Though she appeared lively and fresh, he sensed in her a world-weariness—the same that affected him so markedly.

He frowned to find that his heart had started to race—

Hugh had him shoved against a building wall, his forearm lodged against Ethan's neck, before he could tense.

What is this…?Ethan rolled his eyes. "Rest easy. I'm no' ogling your precious Jane."

Hugh finally released him but appeared disbelieving. "Then what held your attention?" he demanded. "Claudia? The one in the red mask?" When Ethan gave no answer, Hugh said, "Belinda? The tall brunette?"

Ethan shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes from the blonde.

The unusual notice clearly stunned Hugh. "I doona know her, but she must be one of Jane's friends," he said in a wary tone. "And she looks no' more than twenty. Too young for you."

Ethan's age was thirty-three, and he felt every year of it, but shewas young. So how could she possibly have that weariness about her? "If I'm as bad as you and Court and all of the clan believe," Ethan began, "then I'll find her that much more enticing for it, will I no'?" Ethan strove for a bored tone, but he suspected his bitterness came through. Truthfully, he wasn't as bad as they thought.

He was worse.

He had blood on his hands and a heart so cold that he was considered the evil brother of the three—and the other two were a gunman and a mercenary. Ethan was the sodding laird, and yet most in the clan feared him, wanting nothing to do with him—and that was before he'd been scarred.

Reminded of his appearance, he tried to turn away from the girl. If he approached her, a beauty like that would run in terror at the sight of his face.Drop back in the shadows where you belong. Forget you ever saw her….