Not by Sight by Kate Breslin Page B

obviously could not see. Deep blue eyes . . .
    Recognition made gooseflesh rise along her arms. She took in his substantial height and the broadness of his shoulders, the blond hair curling about his collar. He’d once sported a faux queue tied at his nape. And in those seconds before he hid from her, she’d recognized his handsome features—the strong nose and squared jaw, his sculpted mouth.
    “Jack Benningham?” she whispered.

4
    “You know me?”
    Instantly he was looming over her. He reached out and grabbed hold of her arms while he barked his question through a veil of steel mesh.
    Grace tried looking up at him, then glanced away. He was gruesome. The mask covered the upper part of his face much like a domino mask, except the eyeholes had been filled in with narrow metal strips, making it impossible to see him. Even more ghastly, an attached curtain of steel hid his mouth and the rest of his face from view. Why did he wear such an outlandish disguise? She couldn’t help thinking of some eerie, otherworldly being she’d seen in picture books.
    “I s-saw you,” she said, frightened by his grip. “I recognized you before . . . before . . .” Before you put on that hideous mask , she didn’t finish.
    “Who are you?” His fingers dug into her flesh. “And why did you invade my privacy?”
    “A mistake, honestly!” She tried pulling away, but his grip held firm. Her memory of their last encounter returned, and Grace could hardly believe he was the same Casanova who hadenticed her with his devilish smile and penetrating gaze. She recalled how that smile had faded to a look of rage after she handed him the white feather of cowardice, and how he’d left the party without a backward glance.
    She didn’t dare reveal her identity to him now. He seemed angry enough to kill. “I . . . it’s the pigs,” she said, thinking to appease him with an explanation. “I work for the Women’s Forage Corps and was taking them to the butcher, but they got loose. One of them ate your roses and then ran into the hedge.”
    He must have decided she wasn’t a threat because he released her and stepped back. “Wherever the pig’s gone, likely it’s found a way out by now.” His acerbic tone resonated from beneath the mesh. “Yet another instance in which I find animals more intelligent than humans.”
    Grace felt too relieved at having escaped his clutches to respond to his obvious insult.
    “This way, girl.” He moved past her, and she followed, her mind still reeling. Jack Benningham was Lord Roxwood, the Tin Man . . .
    Not a monster. At least not outwardly, despite his scars. She stared at the powerfully built figure leading her back to what she hoped was the entrance into the labyrinth. Now that she’d seen the mask with its steel veil, she understood why the locals called him the Tin Man. But the rest—the hunchback, pointed ears, and sharp teeth—was the invention of rural imagination.
    His moral character was still in question, however. Grace felt certain Jack Benningham’s soul must be horribly pocked and scarred with the sins of his past exploits. Yet he wasn’t womanizing or gambling now. The sight of him shocked her anew as she recalled the newspaper report of his receiving only minor injuries from the fire. Being blinded was hardly that . . .
    “I trust you can find your way back from here?”
    Abruptly he’d halted and turned. Grace, nearly colliding withhim, quickly stepped back. They had reached the entrance to the hedge maze. Fleetingly it occurred to her that he’d managed to navigate it without being able to see.
    “Yes, thank you . . . Lord Roxwood.” He was surly and rude, and she was eager to leave his presence. “I’m terribly sorry about the damage to your roses.”
    She started to walk past him when he reached for her again. She gasped when he latched onto her wrist. “I believe you’ve forgotten a small detail.” His tone held an edge. “You said you