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She hesitated. “But you have already seen—”
“In dim light.”
Her fingers clutched together. “Only the servants have seen—”
“But I will be your husband. And I want to see your eyes. Please.”
The last word seemed to have its effect. She reached up and removed the black lace, her fingers trembling.
As he had thought. The scars were much worse than they had seemed in the dim light of the Lyon’s office. They curved around her right eye and part of her hairline had been pushed back by the burns. The puckered skin varied from whitish pink to a deep mauve, and they trailed into her collar, causing it to sit unevenly against her neck.
Matthew’s chest tightened with an unexpected rage, and his breath turned ragged.
Her gaze cast downward. “I know I am a monster. If you wish to withdraw—”
“No!” Sharper than he had intended, the word made her eyes flash. Brown eyes that were as lovely as he had ever seen, emotion playing over them in waves—annoyance, defiance, fear. He steadied himself and moved closer to her. With two fingers, he lifted her chin toward his face. “The man who did this was the monster. Not you. You are a remarkable woman.”
She blinked, those beautiful eyes beginning to water. “I do not—I cannot—” She swallowed hard. “Matthew.”
Matthew’s breath caught. He wanted to kiss her. Unexpectedly. Without warning, the urge flushed through him, making his face hot. Instead he forced himself to step back. “My apologies, my lady. I was too forward.”
Confusion lit those eyes, and she looked about the room, as if he had been speaking to someone else. She hastily tried to replace the veil, mussing her dark auburn hair, causing several strands to drape across her face. One long strand dropped down over her shoulder, and Matthew resisted the draw to reach for it. To pull it free. To stroke it.
What the devil—He cleared his throat. “I should go.”
Her hands shaking, she gave up on the veil, slinging it onto the settee. “Oh, bloody hell! Damned bugger!”
Matthew stopped. So did Sarah, her eyes wide as she clamped her hands over her face. But slowly those eyes filled with mirth, and she began to giggle, dropping her hands to her side. “Best you find out now,” she gasped between the snickers.
All the tension eased from his shoulders, and he grinned. “Madam, I am a soldier. I assure you I have heard much worse.”
“And I have said much worse.” She wiped her eyes.
Matthew nodded. “As have I.” He reached for her hand, and she gave it willingly. He felt the satin of her gloves against his fingers as he kissed the back of her hand. “My lady, I freely admit that I did not expect to relish this courtship. It was something to get behind me so that I could return to Wellington’s side. But I do think we will be pleasant company.”
“Let us hope so, Your Grace.” At his arched eyebrows, she smiled. “Matthew.”
He released her hand and backed away. As he turned, he found Harris standing in the doorframe with his top hat and cloak. Matthew took them, placed the hat snuggly on his head, and exited through the front as Harris held the door.
A sense of relief washed over him as he strode toward White’s. Matthew did think he and Sarah would be reasonably well-suited, but he also felt the weight of his mother’s campaign lift. Now he could move on to the other aspects of the estate that needed to be arranged and cared for before he left.
He found Mark in one of the front rooms of the club, one of his ever-present newspapers in his lap and two brandies and two cigars on the table between two leather chairs. Matthew sank down and reached for one of the glasses.
Mark studied him. “You took much longer than expected. Verdict?”
Matthew sipped. “Deadlock.” He shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”
His brother’s eyebrows arched. “What exactly does that mean? Was the lady agreeable or not? I thought Mrs. Dove-Lyon said the lady would find the opportunity to marry you quite appealing.”
“Apparently, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had neglected to inform Lady Crewood of that detail. The dowager countess was, shall we say, unprepared and less than enthused.”
Mark straightened. “Are you cozening me?”
Matthew shook his head and took a deep sniff of the brandy. The aroma eased him, and he let out a long exhale. He summarized for Mark his meeting with the two women and his later encounter with Lady Crewood and the visit to her home. “She did not expect to be added to the Lyon’s list of eligible women for another year. She is still in widow’s weeds.”
Mark folded his paper and laid it on the table next to the brandy. “Speaking of her widowhood, I have discovered something since you arranged for this meeting I think you should know.” He scooted forward in his chair and leaned closer to Matthew. “You know about the rumors that rose up about her after the earl died.”
Matthew nodded. “Which we both thought complete rubbish. Do not tell me you are having second thoughts.”
