Page 92 of Scandalous

Martín’s gift was a book by a female writer named Jane Austen. It was the first book he’d ever purchased. It was also the first inscription he’d ever written.

“I am pleased you like it.”

“It was very thoughtful.”

“Bah! A book.” He dismissed her thanks, embarrassed. “I’m sure you received much more interesting gifts. I’ll swear that is a new necklace you are wearing. It becomes you.” She wore a double strand of pearls around her long, graceful neck.

“Yes, it is from my uncles. It is lovely, but I do not love it as much as their other gift.”

“What? Two gifts? You are being spoiled, I think. Tell me about this other gift.”

“I am being terribly spoiled. My uncles gave me a horse of my very own.”

“I am relieved to hear it. The mount you had in Hyde Park was a sorry excuse for an animal.”

“You are too unkind to poor old Blossom. He was a lovely horse to learn with, but Banker is absolutely perfect.”

Martín threw back his head and laughed. “Banker?”

“Yes, Banker. But enough of me, how are you enjoying the evening?”

“Very much. Now.”

She flushed, and he could see his words pleased her.

“I—I wanted very much to be seated next to you at dinner.”

“Oh?” he said, too surprised to say more.

“Unfortunately, I left the seating arrangements to my aunt, and she is very rigid in her adherence to precedence.”

“You can hardly blame her for not wanting to seat an ex-slave at the head of the table.”

Her hand tensed in his. “I wish you would not refer to yourself in such a manner.”

“I speak the truth, and you should not forget that, mademoiselle. Don’t tell yourself I am anything other than what I am.” His words were harsher than he’d intended, but something about her trusting brown eyes made him impatient that she see him for what he was. And also afraid of what would happen when she finally did.

“You could just as truthfully describe yourself as a very successful sea captain who has saved thousands of lives.”

Martín laughed at her vehemence, but was secretly pleased by her defense. “You misunderstand me, mademoiselle. I do what I do for money, just as your family engages in banking. But, come, let us speak of more interesting matters. Soon this dance will be over, and it will be unseemly of me to ask you for another. Perhaps we can argue more when we go for a ride in Hyde Park? I have the use of Ramsay’s curricle, and I am told there is nothing exceptionable about such an activity. You will rest tomorrow, no doubt, but perhaps you are free the day after?”

Her smile was radiant. “I should like that very much.”

“Bien,” he said, too pleased to say more.

They completed the dance in silence, as if neither of them wanted to inadvertently disturb the delicate spirit of détente that had grown between them. When he escorted her back to where Lady Ramsay stood, he was displeased, but not entirely surprised, to see the Marquis d’Armand approaching.

“I am here to collect my dance, mademoiselle.” He spoke to Sarah, but fixed his cool, amused stare on Martín.

“My lord, I would like to introduce you to Captain Bouchard,” Sarah said.

Martín gave him an abrupt nod. “D’Armand.”

“Captain Bouchard, I have heard so much about you. I believe you knew my father . . . intimately.” The Frenchman’s eyes flickered over Martín in a way that made Martín’s hands tighten into fists. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, but right now is not the time.” He glanced from Martín to Sarah, his eyes narrow and reptilian.

Martín watched him lead Sarah away to the dance floor, feeling as though he’d just engaged in something particularly unclean.

“I don’t like that man.” Lady Ramsay’s quiet words startled Martín out of his trance.