Page 12 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Louisa frowned, wondering who called on her and why their visit had discomfited her mother. She had no friends, hence she hardly had any callers—at least since the accident. The few friends she had, they had left since then.

This was in no way their fault. It had been a deliberate decision on her part. She had grown tired of the pitiful looks they threw her way whenever they met. It felt like she was attending her own funeral while she was still alive whenever she was with them, and that was ridiculous because she could not, for the life of her, understand why they made such a fuss over a little scar.

Some people might argue that the scar marred her face and made her unattractive and unable to attract suitors, but she preferred to have someone who liked her beyond her physical attributes. A person who loved her for her personality and intellect. A person who would not be discouraged simply because of a tiny scar on her face.

She knew it was a fanciful thought. It even sounded unlikely to her, but there was a part of her that held out hope that she might meet that special person.

That was the reason she would rather remain unmarried than marry Lord Pemberton. He could not hold her gaze any more than her former friends could. Since there was no possibility that her friends were visiting, the only other person who would call was the Duke of Colborne. But that was not likely, right?

The man was a recluse who rarely came out of his home. What were the odds that he would make the sacrifice of leaving thesafety of those old walls simply to come and punish a daft girl who had trespassed on his property?

But then he was within his rights to punish her. It was highly unlikely thathewas calling on her, but notimpossible.

“Do you think it might be the Duke?” Isabella asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

“There is only one way to find out,” Louisa said, standing and wiping her suddenly damp hands on the skirt of her dress before marching out of the room.

Just as she got to the door, she had to stop abruptly to avoid colliding with the newcomer, who seemed to be trying to gain entrance into the drawing room.

“Good morning, ladies,” the stranger greeted in a familiar, deep voice.

Looking up into his face, Louisa found herself awestruckyet again.

The man was beautiful in an essentially masculine way. He had a typical aristocratic face with high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and eyes the colour of the sky during a storm. She recognized those eyes but found it hard to believe. His eyes flickered with several powerful emotions, but seeming to realize her scrutiny, they shuttered, locking her out.

Here in the light of day, she came to the startling realization that the Duke of Colborne was in fact an irresistibly attractive man, and he became even more so when he cracked a smile, transforming his somber expression into something she could only describe as dangerous.

“Do not tell me that you have already forgotten me, Miss Louisa,” he drawled, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I am Percival Fletcher, the Duke of Colborne.”

His words were followed by a perfect bow over her hand and a chaste kiss on it, making the butterflies in the pit of her stomach flutter.

Louisa had to make an immense effort to maintain her composure.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Welcome to our humble abode, Your Grace. We are honoured to host you. Forgive my surprise, we were not expecting your visit.”

“Why, am I not allowed to visit my fiancée without prior notice?” he asked, the sly grin on his face growing as a collective gasp rippled through the room.

Well, there was one more thing she hadn’t deduced from their first meeting. It appeared that the reclusive Duke had a flair for dramatic announcements.

Louisa could feel the weight of three pairs of eyes on her, and even though she could not see their faces, she knew they looked astonished. She would explain the situation to them later, but at the moment, her focus was on the Duke, who she was doing her best to smite with the heat of her glare.

Instead of looking intimidated, the dratted man seemed to enjoy her discomfort because his smirk just widened.

She pulled back the hand he was still holding, and he instantly released her, surprise flashing in his eyes and disappearing just as quickly. As if he had not realized that he had been holding onto her hand for the better part of five minutes.

Running her suddenly damp hands over her dress, Louisa forced herself to hold her head up high as she stepped forward. One step, then another, until she stood so close to him that she could feel the heat of his body.

A part of her enjoyed watching his smirk dim a little in surprise.

“If you are here to blackmail me, Your Grace, I must say that you should be ashamed of yourself. This is a most cowardly thing to do,” she said in a low whisper.

“Miss Louisa, I would never do anything of the sort,” he replied.

“Welcome.” Isabella greeted, reminding Louisa of her presence in the room. “Please make yourself comfortable. I must leave you two to discuss. I seemed to have forgotten an appointment with my modiste. I shall see you tomorrow, Louisa.”

The Duke bowed in response.

As soon as the door closed behind Isabella, they stepped away from each other.

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