As Lord Brookham took her hand and twirled her around in the line, she glanced over her shoulder and, in an instant, she was locking eyes with him once more. Jeffrey started, and looked away quickly. He didn’t want to upset her. He imagined that a young lady like herself would not feel comfortable being stared at from across the room by a man as hideous as himself.
He couldn’t help himself, though, and soon looked back up. She was still watching him as she danced, and when they locked eyes again, she smiled.
He smiled back. It was an odd feeling. The burned skin on the right side of his face pulled tight when his lips curled. After all these years, he was still unaccustomed to smiling. He knew how it looked. How it drew attention to his deformity. Normally, he tried to keep his expression as neutral and blank as possible. But it was impossible not to smile back at her.
Jeffrey cleared his throat and drew his attention back to Mister Bradley. He forced himself to focus on the man as he made plans to visit the orphanage in person the following morning, to save Mister Bradley the trouble of having to call on him to collect the donation.
Soon after, Mister Bradley’s attention was monopolized by others and Jeffrey was left to, again, stand awkwardly alone in the sea of people. He walked slowly along the wall, trying not to stare at Lady Barbara, but finding it difficult to look away.
Her attention seemed split between Lord Brookham and himself. She kept glancing his way, so often that it could not have been an accident.
When the song was over, he watched as she seemed to make an excuse to Lord Brookham and went, alone, toward one of the servants carrying a tray of glasses.
Jeffrey felt pulled to her as if there was an invisible line between them that she tugged on with every casual glance in his direction. He wandered closer to her as she took a sip of champagne.
“Lady Barbara,” he said. “Will you do me the honor of dancing the next song with me?”
Chapter 10
Barbara couldn’t stop looking at him. Captain Pemberton looked like a man who had gotten stuck halfway through a cursed transformation. The left side of his face was beautiful, with a canny eye and a sharp, regal nose, but on the right side those strong features were blighted by scars that rippled his skin and pulled it into a painful looking twisted mask.
And yet, there was something soft about him. Something almost shy. The horror of his visage was tempered to a more gentle fascination by his nonthreatening demeanor.
She recognized him at once as the mysterious man on horseback she had passed on the road.
So, he is not from out of town after all.
Seeing him again excited her somehow. She had all but forgotten him, assuming that she would never again have the chance to meet the gentleman covered in scars and too shy to say good day to someone on the street.
As she danced with the dry Lord Brookham, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder for the Captain, and a thrill rocked through her to find him looking at her as well. It felt just as it had on the road when she’d turned to watch him riding away and found him looking back at her. Barbara was no stranger to the appreciative stares of gentlemen, but where those sorts of gazes normally irritated her, being watched by Captain Pemberton made her color rise for different reasons.
He was fascinating, that was all. There was mystery to him. Pain and depth and complexity. All things that Lord Brookham was in regrettably short supply of. She longed for the song to end, so that she could cease this dancing and find an excuse to return to the Captain’s company.
Lord Brookham could not dance and talk at the same time. His face was a mask of concentration as he seemed to struggle to remember all the movements of the reel.
Well, I suppose it’s better than having to suffer through his conversation as well as his wooden dancing.
Barbara found herself hoping that the Captain would not be led into thinking that her relationship with Lord Brookham was serious.
At last the musicians came to the end of the song and she gave a final curtsy to Lord Brookham across from her. She looked around for the Captain but could not see him in the throng of guests.
“You dance marvelously, Lady Barbara,” Lord Brookham was saying. His hand was on her elbow and Barbara could sense that he was endeavoring to draw her attention back to him. He must have noticed her distraction.
“Oh, thank you. I uh...” She was still looking about her. “I practice by myself to pass the time.”
“How droll,” Lord Brookham laughed. “You must come and visit me in town and we can practice together. It can’t do to practice dancing on your own.”
“As you wish, Lord Brookham,” she said absently, hardly paying attention. The musicians were making moves to begin another dance and she was trying to find an excuse to weasel out of another round with him.
“Lady Barbara,” came a gentleman’s voice behind her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing the next song with me?”
Barbara’s heart leapt into her throat at the sudden appearance of the Captain behind her. Her shoulders jerked at the shock of his unexpected proximity.
“Yes, of course. Nothing could please me more,” she said, the words spilling over each other as she slid her gloved hand into his.
“You’ll forgive me, Lord Brookham. For stealing her away for a moment,” Captain Pemberton said in an aside to the jilted gentleman.
Lord Brookham appeared surprised, but masked it with a genteel smile. “Naturally,” he said, before nodding his head and disappearing into the crowd.
