Page 1 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

CHAPTER ONE

"Harriet, do stay where I can see you," Elizabeth Cooper chided gently, adjusting her sister's domino mask. "Lady Morrison's masquerade balls are notorious for impropriety, and I won't have you caught up in any scandal."

"Elizabeth, you worry entirely too much." Harriet's eyes sparkled behind her elaborate butterfly mask, the gold filigree catching the light from the dozens of candles illuminating Lady Morrison's ballroom. "Besides, isn't the whole point of a masquerade to be a bit mysterious?"

"The point is to be mysterious while maintaining proper decorum." Elizabeth touched her own mask self-consciously, ensuring it still covered not only her eyes but the upper portion of her birthmark as well. The black silk creation was far more modest than her sister's, but it served its purpose admirably. For once, she could move through society without drawing the usual pitying glances or barely concealed grimaces.

"You sound exactly like one of the matchmaking mamas," Harriet teased, but she looped her arm through Elizabeth's as they made their way deeper into the crowded ballroom. "Though I suppose you've spent enough time among them to pick up their ways."

Elizabeth smiled despite herself. "Someone had to ensure you were properly introduced to society after your debut. And since Father showed about as much interest in the task as he did in mine..."

She let the words trail off, but Harriet squeezed her arm in understanding. Their father Luke Cooper, the Baron of Trowbridge, had made his feelings about Elizabeth's prospects quite clear over the years. What use was there in spending good money on a proper season for a daughter whose appearance would inevitably drive away any potential suitors?

"Look," Harriet whispered excitedly, drawing Elizabeth from her dark thoughts. "There's Lord Ashworth. I'd know that proud strut anywhere, even behind that ridiculous lion mask."

"And how, pray tell, are you so familiar with his lordship's...strut?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat lost behind her mask.

Harriet's cheeks flushed becomingly. "One does observe things during the season, dear sister. Speaking of which..." She nodded toward a cluster of elegantly dressed matrons near the refreshment table. "Your usual compatriots await."

Elizabeth recognized Lady Weatherby's distinctive laugh among the group. The woman had taken Elizabeth under her wing shortly after Harriet's debut, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of genuine kindness. Either way, she'd introduced Elizabeth to the other chaperones and match-making mamas of the ton, giving her a place to belong during the endless balls and soirees where she would otherwise have been relegated to the shadows.

"My dear Miss Cooper!" Lady Weatherby's voice carried over the music as Elizabeth approached. "We were just discussing the most intriguing piece of gossip. Do join us."

Elizabeth slipped into the circle of women, accepting a glass of lemonade from a passing footman. "I trust this particular piece of gossip is more substantial than last week's speculation about Lady Pembrooke's mysterious illness?"

"Which turned out to be nothing more than a stubborn head cold," Lady Rutledge added with a disappointed sigh. "But this, my dear, this is something altogether more exciting."

"The Earl of Stonefield has returned to London," Lady Weatherby announced, her eyes gleaming behind her peacock-feathered mask. "And he's made it known that he's seeking a bride."

"Stonefield?" Elizabeth frowned slightly. "The rake who reportedly broke three engagements last season?"

"Four," Lady Ashworth corrected, fanning herself vigorously. "Though one can hardly blame the man. He's wealthy enough to be particular in his choice."

Lady Weatherby nodded sagely. "And handsome enough to break hearts without trying. My Isabel nearly swooned when he danced with her at Lady Rockingham's ball."

"And proceeded to dance with three other young ladies that very evening," Elizabeth pointed out. "Hardly the behavior of a man seriously seeking marriage."

"Ah, but that was before," Lady Rutledge leaned in conspiratorially. "Word has it he's finally ready to settle down. Something about needing an heir now that he's inherited the full extent of his father's estate."

Elizabeth's retort was cut short by a sudden flutter of excitement rippling through the ballroom. The music faltered for a moment as heads turned toward the entrance, where a tall figure had just appeared.

"Who is he?" Lady Weatherby whispered, clutching Elizabeth's arm. "Looks quite mysterious."

Elizabeth studied the newcomer with growing unease.

His black wolf mask covered the upper half of his face, but there was no disguising his commanding presence. He stood well over six feet tall, his broad shoulders and athletic build evident evenbeneath his perfectly tailored evening clothes. Unlike the other gentlemen who affected fashionable languor, he moved with the fluid grace of a predator—each step deliberate and controlled.

His evening attire, while impeccable, eschewed the more flamboyant trends popular among the ton. The black coat was cut to emphasize his powerful frame, the white linen of his cravat pristine against the olive tone of his throat. Dark hair, just a touch too long to be entirely fashionable, curled slightly at his nape in a way that made Elizabeth's fingers inexplicably itch to touch it.

Though the mask obscured much of his face, she could make out the strong line of his jaw, currently set in what appeared to be habitual arrogance. His mouth was well-formed, the lower lip fuller than the upper, curved into a slight smile that held more warning than warmth.

When he turned his head to survey the room, she caught a glimpse of eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—deep blue like the ocean during a storm.

He was exactly the type of man who could make a woman forget her better judgment.

She forced herself to look away, disturbed by how her pulse had quickened merely from observing him. "Leave that stranger and just think," Lady Ashworth sighed dreamily, "one of our young ladies could be the next Countess of Stonefield. Your Harriet, perhaps, Miss Cooper? She's certainly beautiful enough to catch his eye."

"My sister will marry for love, not title or fortune," Elizabeth replied firmly, though her heart was still racing traitorously. "Besides, I've heard enough about the earl's reputation to know he's not the sort of man I'd wish to see Harriet matched with."

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