Page 12 of A Rogue Worth the Risk

The question was so unexpected, Caspian missed a step but quickly recovered.

Glancing down, he met Corinna’s candid gaze. Peering into her clear blue eyes was like slipping into a warm lake and floating there. Peaceful and calm as the gentle, soothing water lapped over his skin.

This woman could make him want things he’d long ago decided he didn’t want—would never have.

Marriage. Children. Peace and contentment.

“What?”

What had she asked him?

“Your face?” Her focus shifted to the scar. “What happened?”

Most women averted their gazes, yet this precocious vixen brazenly asked him about his scar. He appreciated her candor.

Caspian looked past the halo of moonlit curls atop her head. He flexed his jaw, the anger, terror, and grief still capable of clawing at his mind…his soul.

“There was a fire six years ago. I only escaped by jumping through an upper-story window. The rest of my family wasn’t as fortunate. I also have scars on my arm and shoulder.”

“Oh,” Corinna breathed softly. “How awful. I’m truly sorry.”

Caspian warred with the desire to glance downward again. He couldn’t bear to see her splendid eyes filled with pity.

He lost the short battle.

What was it about this woman that beckoned to him?

“I’d like to hear the tale if you’d like to share it.” She peeked up, only compassion warming her gaze. “I’d vow you haven’t spoken of it, have you?”

“Not much.”

“It might help you heal.”

Just like that.

No beating around the bush. No less than subtle hints or probing explorations.

How could she know he hadn’t healed?

Oh, his body had mended, but his soul remained tormented. Guilt was an insidious thing. He could neither have prevented the blaze nor rescued anyone. Yet the fact that he’d survived, and his family had not, scraped his conscience raw.

The ugly accusations and vile allegations that he’d set the fire had heaped salt into his already oozing wounds.

Caspian permitted a cockeyed smile, for once, unconcerned about the ghoulish effect the motion would cause. Few people were interested in the unembellished truth.

“It’s not romantic or adventurous. A tragedy in all aspects.”

Corinna didn’t seem to mind the way his scar pulled his mouth upward.

Glancing around, the arch of her winged brows pulled together, she gave a little nod. “The library.”

The library? What?

“What?” He sounded like an empty-headed beef wit.

“We can talk privately in the library. That’s the room I ran out of,” Corinna offered by way of an explanation.

The music slowed, and they came to a stop.