Even through their gloves, Barbara could feel the warmth of his hand, and the tightening of his fingers around hers felt like something she’d never experienced before. Despite her many turns around many ballrooms with various gentlemen in her lifetime. She glanced down at his hand and wondered if his scars were contained to his face, or if that hand, which felt so strong and capable, was also dimpled with ravaged flesh beneath his glove.
When the music started, Barbara’s heart pounded afresh when she realized that this dance would be a waltz, a couples dance that was still frowned upon by some of the more prim in society.
Captain Pemberton seemed not to notice as his other hand slid naturally to her ribcage. His touch against her body sent a wave of sensation through her and she was reminded of her dream. Her nightmare. The sight of a man with flame and smoke pouring from his face washed over her with such force that even Captain Pemberton seemed to notice.
“Is everything all right?” He asked in a voice that was nearly too soft to be heard among the noise of the ball.
Barbara smiled, pushing the haunting image away. “Yes, everything is wonderful, Captain. I was just wondering, do you remember me?”
“From the road,” he answered.
Barbara smiled. “Yes. I was so curious about who you were. It was quite rude not to stop and greet me, you know.” She arched a brow at him, but her lips still carried a wry smile at the corner.
“You were dressed like a working girl. I had no way of knowing you were a Duke’s daughter.”
“You looked back at me.” His magnetism was such that she found herself, quite unconsciously, flirting. She tried to tease him into admitting his interest in her.
“And you’d be none the wiser if you hadn’t looked back at me yourself,” he countered.
Barbara blushed. He had a point there.
His movements were much lighter than those of Lord Brookham. There was an agility behind his every step and turn. Barbara imagined him on the deck of a war ship, his saber in hand, gazing steadfastly into the forbidding horizon. The fanciful image made her chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked her. There was, perhaps, a slight hint of defensiveness in his tone, but not enough to make him seem petulant or insecure.
“Oh, it’s silly. Do not make me say it,” she said, blushing slightly and trying to change the subject. “I believe you are the first officer I’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing with, you know.”
“And how doe
s it compare to the dancing of lords?” He asked, spinning her deftly under his arm.
For a moment she was tucked quite closely to his body and she inhaled the scent of fresh tobacco.
“Too soon to tell,” she replied coyly. “I am surprised, though, to have never heard of you before tonight.”
“Perhaps you think that rumors of a disfigured captain in your midst would be more widespread.”
Barbara set her jaw. He was baiting her, trying to test her good manners. Perhaps her flirting had offended him, and he was now trying to put her at a distance.
“I suppose so, Captain Pemberton. Does it bother you that I am interested?”
The steps of the dance took her away for a moment as she was passed between adjacent gentlemen. She craned her neck to keep him within her sights until everyone was returned to their original partner.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he said. “The reason you have not heard of me is because I keep my social life tied up in my naval career. I’m known among men of that stripe. But I tend to find the attention of more genteel society less…forgiving of my appearance.”
His hand shifted to her waist and for a moment Barbara was too breathless to speak. She understood then, for the first time, the controversy around the waltz. She’d not been susceptible to the influence of such close contact with her dancing partner before.
“I apologize if I have offended you. You must believe that it was unconsciously done,” she said. She sounded more breathless than she had intended.
“You have not offended me. Rather, I find your forthrightness refreshing. Do I not frighten you?” His eyes bored into her with an intensity that inspired something close to fear in her. Something dangerous seemed to run like an invisible current beneath the waltz that enclosed them together in the midst of the crowded ballroom.
“Frighten is not quite the word,” she replied.
“And which word would suit better?”
She gazed into his eyes. Even the eye on the scarred half of his face seemed untouched by the damage, and she felt that she could imagine clearly, for a moment, what he had looked like before. Wide set eyes, deep with unspoken thoughts, peered out above the aristocratic nose and plush lips.
Fascination. Intimidation. Stimulation.
“I don’t know yet, Captain Pemberton.”
“Then I shall ask again another time.”
Again their conversation was broken by the interruption of the dance steps. Frustration welled in Barbara’s chest and she wished that, instead of locked into these steps, she was talking with him in some quiet, private place.
“I should say that it is I who am more surprised at not having heard of you,” he said when they rejoined. “It is not common for a young lady to give such passionate speeches or devote herself so much to charity.”
Barbara gave a chagrined smile. “The only reason you have not heard of me before today must be that you are not often at these sorts of balls and events. I assure you, opinions of me swirl like London fog around this set.”
