Page 55 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

He didn’t blame them—this was the first time he was making an entrance into polite society as the Duke of Colborne, so it was only natural that they were curious. Some of them even looked disappointed that he did not have horns or fangs coming out of his lips.

When they found him too ordinary or disgusting, their gazes naturally gravitated to the beautiful woman on his arm.

At that moment, he wondered why anyone would think that her scar detracted from her charm when most of the gentlemen were staring at her in fascination, their tongues almost lolling out of their mouths. Their lascivious interest was so obvious that he fought the urge to knock some of their teeth out so they kepttheir tongues in their mouths and their offending eyes off his wife.

Looking down into her face, he could see the pity swimming in the warm depths of her eyes. The emotion made him uncomfortable. Of all the emotions he wanted to see glittering in her warm brown eyes, pity was not one of them.

“I need a drink,” Percival muttered under his breath, looking around the room in search of the punch bowl while studiously avoiding his wife’s gaze.

“You can go, husband. I think I spotted Isabella somewhere in the crowd. I will go look for her.”

“All right,” he said, nodding.

He gently released her arm before striding off in search of a drink to drown out the anger and loneliness that seemed to consume him under the scornful eyes of the ton.

Chapter Seventeen

It had been less than thirty minutes since they arrived, and Percival could already feel the ache under his shoulder that demanded he return to the comfort of his home. But he had chosen to attend one of the frivolous affairs that made up the Season in the hope that he might build his reputation and increase his standing.

Unfortunately, he did not make any progress because he could only see scorn and disgust on the faces before him. That was why he was standing at the fringes of the ballroom, nursing a glass of bad punch while he considered the merits of ignoring polite society and returning to the comfort of his sanctuary.

At the very least, he mused, he deserved to have a stiffer drink. Whiskey, perhaps, if he was going to endure this spectacle any longer.

“Your Grace,” someone greeted, drawing his gaze.

He guessed that the man was of high rank from his well-tailored, bold-coloured clothes.

“It is an honour to have you here with us,” the dandy continued, his smile saccharine sweet.

“I do not think the other guests feel the same way,” Percival replied dryly, before taking another sip of his punch.

“It is just the shock of seeing you in person. Many of us, myself included, believed that you were not real. Your reputation is fit for folktales.”

“And scary stories, I imagine,” Percival drawled.

“I do not—” the dandy sputtered.

“I guess it also serves as a good story to laugh about in your clubs,” Percival continued, totally ignoring the man’s attempt to defend himself.

“Well, I never?—”

“What do you want, Lord…?”

“Glassington,” the dandy supplied. “l was hoping to tempt you into a business partnership. Rutherford had promised to share profits if we invested in the railways being constructed acrossthe Continent. It will be hugely successful, I tell you,” he crowed, so happy with himself.

“Why do you need a business partner even if you have one already?’’ Percival asked, fixing Lord Glassington with a sharp look. “Besides, I do not have the money to invest.”

“But you are a duke,” Lord Glassington pointed out, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I should think that by now, you would have realized that not all dukes are wealthy,” Percival replied, a rueful smile on his lips.

Quite typical of a dandy to be clueless about money and how it should be handled. Lord Glassington had probably invested some money in that scheme in the hope of making more money to buy new clothes, accessories, and gel to keep his hair flattened to his head.

Percival, on the other hand, could not afford to be careless with money, especially when the business scheme in question was as shady as a backwater alley in London at night.

He was married now, and he had a duty to make sure that his wife lived in a respectable, comfortable home. It would be so stupid of him to gamble with her dowry when he could use it to improve their home. She had placed her trust in him, and he was going to do everything to honour it.

“You are so different from your brother,” Lord Glassington sneered. “He was more adventurous, generous, and lively—unlike you, gloomy as the storm brewing outside.”

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