Page 44 of Aurelia

“You must have been very far from any doctor or surgeon?”

“We were hundreds of miles from any settlement.”

“How were you able to treat your wounds?”

“I was lucky that one of the bearers knew enough to save me.” He traced his fingers lightly along the four jagged black lines. “The man—Micco—is a Seminole. The Seminoles are a people who only recently settled in Las Floridas after the original inhabitants were all but eradicated by disease. In Micco’s tribe, battle wounds are considered a source of pride, not something to be ashamed of. The black in the wound is the result of the poultice he used. Rather than healing to leave no scars, the poultice enhanced it.” He smiled. “Micco believed he was doing me an honor.”

“The scars are not unattractive—” she broke off, distress flickering across her face as she struggled to find the words she wanted. “I just meant—”

“Thank you,” he said. “I am pleased you think so. As I mentioned earlier, I do not find the scars a burden, but I wish my arm and eye still functioned properly. Still, I was far more fortunate than my wife.” Or her lover, he added silently.

“I’m sorry to keep staring, but that eye is so remarkably lifelike.”

“You may look at it closer if you like. Or I could pop it out and hand it to—”

“You needn’t do that,” she hastily assured him. “But I would like to look at it more closely.”

Roland slid the blazing candelabra on the table closer to him. “Come here and sit on this chair.” He nudged the empty chair beside him.

She was as hesitant as a fawn as she came around the table and then perched on the very edge of the seat.

Roland leaned closer to her, watching her face while her gaze was focused on the glass orb.

Her eyes slid to his real eye and her throat flexed. Her breathing hitched and her lips parted, her chest rising and falling faster as she held his gaze, her pupils telling him the truth of what she thought about him.

He smiled and her eyes lowered to his mouth before jumping back up.

It was the oddest moment, as if time had slowed. There was just Roland and the desirable—and forbidden—woman across from him. Out of the corner of his vision he saw her fingers twitch—as if she wanted to touch something. Him?

“You can feel the scars, if you like. You won’t hurt me.”

She jolted slightly and swallowed again, her delicate nostrils flaring. For a moment, he thought he’d broken the strange spell that charged the air between them and worried she might flee like the deer she so much resembled.

But then she reached for him.

***

The air felt thick and hot, and it was difficult for Aurelia to fill her lungs. She was close enough to the earl to feel his warm breath and the heat of his big body.

Suddenly, she was assaulted by a powerful and utterly mad urge to bury her face in his broad chest and just…

Well, Aurelia didn’t know what she would just do. Die of mortification, most likely.

She stiffened her spine and swallowed, both to rid her mouth of the copious moisture flooding it and also to make sure she still could swallow, because her body didn’t feel like it belonged to her any longer.

It had been reckless to come so close to him, but there had been no way to resist. The glass eye had only been an excuse to get near him. And now that she was beside him, she only wanted to get closer.

Foolish, reckless girl! A voice chided in her head.

She was, but she could not bring herself to regret her impulse.

She studied the glass orb, the intricate shards of blues and grays creating an iris that was a work of art.

Her gaze slid to the real eye and her breathing, already ragged, stuttered.

The Venetian artist’s skill was amazing, but it could not compare to that of the Almighty. Not only were there a thousand subtle shades in his rapidly darkening eye, but it contained pulsating, intoxicating life.

Aurelia’s audacious behavior—inching ever closer to Lord Crewe and boldly staring—didn’t seem ill-mannered so much as intimate. He had invited her to do so, hadn’t he?