Page 6 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Her opened letter.

She decided to play the ignorant card. “I have no idea what that is.”

She heard his scoff and the light rustle of paper as he read it one more time.

“I find myself doubting the truth of your words,” he said.

“I speak the truth.”

“If it wasn’t a letter you sought, why then would you rifle through my mailbox?” he asked.

Just how long had he watched me?

Her eyes darted around as she tried to think her way out of the pit her lies had dug for her. He had caught her red-handed, and there was no way she could continue her farce, unless she chose to be utterly shameless.

She sighed, knowing there was no use in denying it any further.

“Were you courting my brother?” he asked.

It would have been foolish of her not to have realized that she was standing before the Duke himself, but she still marvelled that he was actually real, and she would probably be the first and only member of the ton who saw him if he chose to continue his confinement.

“I… The letter was a prank,” she explained. “I did not know your brother personally, but my brothers-in-law did. I only attended his funeral.”

She realized too late that she was rambling and should have probably left out that last part, for the temperature in the room dropped.

“I am sorry. I spoke out of turn,” she murmured.

The Duke said nothing, but then he placed the letter on the table behind him without looking at her.

“You may leave, then,” he said. “I will speak nothing of this encounter. I do not think your reputation would survive it.”

She snorted but eyed the letter, making no move to leave. If she timed her movements correctly, she would be able to snatch the offending letter and toss it into the fire before he could stop her, and she would finally sleep without its weight on her conscience.

She made her move but was a second too late. With impossible speed she hadn’t expected, he turned and grabbed her hand just as it touched the paper. Her heart thudded loudly not just from the shock of the entire ordeal, but from the sheer beauty of the man before her.

Sparks raced up her arm where he held her, but even as her eyes traced the large hand curling almost painfully around her arm, her whole body suddenly felt as though she’d been doused in flames.

How had they thought to call this man a beast?

If only they knew.

Standing before her was a man who looked anything but a beast. He looked more like an angel if she was being honest, with darkbrown hair that curled messily over his head and a chiseled jaw that had her staring more than she usually did at a man. As if that wasn’t enough, he had beautiful eyes—stormy grey with an icy glint that made her understand that this man before her was not to be trifled with.

Her breath hitched in her chest.

She eyed the scar running from the top of his brow, down his cheek, to his jawline and found beauty in the rough edges of it. It was deeper than hers and had healed poorly, but rather than take away from his beauty, it added a dangerous air that made her itch to touch it.

A beast was an unworthy title for someone as handsome as he was.

He smelled like sandalwood and something so male that she felt light-headed. He was standing too close to her. She knew it was beyond improper, but she couldn’t help but lean closer.

He pulled the letter out of her grasp, yanking her out of her reverie. No words could come to her mind, and her mouth felt too dry. She had never seen a man more beautiful than him. Even the way he moved showed precision and confidence.

“People call you the Beast.”

She heard the words leave her mouth and cringed, feeling stupid. How could she have said that out loud?

He smiled briefly, and she felt proud that she had made this mountain of a man break character.

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