all,” she admitted, clutching her head with her free hand and wafting her fan at her face with the other.
“You would say that now that the musicians have begun again,” Jane laughed, and Emmaline's chest tightened. She hadn't even noticed the music kicking in again.
“Don't look now. Here comes Lord Beaton,” Jane warned even as she picked up Emmaline’s dance card and looked at the name under the ones that had been scratched out. “Poor you.”
“Poor you,” Emmaline countered when she noticed Lord Ryeworth making his way toward them also.
“I do believe I got off lightly compared to you,” Jane said quietly, winking before she turned to meet Lord Ryeworth and accept his dance.
Emmaline's stomach twisted. She feared her sister was right.
“Lady Moreau, might you permit me to have this dance?” Lord Beaton asked, dipping down low as he offered her his hand.
“Of course, my lord,” Emmaline said, feeling the eyes of her stepmother on her from across the room.
Lord Beaton, though only three years her senior, was already balding and there was a rather musty smell about him no matter how he had tried to cover it with sweet smelling perfumes.
Yet, Emmaline was forced to grit her teeth and bear it for it would be entirely unacceptable for her to decline a dance, as she had to remind herself over and over again.
Though, it appeared, there was nothing to stop somebody from rescuing her.
The dance had barely begun, only having taken a quarter of a turn around the floor before somebody stepped up beside them and said, “Lord Beaton, forgive me but I fear I must cut in, if I may?”
The voice was not one that Emmaline recognized though something about it spoke directly to her heart. It fluttered uncontrollably as she turned to find Lord Westmarch holding out his hand.
When she glanced anxiously at Lord Beaton to see his reaction, she was surprised to find his face had grown pale and his eyes round as that of a doe facing down the barrel of a shotgun.
“I… umm… Your Grace, of course!” Lord Beaton exclaimed, practically tripping over himself to offer up Emmaline’s hand.
It was quite clear that she had no say in the matter and quite frankly, she was intrigued to learn what was so frightening about the man.
