Alone with a Scarred Earl (Untamed Gentlemen #2)

Chapter One

Gabriel Montgomery paused at the threshold of Harrington House, as the ballroom doors parted, a delightful warmth, born of a hundred chandeliers alight with candlelight, wafted towards him.

Laughter echoed off marble and gilt, drifting beneath the swell of a minuet played with mechanical precision.

He did not move. The murmurs began at once, as he knew they would.

Tall enough to see over most heads, Gabriel scarcely needed to scan the room to understand that his arrival had caused a commotion.

A cluster of young ladies to his left tilted inward with sudden interest, their fans fluttering in unison like startled birds.

A gentleman in sapphire blue adjusted his cravat, eyes flicking toward him, then away.

The name passed from one mouth to another with quiet relish.

Beastly Earl of Mountwood, he echoed silently as the harmony of voices around him enunciated it aloud.

It never required elaboration. The thin, ragged scar that began just above his brow and carved a ruthless path through his cheek to the corner of his mouth was not new.

It had not softened with time. He had never intended it to.

Gabriel’s cool grey eyes swept through the crowd with calculated detachment.

He spotted powdered wigs and heavy diamonds, false smiles layered over concealed boredom.

The game had not changed. Only the players had.

Three years away did nothing, he thought bitterly.

They have neither forgotten nor forgiven.

He moved forward, unhurried, with his shoulders squared in spite of the tightening in his chest. A woman shrank back as he passed, drawing her daughter closer to her side with a whisper Gabriel could not quite hear.

Another man whom he recognized distantly from his Cambridge years nodded upon making apparently accidental eye contact with Gabriel, then feigned sudden interest in the ceiling.

He located Sophia near the far end of the ballroom.

She stood beside a tall man whose bearing betrayed military roots, a man who Gabriel had come to love deeply as they had served together in the war, and continued to love as a brother in the years since, during which the men had become thriving business partners. James. Gabriel’s mouth tightened.

His sister tilted her face toward her escort, laughter lifting the corners of her mouth.

Her hand, lightly resting on James’s arm, did not tremble.

It should have comforted Gabriel, but it did not.

James leaned closer, saying something that drew a pleased, modest smile from Sophia.

Gabriel’s hand clenched once at his side before he forced his fingers to relax.

He would speak with her first and ensure that she remained unharmed by society’s duplicity.

Then, perhaps, he would have a few pointed questions for Lord James Hastings.

Making his way through the cluster, Gabriel paused beside a marble column veined with dark green.

From this vantage, he watched with a war strategist’s eye.

Beyond the glossy surface of dance and flirtation, alliances shifted, intentions sharpened behind every sidelong glance. He had not missed such things.

It was at that very moment his eyes fell upon her.

Standing half-shielded by a gilded mirror and a cluster of potted palms, a young woman remained curiously apart from the festivities.

Her gown, a shade of deep garnet, lacked the ornamentation common among debutantes.

Her dark chestnut hair had been arranged without fuss or excessive powder.

She held no fans or a reticule. Her hands clasped lightly before her, unmoving.

But most notably of all, she was not, it appeared, observing him.

Her attention however, seemed to be taking in all that was transpiring around her.

She watched everything around her. Could it be that she had not seen his hideously disfigured face?

Her eyes, green-flecked gold and very sharp, moved from one pair of dancers to the next, observing carefully without revealing any judgment.

There was a difference. He saw it at once.

Unlike the others who darted glances at his scar then quickly looked away, this woman had not spared him so much as a flicker of interest. Not until he allowed himself a longer look.

Only then did her eyes meet his, and he cursed himself for drawing attention to himself where there otherwise would be none.

His angst was cut short, however, as her gaze held his.

The connection was brief. Startling. A faint color touched her cheeks before she looked elsewhere.

It was the expected reaction, but he had seen no disgust or fear.

In her hazel eyes, he had seen only awareness.

He turned away, cursing himself once more.

He had not come to engage in courtship, and certainly not with some woman who was simply better at hiding her horror than the rest of them were.

