Page 4 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
My… mother?
“Oh, Theresa!” the woman wailed. “You must come home with me. At once. Your sister is about to get married!”
CHAPTER 2
Aaron could think of far worse things than striding into the home of his future father-in-law—maiming, boiling in a pot of oil, an affliction of the mind. All sorts of torturous conditions that would kill a man long before he drew his last breath.
Then again, he could think of many other things that would better occupy his time.
The butler, who had greeted him at the door, had taken one look at his masked visage and immediately turned five shades paler with a hint of green. The poor sod managed to compose himself quickly enough to sketch a polite, somewhat fearful bow and bid him to follow him to the study, where the Marquess of Wyndham was waiting for his arrival.
Along the way, a maid swallowed a panicked cry. Another one scurried into the shadows like a frightened mouse.
“Is he the man the young lady is to marry?” He heard a shocked gasp.
“What man? He is a monster!” Another whispered. “Some say… some say that a courtesan ran screaming into the night at the sight of him!”
“Well, you would have to pay me a fortune to stay with… withthat.”
“Hush, you! It is Her Majesty herself who decreed this marriage. Of course, there is a huge fortune involved.”
Their reactions were all par for the course. Something he had come to expect since his return to London and Society.
Young ladies had given him a wide berth, their ambitious mamas frantically herding them away at the mere hint of his shadow. Even the self-professed gentlemen would not engage him in silly talks of fishing and hunting, their faces distorting in revulsion when he so much as stepped into a crowded ballroom.
The only one who had not regarded him with shock and disgust had been the little nun he had met in the woods on his way back to London. He could still recall her wide eyes, green as emeralds and just as bright, her little lips parting and then pursing in displeasure and frustration.
He had never seen a pair of lips he wanted to kiss more.
No, not just kiss. He wanted todevourher. So much so that he was practically salivating when his gaze dropped to those luscious pink lips, wondering if they tasted as sweet, as succulent as they looked in the dappled sunlight. He had wanted to delve into her, explore all her secrets, and leave her breathless and wanting more.
He frowned.
More of what, exactly?
He did not have particularly much to offer a woman. A title, perhaps, and more wealth than she would know what to do with in a lifetime.
Beyond that, nothing much. At least, nothing that could compel her to marry him.
But he could not so easily forget the first time someone had looked at him—reallylooked at him—and not recoiled in disgust.
No, she had looked at him with interest. Hell’s bells, he knew thatlook—and he knew that no woman in her right mind would ever look at him the way she had.
“My Lord, the Duke of Blackwell is here to see you.”
The response from the other side of the door was a half-hearted, “Let him in.”
The butler opened the door and politely gestured for Aaron to step inside. “Your Grace.”
Aaron did not even spare the rattled man a glance as he stepped into the study as if he owned the place. A force of habit, really. His father had practically engraved the arrogance into his bones, so much so that not even cannon fire could stamp it out of him.
“Your Grace, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Aaron restrained his lips from twisting into a sneer.
Pleasure, indeed. His future father-in-law did not look the slightest bit pleased. No, he looked just like everyone else—as if he could not wait for him to leave.
Well, Aaron was not going to grant him relief anytime soon.
