She guessed that he was a dozen years older than her own age of two-and-twenty, but his austerely handsome features defied such banalities as age.
He stepped back into the shadows, face twisting in fury. He ordered, “Go, now.”
Frightened, she scurried off, her heart pounding in her throat, fearing that he would come after her. As she entered the ballroom again, a furtive look over her shoulder proved he was not there.
Who was that man with the scars and the devil?
“Ariadne!” her mother marched up to her, “Where were you?”
“The-the water closet, mother,” she lied. “I got lost on my way back.”
Ophelia hmphed. “Well, come on. Two lords asked me for your hand in the upcoming dances. If you missed them, I’d be very upset.”
“I’m sorry, mother,” she said, swallowing over the lingering strains of fear still singing in her chest.
“I’ll get you a drink of water and then introduce you to Lord Hamish.”
As her mother went off, Ariadne looked over her shoulder again, as if the man were looming over her, his piercing gaze jabbing through her—she shivered.
One thing was for sure: the sight of him was not for the weak.
That young miss surely is an odd one.
With the book he had liberated from the library, Cedric padded to his study with his dog at his side. Entering the room, he rested the book on his massive oak desk before pouring a glass of whiskey.
Athena had padded off to lie near the fire, the light reflected off the dark spots on her pure white coat. The mirror above the bar,illuminated by the wall sconces, showed the thick map of scars that extended from the side of his nose all the way to his left ear, back at him.
Thank god his hair had grown out enough to hide some of the marred skin; it was a reflection he was familiar with, but was one that sent unwitting women, children, even some men into paroxysms of fear at seeing him.
That lady a while ago; just the same.
Returning to his desk, he tried to put some semblance of organization to the tempest of papers over it. As he began to gather his thoughts for his speech at Westminster in a week, his mind invariably strayed to the little miss in the library.
She had a certain beauty to her; there was no denying that. Her wide-set eyes and plush mouth had some charm to them, but he could not overlook her crying because no lord wanted to waltz with her.
That sort of weakness soured his stomach.
Have some sympathy. Ladies have little in the way of prospects if they did not marry well and be able to live the gentle life their father gave them. Remember Helena.
His hand tightened so severely that he almost snapped the pen in half. Forcing his hand to drop the pen. Instantly, he rubbed his temple as a headache began to bloom.
Helena…
Helena was not like that, Miss. Helena reveled in flirting with every man who crossed her path, behind my back and in front of my face.
“This miss is not that…” he struggled to find the word. “…brazen.”
Dropping every pretense of working, he sagged into his seat as his eyes landed on a stack of unopened mail, the tower a teetering stack about to fall over.
Reaching for the topmost one, he opened it and, after reading the content, discarded it when it had the words ‘invitation’, ‘ball’, or ‘lady would like to interest you’.
He opened one of the last three to read.
Cedric,
You recluse bore, I am inviting you to my house for a friendly game of cards and wine. If you do not come, I will ride seventy miles to drag you out.
Respectfully,
