““The face that was revealed had once been as beautiful as an angel's but was now horribly mutilated. A livid red scar ran from just below his hairline on the right side of his face, bisecting the eyebrow, somehow skipping the eye itself but gouging a furrow into the lean cheek and catching the edge of his upper lip, making it twist. The scar ended in a missing divot of flesh in the line of the man's severe jaw. He had inky black hair and, though they were closed now, Iris knew he had emotionless crystal-gray eyes. She knew because she recognized him. He was Raphael de Chartres, the Duke of Dyemore, and when she'd danced with him- once- three months ago at a ball, she thought he'd looked like Hades. God of the underworld. God of the dead.””
