Baron of Blasphemy

“You’re welcome, darling. Now
remember, our host is about to become a marquess.”

Mia frowned. They’d been over the
details a hundred times. Her mother was convinced that of all the properties the heir apparent might have visited, he’d come to Cumberland, where his mother
had hailed from, to choose a bride from the hardiest stock in England.

Mia had no idea where her mother’s
theory had come from, but if it were true, he likely would not consider Mia a perspective bride.

She could see just enough to
maneuver a crowd, broad shapes and splashes of color and light penetrating her damaged eyes. But that was it. And a blind bride was not exactly hardy stock, even if she had lost her sight due to a childhood fever.

 The carriage entered the queue of other vehicles waiting to drop the guests within at the main doors.

Mia straightened her shoulders,
clutching her reticule tighter. She’d not precisely told her mother of her plan for the evening. While her mother supported Mia’s art, the matriarch saw Mia’s pastime as the accomplishment that would help her daughter secure an excellent
match, not a vocation for a lady to pursue.

And Mia saw enough of the world to
know that despite her supposed beauty and her artistic talent, she was likely not going to wed. She’d been passed over at nearly every event she’d ever attended and this one would be no different.

It was time to begin testing
alternative paths. Fortunately for her, her mother’s matrimonial plans were likely to fizzle out without any work from Mia. Men would continue to ignore her, and at nearly two and twenty, she’d soon be on the shelf.

But she needed to escape her
father’s house and her only hope there was to be able to sell her work.

The carriage stopped once again,
their footman snapping open the door. Lifting a hand, she carefully adjusted the mask that covered her eyes.

Her mother stepped out first, Mia
second, the footman aware of the secure hand she’d need to make her way down the steps.

She lifted her skirts in the other
hand, attempting to move with as much grace as possible. Then, threading her arm through her mother’s, she joined the crowd.

With the loss of sight, all of
Mia’s other senses had heightened. She heard the rustle of clothing, the fall of footsteps, the low murmur of voices.

They moved along with the others.
“Steps,” her mother faintly whispered.

She gave a near imperceptible nod.
She could make out stairs in the light of the day but not as well at night.  

The breeze blew cold air across her
skin, and she lifted her chin to allow her nose to clear of the surrounding
scents. The ballroom would be full of the scent of perfume and body odor. She’d take the fresh smell of cold winter night while she was able.

But as she drew in a deep breath, a
different scent touched her nose. Strong and masculine, sandalwood mixed with pine and an earthy undertone that made her nipples tighten in the strangest
way.

She paused, nearly tripping on the
next step. She hardly had time to straighten when a hand was under her elbow.

Strong, lean fingers wrapped about
the bare skin between the top of her glove and the sleeve of her dress, their firm, warm grip causing her to shiver.

“Careful, my lady.” His voice
rippled over her skin, the deep timber of it making her suck in a deep gulp of air.

“My lord,” her mother gushed.
“Thank you for both your invitation and your aid.”

“You’re welcome. But I must
confess, I don’t have the pleasure of knowing who I converse with.”

“Beg your pardon.” Her mother
dipped into a curtsey. “I am Baroness Blackstone and this is my daughter Miss Amelia Blackstone.”