Shaking off the dreadful thrill of the brief encounter, he crossed the ballroom. Sophia’s face brightened at his approach; her smile tempered by something more cautious the moment she reached for his hand.

“Gabriel,” she said warmly. “You are here.”

Gabriel nodded, keeping his eyes on Sophia, softening despite his earlier rigid protectiveness regarding his sister.

“I said I would be,” he said.

James straightened beside her.

“Harrington’s entertainments never lack spectacle,” he said, giving Gabriel a bemused smirk.

Gabriel met his friend’s piercing green eyes.

“So I gather,” he said.

Sophia’s fingers tightened around his. She looked at her friend with a glance that warned against further provocation.

“May I introduce my brother?” she asked as she turned, but the older couple beside them murmured barely audible apologies and slipped away. Two younger ladies, barely out of the schoolroom, stifled giggles before turning their backs altogether.

Sophia blushed, giving Gabriel an uncomfortable smile.

“I am terribly sorry, Brother,” she said, rubbing his hand gently.

Gabriel did not flinch.

“It is no matter,” he said. “I did not come for their approval.”

James shook his head, scowling.

“It is still a poor showing,” he said, frowning toward the women who, with backs still turned, stood away from where they had just been speaking with him and Sophia.

Gabriel shrugged, keeping his composed expression, though he did not look at the women again.

“No worse than expected,” he said.

Sophia’s brow furrowed, but she said nothing more.

From the corner of his eye, Gabriel searched again for the young woman in garnet. She had moved, drifting toward the windows where moonlight filtered in. The shadows did not seem to concern her as she wandered alone aimlessly.

“You are distracted,” Sophia said softly, breaking his focus.

He turned to her with another shrug.

“I am assessing,” he said.

She sighed.

“You do that too often,” she said.

He gave a faint smile, one that rarely surfaced anymore.

“What else would I do?” asked dryly. “Socialize with these fine people?”

Sophia’s eyes flashed with agitation that Gabriel knew was not directed at him.

“Gabriel,” she said, touching his arm. “You are not what they say.”

Gabriel’s fierce scowl returned, and he shook his head.

“I know precisely what I am,” he said.

Sophia huffed, glaring sideways at the women he knew she wanted to consider friends.

“You are my brother,” she said.

Gabriel nodded, glancing around, forcing three gentlemen to whirl around quickly to avoid eye contact.

“And that is the only reason they have not turned us out,” he said. “I did not have to come and cause such awkwardness for you, Sister.”

James shifted his stance.

“You endured war abroad,” he said defensively. “And war again, returning. Few men would have held their heads so high.”

Gabriel shook his head, meeting his friend’s gaze firmly.

“Do not mistake necessity for honor,” he said. “I did nothing of spectacular value, James. I only performed my duties.” He paused as his eyes slid once more toward the window. The woman was gone.

He drew a breath through his nose, then exhaled slowly, pondering the strange disappointment he felt.

Perhaps it had been no more than a passing interest. The product of loneliness dressed in civility.

Still, he found his gaze moving through the crowd with renewed purpose.

He would not pursue her. However, should their paths cross again, he would not look away.

***

Genevieve Barrett stood near the potted palms at the edge of the ballroom, close enough to hear her aunt but far enough to avoid drawing attention to herself.

The suffocating combination of satin, lace, and overly sweet perfume suffocated her, but she remained still.

Her features betrayed nothing beyond polite indifference.

The widowed Lady Victoria Harrington, regal in her plum-colored silk and ostrich plumes, snapped open her fan and gestured with it toward the entrance.

“There he is,” Victoria said. “The Earl of Mountwood. Pray, please refrain from gawking dear.”

Genevieve looked, of course, just as everyone else did.

The tall man had only just arrived, and already the tide of whispers had begun.

His scar, a cruel mark slashing down his right cheek, had not faded.

Nor has the fascination it clearly evokes, she noted with mild interest. Women clutched their fans more tightly.

Men watched with narrowed eyes. The earl was impervious to all of the curious spectators.

His manner remained composed as he surveyed the room.

“He should have stayed hidden,” Victoria said. “It seems that his return has caused some disquiet.”