“And what opinions are those?” he asked, putting both hands on her waist to lift her slightly off the ground as he twirled her around. She gripped onto his shoulders and couldn’t help but notice the rippling of his muscles beneath his fine clothing.
“That I spend too much time with orphans and not enough with eligible bachelors,” she replied when he had set her back onto her feet. “I spend at least three hours every morning at the orphanage. I’m devoted to it.”
So if you wish to find me, that is where I will be.
The unspoken invitation hovered between them.
“I find that I prefer the company of people free from the falseness of wealth and breeding,” she continued.
His lips turned up in a smile. It seemed rather strange on him, that smile set into such a ruin of a face. The rest of the ball had faded away from her mind, and she was locked with him, alone despite the crush of people all around them.
“Yes, I can see why people would whisper about you,” he said. It felt like the best and most honest compliment she’d ever received.
“But my life is small and uninteresting. You must tell me now about yourself. You doubtless have stores of tales from your travels.”
Just as he was about to reply, the music ended. For a moment he hesitated before lettings his hands fall from her. The constructed ritual of dancing which allowed, under its strict parameters, a physical closeness that was not otherwise permitted, was over. Barbara felt suddenly cold, as though a warm shawl had been ripped from her shoulders when he took a step back from her.
She folded her hands in front of her. The sounds of the party now seemed louder than before and grated against her nerves.
“Would you like to take some air, My Lady?” He asked, craning his neck down to say it in her ear. It didn’t mean anything, she knew that he just wanted to be sure that she could hear him over the many other voices around them. And yet, the warmth of his breath against her ear felt illicit somehow, and a tingle of sensation traveled down her spine.
“Yes, thank you,” she murmured.
The double doors that led down to the garden had been flung open to keep the ballroom from growing too hot, and he led her toward the cool rush of air.
Out on the patio, they both looked up automatically at the large crescent moon that was rising above the trees. A thin layer of sweat that she had not been aware of before chilled against her skin and made her shiver. Other couples milled about on the lawn and amongst the flower beds, but it was much quieter out here. Even serene.
“Is it too cold?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I like it.”
She was standing to his left and, looking at his profile, it was impossible to tell that he had scars. The moonlight caressed the planes and soft angles of the unmarred half of his face, and for a moment she mourned the beauty that he might have been.
Only for a moment, though. She knew at the same time that she would not have paid him any mind if not for the strange, dreamlike quality of his face.
“Please, tell me of the open ocean. What’s it like?”
“Have you never sailed?” he asked. In the quiet of the night his voice took on a warmer, deeper tone.
“I’ve crossed the channel.”
“So, no. Not really,” he said with an expression that nearly bordered on smugness.
“All the more reason for you to tell me about it,” she offered.
“Ah. There you are.” Her father’s voice came from behind her. It felt as though a bubble had been popped by his sudden appearance.
“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know you were looking for me.”
Her father nodded toward the Captain before continuing to speak to her. “People are beginning to leave. Hostess duties, you know.”
“Oh. Of course. I…” she looked at Captain Pemberton, reluctant to leave his company.
He straightened up and then bowed to her. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lady.”
She flushed and dropped into a curtsy. “The pleasure has been mine, Captain Pemberton. You must not make yourself scarce now that we are introduced.”
“I shall endeavor not to.”
She was drawn away by her father and soon thrown into the fray of bidding farewell to her guests as the evening came to a prolonged end.
Chapter 11
Jeffrey woke with the dawn the morning after the ball. His eyes felt heavy and dry, and no matter how many times he rubbed them, he could not make the feeling go away. Exhaustion settled heavily on his shoulders, but despite the lack of sleep he had gotten the night before, he was light on his feet when he bounced down the stairs.
“Have the carriage readied,” he called to his butler as he sat down to a sparse breakfast. Porridge and toast were about all he could stomach most mornings, and he would have skipped the meal altogether if he didn’t think that he would be out of the house until well past lunch.
Jeffrey was normally a he
avy sleeper. Though he had many struggles throughout his life, falling asleep had never been one.
Last night had been different.
He could not get the sight of Lady Barbara out of his mind, nor stop replaying her every word. He had met many charming ladies in his life, but never had he been so transfixed by one. There seemed to be such depth to her, so much left unsaid.
While he may have been fascinated by women in the past, normally their distaste for him was enough to stifle his interest. Lady Barbara seemed to have no such reaction to his looks. She acted as though she could see through his exterior to the man beneath, and that thought thrilled him more than he could explain.
A Seductive Lady For The Scarred Earl (Steamy Regency Romance) Page 7