The right side of his mouth quirked in amusement, the left side, the damaged side, was still. He looked so different and yet exactly the same—she would have known those brilliant blue eyes anywhere. The left side of his face had improved with the years. One eye still drooped, his mouth was frozen in a saturnine smirk, but the skin was no longer raw looking, fading instead to a textured patchwork of scars. The right side of his face was. . . beautiful. “You strike me as the exception, Mrs. Cadbury. If temptation ever came your way I’m certain you would scare it off with that forbidding expression of yours.”
Forbidding expression? Never in her life had anyone told her she had such a thing. She wasn’t sure whether to be offended or pleased. “In truth, Lord Brandon, I am particularly impervious to temptation.”
“Never given in? Even once?”
That was one thing she could answer truthfully. It hadn’t been temptation that had sent her into men’s beds, it had been desperation. “Never.”
He leaned back against the squabs while she sat ramrod straight. “Well, it’s a rare soul that can claim that distinction. You quite put me to shame.”
It was her own shame she felt. What would he think if he knew she’d once been London’s youngest madam? “I don’t. . .” she began, but the carriage had drawn up in front of the sprawling manor house Benedick Rohan had bought for his wife.
“You don’t what?” he said, but she was already free, the door opening, and escape was at hand.
“I don’t wish to keep you away from your family, Lord Brandon,” she said politely, taking the groomsman’s hand to step down onto the wide, curving drive. “Enjoy your visit.”
Brandon watched her move away from him with dignified but impressive speed, and he frowned. His social graces were sadly rusty, but Melisande’s friend seemed to have taken him in dislike. She must have heard rumors of the way he’d ruined his life three years ago – it was hardly a secret. It was no less than he deserved, but he’d worked hard to put the guilt behind him. He truly didn’t want to wallow in it again.
He could simply avoid the woman. That, or see if he could change her mind about him, but that would be a very bad idea. Back before the war he’d been a charmer – he could get any pretty girl to smile, and Mrs. Cadbury was a very pretty girl, but he was much better off keeping his distance. There was no room in his life for a casual liaison, a mistress or a wife. He was still doing penance, and probably would for the rest of his life. He had been a drugged wreck of a man, participating in acts that appalled him, when he remembered. At the time he’d derived no pleasure, he’d simply gone along with it, and he wasn’t through paying for all those sins.
No, Mrs. Emma Cadbury of the beautiful gray eyes and the stern expression was decidedly none of his concern. He would mend fences with his brothers and then head back to Scotland, where life was far simpler, and forget all about the woman.
Except that she wasn’t forgettable. There was something about her that would haunt his dreams, a timeless feel to her, as if he’d known her before and would know her forever.
And then he laughed out loud as he climbed out of the carriage, managing the feat without favoring his aching leg. Had the sight of a beautiful woman suddenly turned him into an adolescent? The very idea of a stranger touching his non-existent heart was absurd. He was a practical man – there was no room for mooning over what he had chosen not to have. He glanced at the front entrance as he made his way carefully up the broad stairs. There was no trace of her, like some fairytale princess she’d disappeared. In a few days, he would do the same.
Two hours later the reception was in full force, a crush of people that Brandon endured with a grim smile. He’d known his time as a hermit was coming to an end, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Where is my esteemed brother Charles?” he murmured to his sister-in-law as she cooed over the baby in her arms. In truth, he had expected to find anything to do with children boring, but this little scrap of a thing was oddly appealing, with her red face and fierce blue eyes. “I expected to see his disapproving face glowering at me wherever I went.”
“Charles has been delayed,” Melisande said glumly, making no effort to defend her pompous brother-in-law. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” he said, equally glum. Charles could make any comfortable time an exercise in gloom. That gave him a second reason to make an early escape. He glanced around the room, then gave in to temptation. After all, he’d be gone soon enough – he could indulge himself. “And where is the fascinating Mrs. Cadbury?”
Melisande didn’t bother looking up from her cooing infant. “She should be here, though she tends to end up in a corner somewhere more often than not. You didn’t say anything to offend her, did you?”
Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Why should I do that? She’s a perfectly amiable female, if somewhat shy.”
Melisande made a derisive sound and Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you find that amusing?”
“The thought of Emma being shy or even particularly amiable. She simply doesn’t have much use for social conventions, or men, for that matter.”
He was getting drawn in, and he cursed himself for even bringing up the subject. Teasing Charity Carstairs Rohan would fix things. “Indeed?” he said in a fop-like drawl. “Is she one of those extraordinary women who prefer their own sex? And since you’re her dearest friend does that mean. . .?”
“Behave yourself, Brandon!” she snapped. “I would have thought three years in Scotland would make you think before you spoke.”
He laughed. “On the contrary, like Mrs. Cadbury I have a similar disregard for social conveniences. And I also prefer women. We have a great deal in common.”
“She does not prefer women!” Melisande said. “At least, not in the manner you’re suggesting. She simply doesn’t care for men. I expect it comes from her studies. She is a surgeon, which is extraordinary, but I know the other surgeons treat her with a fair amount of disdain.”
“Perhaps. A surgeon? How extraordinary. And what made her decide she wanted to cut into human flesh? Part of her dislike of the male gender, perhaps?” he said lightly.
“I have no idea. Why don’t you ask her?” His sister-in-law was sounding irritated with him, and he couldn’t blame her. He was irritated with himself. What happened to his plan to keep away from temptation?
“I would like to,” he said, “if I could find her. That’s what started our conversation, if you remember.” He gave Melisande his most beguiling smile, one he seldom bothered to use. “I don’t suppose you have anything other than claret punch to drink.”
Melisande’s gaze darkened. “You’ll find a bottle of brandy in Benedick’s study, if you must.”
“No, my dear sister-in-law, I’m looking for something with less alcohol, rather than more.” He despised having to admit it, but there was no choice. He hadn’t had a drop of wine, beer, or spirits since he’d left for Scotland, and he wasn’t about to start now.