Page 4 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
Chapter Two
Gabriel closed the door to the library behind him and welcomed the familiar quiet and the scent of old paper and polished mahogany. He had entered in search of refuge, for the pressure of the ballroom had grown intolerable. Perfumed air, artful smiles, and murmurs behind fluttering fans offered nothing but reminders of the image that society imposed upon him. He had borne their scrutiny long enough for one evening.
He took three measured steps before halting.
A woman stood near the far wall, perched halfway upon a ladder, her attention wholly absorbed in the large folio rested across her arm. The fire in the hearth had burned low and cast a dim, flickering light across her figure and the shelves that rose around her like cathedral pillars. Her posture, though somewhat strained from balancing, manifested an instinctive ease as though she belonged among the books instead of the glittering chaos outside.
Gabriel remained silent, his heart held by the calm scene before him. She turned a page with care, the delicate motion revealing the skill of practiced hands, and tilted her head as if examining the image from several angles. Her hair was chestnut and pinned simply. Even though her gown was of a modest silky texture and not on a par with society’s higher standards it suited her perfectly. He had no name to attach to her face; nevertheless, there was something familiar in the arch of her brow and in the way her mouth curved, unconscious and genuine, when she found pleasure in her reading.
That expression stirred something within him. It was not merely her beauty that detained his attention, for her appearance was pleasing indeed. It was the honesty of her interest and the absence of pretense that captivated him.
When she uttered a soft exclamation in response to a particularly compelling illustration, he determined that his silence must come to an end.
He cleared his throat.
She was startled, and the folio in her hand quavered as she looked down. Her eyes widened when she saw him. Her surprise gave way to embarrassment, and a brief blush touched her cheeks before she straightened and spoke.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I did not hear anyone enter.”
Gabriel shook his head, giving her a formal bow that, for the first time all evening, did not feel forced.
“I ought to beg yours, for I intruded on you,” he said.
The woman shook her head with curiosity in her eyes as she studied him.
“You did not intrude, my lord,” she said. “I was sent to retrieve a fan for my aunt, Lady Harrington, but I became distracted.”
said.
Gabriel glanced at the item in her hands and smirked.
“By plants?” he asked.
She looked down and half-laughed.
“Yes,” she said with a wry smile of her own. “How silly of me.”
Gabriel advanced nearer, trying to peer closer at what she held.
“Not at all,” he said. “I have a greenhouse at my home, Mountwood Manor. It is rather modest, but I love my botanical work, and I take pride in its collection. I have been attempting to cultivate vanilla orchids, though they remain obstinate.”
Her eyebrows raised with mild surprise.
"Do you personally undertake the care of the plants?” She asked.
Gabriel shrugged, strangely pleased that he had attracted genuine interest from the strange woman.
“I employ a gardener, yet I delight in the experiments,” he said. “I have little patience for idleness.” He paused, realizing his lack of politeness. “Forgive me. I have intruded on you in someone else’s home, and I did not even introduce myself. I am, as you may already be familiar, Gabriel Montgomery…
“Earl of Mountwood,” she said with a deliberate nod. It was not horror that dawned on her face, but vague recognition and a bit of humor. “I deduced that when you said you reside at Mountwood. My name is Genevieve Barrett. I act as my aunt’s companion here at her home, Harrington Estate.” It was her turn to pause and blush. “That is why I took such a liberty as wandering around the mansion unattended.”
Gabriel nodded, his lips twitching at how attractive he found her fumbling.
“You need not explain yourself, Miss Barrett,” he said. “As I said, it is I who encroached on your privacy.”
She did not answer. Instead, she opened the folio fully between them, her smile widening. When she looked at him again, her eyes did not settle on any one feature. Not even my scars, he observed with cautious intrigue as he glanced to where she was pointing.
“This plate is from Calcutta,” she said with soft wonder. “One can observe how the artist adjusted the scale to emphasize the structure of the bloom.”
