Page 15 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

She chuckled happily and took it. A sense of relief washed over him when he saw how relaxed and happy she was.

“Mother,” she announced, looking up with a smile, “His Grace has asked for my hand in marriage, and I have accepted.”

Percival watched in amusement as relief flashed across Lady Langham’s face and her shoulders relaxed.

“That is excellent news, Louisa,” she said, rocking slightly as if she dearly wanted to break into dance but was making the effort to stand still. She turned to him with a radiant smile. “Welcome to the family, Your Grace. I promise you will not regret this decision.”

“Marrying Louisa can never be regrettable,” Percival declared stiffly, slightly offended by the implication that his betrothed was not desirable. “I am a lucky man to have her. Since we have agreed, I will do my best to obtain a special license. We will be married in a week.”

With a deep bow, he walked out of the drawing room, leaving the two ladies standing there, their jaws slack with astonishment.

“Well,” Isabella began, breaking the silence that fell over the room following the Duke’s departure. “It seems that we have a wedding to plan on very short notice.”

“Indeed, I do not know how on earth we are expected to put forth a good celebration on such short notice. We do not even have a wedding dress ready. I truly wonder if the modiste will be able to make something beautiful so quickly. We have to go there before nightfall,” Lady Langham sputtered, frantic with worry.

“Mother, there is no need to fret,” Louisa said.

“There is every need, dear Louisa. You are not allowed to look anything but absolutely glorious on your special day. I am not going to let the vicious mamas of the ton have a field day again,” Lady Langham asserted, pacing the length of the drawing room.

Louisa felt that familiar cold weight in her belly that reminded her of the blow her self-esteem had taken for the past coupleof years since the accident. Her mother attempted to play it off as nothing, pretending that she was not affected by their snide comments, but her last comment belied her pretense.

“Louisa…” Lady Langham began in an apologetic tone.

“There is no need, Mama. The modiste will make a good dress. No amount of finery will make the ton forget that I am a scarred lady. I bear my scars with pride and would never allow them to make me feel less.”

“That is the spirit, dearest sister,” Isabella chimed in, a wide smile on her face.

“Come, my dear,” Lady Langham urged, taking Isabella’s hand. “We have a wedding to plan. There is so much to do. Make haste.”

Considering that Isabella’s wedding had taken three months to plan, Louisa did not envy them the task of trying to replicate a wedding of such opulence in so little time. But then, if there was anyone who took hospitality and balls very seriously, it was her mother.

It was how Lady Langham had managed to marry off two of her daughters to dukes, and a third was on the way.

While she did not particularly care for appearances, Louisa understood her mother’s need to control some things, andbecause she understood the cause of that impulse, she humored her.

More than the wedding, she was concerned about the marriage per se, and naturally, she thought about her fiancé. She could only describe him as mysterious in a dark way, and while that quality was attractive in a way, it was also the root cause of her nervousness.

While the marriage offer seemed the answer to her prayers, she wondered what it would be like to be married to the Duke of Colborne. On the surface, she must admit that he was easy on the eyes and that he was attractive in a dark, untamed way, with a smoldering gaze and rumbling voice that called to a primal part of her that she had not realized existed.

They were attracted to each other, there was no doubt about that. But she had no inkling of his character and what exactly he was capable of. She had a feeling that she would never know, especially if he meant to keep to his plan of living separate lives.

She was supposed to be euphoric about the idea of enjoying the freedom that came with living alone, hence she did not understand the tightness that bloomed in her chest at the thought.

Chapter Five

Percival felt the difference in the air the moment he stepped into the tavern. The air inside was thick with smoke, permeated with the smell of unwashed bodies and another distinct smell that seemed to emanate from rotting food.

This was the place the lowest of the low frequented in England. Thieves, cutthroats, assassins, and patrons of such services met here. The Bow Street Runners would not dare raid the tavern. The gangs that met there would return with even deadlier force.

It was no place for a duke, but then he was no ordinary duke. He felt more at home here than in the finest gentlemen’s clubs that London had to offer.

Looking around, he finally located his half-brother sat at one end of the room. Percival made his way through the crowd towards him. He had told Eli to dress simply, but his half-brother still looked out of place among the pile of unwashed bodies.

“Eli,” he greeted when he stopped in front of the table.

“Colborne,” Eli returned, taking a swig from the tankard he held in his hands.

Percival had thought that the man would complain about not going to a better establishment, but Eli looked at ease. Perhaps he had misjudged him, after all.

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