From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,60

she hesitates. We have time.”

I was not hesitating for the reason they believed—why the Duke smiled with such relish. Of course, I was uncomfortable baring my face, my scars in front of Hawke. Truthfully, though, that was the least of my concerns at the moment, but the Duke was probably internally screaming with twisted joy.

The man absolutely loathed me.

Dorian Teerman pretended that he didn’t, that he thought I was this miracle-born, a Chosen, just like his wife believed. But I knew better. The time spent in his other office proved exactly how he felt about me.

I wasn’t sure what it was about me that he hated, but there had to be something. As far as I knew, he was at least somewhat decent toward the Ladies and Lords in Wait. But me? He loved nothing more than discovering something that made me uncomfortable, only to then exploit it. And if I really wanted to make his day, I’d give him something to be disappointed in, a reason to continue his lessons.

Face burning as if on fire—from anger and frustration more than embarrassment—I reached for the clasps along the chains at the same moment Tawny rose, nearly tearing them apart as I unhooked them. The veil loosened, and before it could fall, Tawny caught the sides and helped ease the headdress off.

Cool air kissed my cheeks and the nape of my neck. I stared straight at the Duke. I wasn’t sure what he saw in my face, but his smile faded, and his eyes turned to shards of obsidian. His jaw clenched, and I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself…

I smiled.

It was just a hint of a grin, one that probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone but the Duke, but he saw it. I knew he did.

I was sure I’d pay for it later, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

Someone shifted to my right, ending my epic stare-off with the Duke, and reminding me that we weren’t the only two in the room. He wasn’t the only one looking at me.

The right side of my face was visible to Hawke, the side that the Duke often said was beautiful. The side I imagined matched my mother’s.

Drawing in a shallow breath, I turned my head until I completely faced Hawke. No side profiles. No hiding or mask that covered the two scars. My hair was secured in a braid and then wrapped in a knot, so it too provided no curtain. He saw everything that had been bared at the Red Pearl and then some. He saw the scars. I braced myself. Just like the Duke knew I would, because deep down, whether Teerman knew why or not, Hawke’s reaction would affect me.

It would hurt more than it should.

But I’d be damned if I let it show.

Lifting my chin, I waited for the look of shock or revulsion, or even worse, pity. I expected nothing less. Beauty was highly coveted and worshipped, flawlessness even more.

Because beauty was considered godlike.

Hawke’s golden gaze roamed my face, his stare so potent that it felt like a caress along the scars, my cheeks, and then my lips. A shiver danced across my shoulders as his eyes came back to mine. Our gazes locked. Held. The air seemed to be sucked from the room, and I felt flushed, as if I’d been sitting out in the sun for too long.

I didn’t know what I saw as I stared back at him, but there was no shock etched into his expression, no revulsion, and especially no pity. His face wasn’t empty, exactly. There was something there, in his eyes and in the set of his mouth, but I had no idea what it was.

But then the Duke spoke, his tone deceptively pleasant. “She’s truly unique, isn’t she?”

I stiffened.

“Half of her face is a masterpiece,” the Duke murmured, and my skin flashed cold and then hot as my stomach twisted. “The other half a nightmare.”

A tremor coursed down my arms, but I kept my chin high and resisted the urge to pick up something, anything, and throw it at the Duke’s face.

The Duchess spoke, though saying what, I wasn’t sure. Hawke’s gaze remained fastened on mine as he stepped forward. “Both halves are as beautiful as the whole.”

My lips parted on a sharp inhale. I couldn’t even look to see what the Duke’s reaction was, though I was sure it was nothing short of cataclysmic.

Hawke placed a hand on the hilt of his broadsword and bowed slightly,