Page 23 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

He could not offer her the emotional support that a wife would no doubt need. He wasn’t capable of it. She was a woman of passion and life and excitement, while he was a man damaged on the inside by the things he had done.

Emotionally, he was no good to anyone, and he was not going to take her body when he could not offer her love in return.

As the ceremony ended, they walked down the aisle and were greeted by their family. Eli, Tobias, and Mrs. Owens, the housekeeper—Percival’s only guests at the wedding—came up to offer their congratulations.

Soon they retired indoors for the wedding breakfast. Louisa sparkled beside him, accepting congratulations and well wishes gratefully and smiling at him from time to time as she ate from their shared plate.

She was everything he wasn’t—beautiful, innocent, and bright. And while Percival knew he could not offer her those in return, he was selfish enough to want to keep her light and joy to himself.

He didn’t allow himself to feel guilty because he had been honest from the start about what their marriage would look like. Heknew she would grow to resent him with time, but before she could lash out, he would have discovered everything he needed about the circumstances of his brother’s death.

“I think it’s time for the couple’s first dance,” her uncle announced.

Their guests cheered and cleared a path in the middle of the hall.

Louisa stiffened and gave Percival an apologetic look. He offered her his hand and rose from his seat.

He couldn’t give her a happy life, but he could ensure that she at least enjoyed the wedding.

Her eyes widened in shock, but she placed her hand in his nonetheless.

The minstrels struck up a tune as they neared. A waltz, Percival realized. He placed a hand on her waist and took her other hand, trying hard to ignore the feel of her waist beneath his hand or the heat that traveled up his arms where he touched her.

She stared up at him with wide eyes as they danced, her cheeks red, and he wondered why. He spun her once, and everyone faded away as if they were the only people left in the world.

She moved in time with him, and he knew then that things would never be the same again.

Chapter Eight

The silence in the carriage was deafening as Louisa and Percival rode to what would be her new home, the air thick with emotions that neither was willing to express. Louisa had never imagined that this was how the marriage she had agreed to would look like, so it was a startling reality check for her.

She had expected at least minimal conversation to distract her from the nervousness that the idea of starting a new life was stirring inside her, but Percival did not seem to share her anxiety about the change in status.

But then she guessed not much was going to change in his life, after all. He was a duke, and while she was his wife now, they were simply returning to his home. With their marriage of convenience, he’d spend the rest of his life with little to no changes to his freedom and lifestyle.

That was why he could afford to be so relaxed, slouching slightly in his seat opposite hers, his hat pulled low to cover his face, soshe could not tell if he was asleep or merely resting his eyes. In contrast, she was now married to a duke who was ignoring her, and she was moving into a house where she knew no one.

In fact, the Duke was the only familiar person who escorted her into her new home, but he was ignoring her, and she could not understand why.

When she walked down the aisle towards him earlier, the flicker of admiration in his eyes immediately chased her nervousness away, replacing it with a heightened sense of awareness of his body.

Even though she knew that their marriage was one of convenience, a part of her had held on to the hope that she might have a splendid wedding night. The type that the maids giggled about in the dark corners of the manor.

The moment when he kissed her was nothing short of heavenly, for that heightened awareness tipped into desire as he virtually ravished her mouth. When he finally released her, it was all she could do not to pull him back and beg him to continue, but the look of regret on his face stopped her cold.

He had acted like it was the worst sin to kiss her, and she was left to wonder if she was so unattractive that he regretted kissing her. Had he realized at the altar that he could not deal with her scars?

Despite how ill-received her scars had been by Society, she had never truly felt inferior. Thanks to her family—her mother,mostly—she had a healthy self-esteem. A trait that had allowed her to continue navigating the treacherous waters of polite society. She had ignored looks of disgust and pity. She had ignored the gossips and their less-than-true stories.

But in the face of Percival’s rejection, her armor shattered, leaving her vulnerable to pain and injury—and she experienced the worst part of it after the kiss.

Was she so hideous that the mere act of kissing her disgusted him?

Granted, she had mistakenly initiated the kiss, but he had been a willing participant and an eager one at that.

When the priest announced that Percival could kiss her, she was flooded with anticipation and trepidation. She had watched as he struggled with his conscience. A part of her felt irritated that kissing her was such an uphill task for him. Percival might be a lot of things, but he definitely was not ignorant about what happened in the bedroom. Why, then, did he find it so difficult to kiss his bride?

She had given up hope of him performing that task when she felt his fingers on her face, tracing her jaw, his eyes blazing with resolve. He lowered his head, intent on placing a kiss on her cheek.

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