Despite the unshakable attraction between them, Maeve and Lucian are uninterested in love and marriage; especially since they hate one another and couldn't think of a worse match.
• • •
London, 1815
Maeve Langston's aversion to the opposite sex has...
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On her way back to the ball, Maeve scolded herself for her stupidity. Being isolated in the middle of an event such as this one was risky, and had she not exited the ballroom to get some air, she never would have encountered that rude bastard.
But as always when she was surrounded by too many people, she'd been feeling light-headed and oppressed, in need of some time alone to get better. She already knew that once she'd be in her bed, she'd sleep for twelve hours to make up for the exhaustion this evening would cause.
So, she'd slipped away from her distracted chaperone and had found a suitable place to recuperate. Sitting there on the stone bench, she'd pondered with her eyes on the moon, reflecting on Ailia's betrayal and why it still felt so fresh, as if it had happened the day before and not months ago.
Then, he had interrupted her quiet thoughts, before acting like a pompous arse.
She'd recognized him right away, despite the scar now adorning his face and the cane. Such a man needing a cane to walk felt wrong, and she wondered if it was a necessity or a fashion choice. Tall and imposing, he looked nothing like the other guests from the party, his body visibly strong and powerful. Anyone else in there was either lean or overweight, but this man was... powerful.
Already then, when they'd first met, he'd been nothing like the others with his military uniform and tallness. And now, with the large scar on his face, he looked like a pirate or a bandit, not a nobleman. It started on his forehead, ran through his eyebrow, only to stop abruptly. Then, it resumed high on his cheekbone, to finish in the middle of his cheek. It should have looked glum or creepy, but for some reason, the scar suited him.
But then he'd opened his mouth, and everything had gone downhill from there. Thankfully, Delawney had arrived just in time. A few seconds later and she would have snapped him in half. Not physically, as she didn't have the upper hand on this one, but she had made some men cry in the past, so she would have tried that instead.
For the first time in her life, she felt relieved to enter a crowded room. In there, she wouldn't have to endure more of Lucian Thorne's presence.
Done with this evening — which she hadn't wanted to attend in the first place — she sought her chaperone, hoping she could negotiate for them to go home early. Ailia wouldn't be happy about it, but she should be glad they even came at all. As soon as she located Lady Cranston thanks to her black dress, Maeve walked her way with hasty steps.
"Oh, there you are, dear," the widow welcomed her. There was no trace of worry nor relief on her face, so Maeve wondered if she'd even realized that one of her wards for the night had been missing for over half an hour. "Ailia's fiancé wishes to play cards with a few gentlemen, and your sister would like to attend in a show of support. We need to go to the grand parlor."
Maeve scrunched her nose, pinching her lips together. It seemed her chaperone's mind was made up, and there would be no changing it before a moment. So, instead of arguing, she followed the matriarch out of the ballroom. Once they entered a parlor where a few people had already gathered, Maeve instantly spotted her twin. But as soon as their gazes met, she averted her eyes and stared at a curtain instead.
