Free Never Love a Scoundrel by Darcy Burke

started, the ballroom was almost deadly quiet, except for the strains of the waltz. As he swept her into the dance, the other couples remained still. For a few moments they moved about the center of the ballroom, his hand at her back, her hand on his shoulder, their fingers clasped. It seemed they were the only things moving in the entire world. Time had ceased to advance. Everyone around them was frozen in some eerie tableau.
    But Lydia was most aware of him. His wide shoulders, his warmth, that jagged scar . . .
    “Why do you stare at it so much?” he asked.
    She shook her head and raised her gaze to his. “What?”
    His eyes held the same intensity as they had in the alcove. “My scar. You always stare at it.” His voice grew soft. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
    “No,” she said the word before she even contemplated her reasoning. Why did she stare at it? She wasn’t the least bit repulsed by how it looked. “It makes me sad. I wish you didn’t have it. I wish I could make it go away, and not because it disfigured your face, but because it’s a reminder of something I’m sure you’d rather forget.”
    She heard his breath catch. Her heartbeat doubled. She knew what it was like to want to forget, to erase memories from your mind and maybe create a history that could make you smile instead of weep. His eyes bored into hers and she thought he understood.
    The moment shattered as other couples started dancing and conversation picked up again. She looked up at him, prepared to query him about his half brother, but the questions died on her lips. He was still looking at her in that intensely . . . hot way. Maybe whatever moment they’d shared hadn’t broken apart. Maybe this was more than a moment.
    Lydia’s gaze locked with his as the waltz continued. For the first time ever she simply enjoyed the dance. She wanted to laugh at doubting his skill—he was exquisite. He moved gracefully and effortlessly for such a large man, but then his build was athletic. What did he do to achieve such results? Suddenly the questions burning her brain became far more personal. What did he do for leisure? How had he learned to dance so well? What made him happy?
    But she said nothing. She was too afraid to ruin this blissful interlude where she was simply a young lady enjoying a waltz with a handsome man.
    Unfortunately the music began to wind down. Lydia’s pulse quickened with anxiety. She didn’t want it to end, wished time would freeze again, and they could dance forever. Tears blurred her eyes. She never cried. Why now?
    The music ended, and she blinked rapidly lest she break down. Goodness, pull yourself together, Lydia!
    Reality forced its way back in as they made their way from the dance floor. People were openly staring again, and the sound in the ballroom came to a slow but definitive halt. Even the musicians remained silent.
    And then Lydia knew why. Emerging from the throng of people to greet them as they exited the dance floor was the only other person who could cause such a furor.
    She looked up at Lockwood, her arm clutching his as if she could give him strength. Later she would have to consider this sudden and surprising allegiance to him, but for now, she only hoped he was all right.
    His eyes were dark and they fixed on the figure standing directly before them.
    Locke’s lips spread in a wicked smile. “Good evening, brother.”
     

Chapter Five

    SO THIS was how Ethan planned to go on? Jason knew they were going to have to admit the familial tie—they were too similar to hide it. But here, in the middle of the first ball Jason had attended in forever? The audacity didn’t surprise him. Ethan would choose whatever suited him and damn anyone else.
    No, what surprised him was Ethan’s appearance in a bloody ballroom. He looked . . . respectable.
    Lady Lydia’s fingers dug into his forearm, drawing Jason back to the present. He forced his muscles to relax and his mouth into the semblance of a