Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) by Christi Caldwell

vision,” she said, her voice faintly breathless from the force of her relief. He stood but a handful of feet away. For one of his size and strength, and... She looked to his cane once more, and of his condition, he moved with a remarkable grace. “And I am not shy,” she blurted, warming at those inane, useless words. Still, she was three and twenty, a woman past the prime of her first youth. Seasoned by his late brother’s betrayal.
    He presented his back. “I do not care what you are or what you aren’t,” he said with a chilling aloofness that set her teeth on edge. No, one cut of the same proverbial cloth as George would not care about her or others—in any way.
    With that reminder slipping to the forefront, she drew on the purpose that had driven her into this dark, miserable home. Back still presented to her, the arrogant duke could not even deign to look at her. Then, she’d always been invisible to his vile family. If only that had been the case for his blighter of a brother. God rot his soul. At the protracted silence, she snapped. “My name is Lily Benedict,” she said firmly. Lilliana Bennett had died long, long ago.
    At that, he turned his face and met her gaze squarely. She swallowed hard. With the barrier of the door from their first meeting now gone and no effort made by him to obscure his face from scrutiny, she stared with something akin to horror, wonder, and regret.
    Half his face was the chiseled beauty of that famed David. The other appeared a horrified masterpiece thrown hastily together by the artist, Michelangelo. On one side, the olive hue of his rugged features hinted at his Roman roots. The other side, a collection of angry scars; the skin whitened and yellow from those burns. A black patch over his left eye lent him the look of a menacing pirate. She swallowed. Yet, for his scars, there was a splendorous power to him. Her heart quickened to a dangerous rhythm that had nothing to do with fear of him, but rather an awareness of this broad, powerful man who, with his unassailable strength, harkened back to warriors of old. In that strength, he was so unlike any she’d known before...and all the more terrifying for it.
    He leaned down, sticking his face so close, their noses brushed, and she who’d long believed herself past blushing, went warm under his scrutiny. “Did you have a good look?” he jeered.
    In her haste to get away from the great, hulking stranger, Lily took a hurried step backward and stumbled against a mahogany side table. She shot her hands out and found purchase on the top of the leather sofa. “I daresay your foul temper is merely a means of protecting yourself, but all the same, you don’t have to be so rude.”
    “Protecting myself?” He stalked over and for a moment she contemplated retreat. Instead, she rooted her feet to the floor and met his challenging stare. He leaned close, forcing the vicious scars into her direct line of vision.
    A twinge pulled at her heart. The man was odious to his servants. He was kin to the man who’d ruined her. And yet, she still would never wish the kind of horror and pain forever memorialized upon the duke’s face.
    He snapped black eyebrows together in a flat, angry line. “Do you think I need protecting from a slip of a lady such as yourself?”
    It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that she was under no one’s terms or standards, a lady, but that would be as extraneous as mentioning the whole “I’m-not-shy-business”, particularly when one was seeking the post of governess to his ward. She bit her lower lip.
    He sent one black eyebrow up in a devilish arc that roused terror in her breast. “Is something wrong with your hearing as well as your mind, Miss Benedict?”
    The brute made it nigh impossible to feel sympathy or pity or anything less than mild disdain for him. “Is something wrong with your manners?” she demanded, the question exploding from her lips.
    His Grace went still and her heart climbed