Page 17 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
“Are you afraid you will be no good at the game, Your Grace?” Lydia asked sweetly. Vincent did not miss the smile at the corner of Georgina’s mouth. For not the first time today, he had the distinct feeling he was caught up in the middle of something he could not quite make sense of. The distinct feeling that some kind of deception was at play. Usually, Vincent hated being deceived. But right now, he found himself oddly intrigued. Whatever ruse was at hand, he found himself oddly willing to be entangled in it.
“Very well,” he said. He stepped off the path and closed his eyes. “Twenty… nineteen…”
He heard the soft patter of footsteps on grass and laughed inwardly to himself. Whatever was going on here, no doubt it had Georgina Wyatt’s fingerprints all over it.
He opened his eyes once he had counted down to five, and looked around. He could see Georgina’s pale gray skirts peeking out from within a nearby copse of trees. There was no sign of Lydia or Lord Renshaw. The two ladies' maids were sitting side by side on a bench by the water, clearly having given up their duties in the face of such absurdity.
Vincent strode over to Georgina’s dreadful hiding place. “If I did not know better, I would say you set this up on purpose.”
She looked up at him boldly. “For what purpose, Your Grace?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps you were craving a little more time alone with me.” He knew, of course, that there was far more to it. But he also knew that such a comment would rile Georgina up no end. And that was sure to be a thing to behold.
She snorted. “You certainly think very highly of yourself, Your Grace. Not that that is new information.”
The shafts of sunlight cutting through the trees made the thick scar across her left cheek stand out starkly. Vincent felt a sudden urge to trace his finger along it. How would she react if he were to do such a thing? Would she take it as proof that he saw beauty in her imperfections? Or would she assume he was just being unashamedly bold and curious? For all her quick wit and fiery words, he could tell Georgina Wyatt carried a large amount of shame and embarrassment over her appearance. He wished he could take a little of that away.
“Is there something so wrong with thinking highly of oneself?” he asked, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket in an attempt to keep his hands to himself. “Is self-confidence not an admirable trait?”
“Self-confidence,” she snorted. “In your case, it is merely called arrogance.”
Vincent grinned. It had become something of a game, he realized—to see how many fiery retorts he could draw from her lips.
Georgina is clearly playing a game here. And so I will play one of my own.
That fire in her eyes was intoxicating. Addictive. He lifted his hand from his pocket, the urge to feel her skin against his own suddenly overwhelming.
As his finger made contact with her cheek, Georgina flinched, stumbling backward into the trunk of a tree. “You are terrible at hide and seek, Your Grace,” she blurted. He heard her voice rattle. “You have still two more people to find, and you are standing here wasting your time nattering with me.”
ChapterTen
Georgina strode off without having any thought of where she was going. Lydia and Lord Renshaw had run off toward the pavilion, and she knew she ought to lead the Duke away from them, to give them as much time alone together as possible. But her legs were moving as though they had a mind of their own.
The way the Duke had just looked at her; the way his hand had moved instinctively toward her, as though craving her touch… It was as though… he wasattractedto her.
Such a thing was impossible, of course. How could he find a single thing to be attracted to when she was not hidden behind a mask? This was not attraction. This was simply curiosity; bold and unashamed curiosity of the hideous blemishes that scarred her face. Fresh anger seared through her at the realization, and she clenched her fists tightly.
She heard him call her name, and in spite of herself, she stopped walking. Let him catch her.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to offend you.”
She snorted. “Is that not your aim in life?” she said brusquely. “To cause as much offense as possible?”
He gave her a short smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Usually, yes,” he admitted. “But I would never… I would never want you to think…” He shook his head.
Georgina raised her eyebrows. She had not imagined the man capable of becoming tongue-tied. Was there not always some witty comment on his lips, designed to cause as much shock and outrage as possible?
Perhaps a little like myself,she thought wryly.
She began to walk again. “You ought to find the others.”
“Miss Wyatt.” He grabbed her arm gently, tugging her back toward him, and under the cover of a thick bank of oak trees. He drew her up to face him. Caught in the wake of his vivid blue eyes, Georgina was unable to look away. Beneath the thin fabric of her day dress, her skin was searing where his fingers held her arm. “Forgive me. I should not have touched you in such a way without your permission.” There was a sincerity in his voice she had never heard before. “I hope you did not think my touch came merely from a curiosity over the scars on your face.”
Georgina’s lips parted, surprised by his choice of words. No one ever spoke of her disfigurement in such a way.
Georgina’s affliction, her grandmother would say. Or, herimperfections.Most people never spoke of it at all. All they did was stare. There was something strangely refreshing to hear the Duke speak so plainly.
“Why else would you do such a thing?” she asked, suddenly overcome with uncertainty.
