Page 58 of To Pleasure a Prince
Only then did she notice how the crowd had closed in, every couple straining to get closer, to hear what was going on between La Belle Dame and the Dragon Viscount now that he’d shown up looking like a lord.
“Everyone’s curious about you, it seems,” she said, “and they’re not alone. I’m dying to know what you’re doing here.”
A dark smile touched his lips. “You didn’t think an incompetent fellow like me could get in, did you?”
She winced to have her words thrown back in her face. “I thought you wouldn’t make the attempt. Don’t tell me you actually stooped to solicit a voucher from ‘that lot of vultures,’ as you termed them.”
“No. Another man solicited it on my behalf, a man who himself would never be allowed to darken these hallowed halls. Fortunately, my title and name were enough to gain me a ‘Stranger’s Ticket.’ They let me in as Louisa’s guest.”
Which meant he’d had to present himself to the Lady Patronesses for approval. Her blood quickened. That could not have been easy for him. So what was she to make of that? “That explains how you came to be here. But not why.”
“You know perfectly well why. You issued a challenge I could not ignore.”
“What challenge?” she said, pretending ignorance.
“To prove that I’m not an idiot who can’t carry himself in society.” He jerked his head to indicate a nearby couple sneaking none-too-subtle peeks at them. “Not that it matters. It’s just as I told you—I could be clothed in pure gold from head to toe, and they would still regard me with contempt.”
“Look again,” she said softly. “That is not contempt on their faces.”
He swept his gaze beyond her. She followed it, wondering if he could see what she did. Yes, there was an ample amount of curiosity on most of their faces, but that was all. Only the people who’d already met him—and been insulted by him—eyed him askance, and even with them it was more wariness than contempt.
His gaze swung back to her, and his mouth tightened into a grim line. “They’re all staring at my face. At my scar.”
She hesitated. If she simply dismissed his scar as unimportant, he would not believe her. Better to be honest. “Of course they are. It’s splendidly awful.”
He arched one brow. “Not quite how I would have described it.”
“That’s because you’re used to it. But the rest of us…” She let her gaze linger on his scar. “We can’t help looking at it. It’s like a brand distinguishing a Thoroughbred from a lot of nags. It sets you apart.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “A brand? Interesting choice of words.”
She examined it, noting how it puckered. “Not really. It resembles a severe burn I once saw. I heard that you got your scar in a riding accident, but it doesn’t look right for that.”
Judging from his suddenly rigid posture, she’d hit upon the truth. “How would you know what a scar from a riding accident looks like?”
“I volunteer at the Chelsea Hospital from time to time. I’ve seen enough healed wounds to know the difference between a burn and the sort of gash one would get from a fall.”
“You?Volunteer at a hospital?” he said, his tone skeptical.
“Careful now,” she warned. “You’re veering dangerously close to ungentlemanly territory. And after you’ve done so well, too.”
He bristled at her deliberate attempt to provoke him, and she waited for the inevitably rude response.
It never came. He gathered in his breath as if setting himself to an onerous task. “Then perhaps we should change the subject.”
A surprised smile broke over her face. “Yes, perhaps we should.”
Not that she wanted to. He hadn’t confirmed how he’d received his scar. She was convinced it was a burn, but how did one get burned so badly there and nowhere else?
“So does this mean that you plan to let Louisa and Simon court, after all?” she asked.
“As long as you let me courtyou.I think I’ve proved I can be gentleman enough to suit your finicky tastes.”
She arched one eyebrow. “Not yet, you haven’t. Dressing well and dancing one waltz without insulting me scarcely proves anything.”
“Then I’ll have to do better, won’t I?” His hand caressed her waist, causing her silly heart to flutter. “And perhaps later, you can reward me for my efforts.”
“Virtue is its own reward,” she said primly.
