Page 14 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Ah yes, the mysterious room that's caused such speculation among the staff," Laurence interjected. "Another boundary she's crossed?"

"She didn't just cross it—she's completely mistaken it for something else. And when I confronted her..." Cecil broke off, remembering how she'd stood her ground, chin lifted, eyes flashing. "She demanded to know why it was forbidden in the first place."

"And what did you tell her?" Percival asked softly.

"Nothing of consequence." Cecil ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his frustration. "But the woman has a wayof...getting under my skin. Every time she challenges me, every defiant tilt of her chin..." He stopped, aware he'd revealed too much of his growing obsession. With deliberate casualness, he added, "It's irrelevant. In three months, this will all be finished.”

"Will it?" Laurence's cold voice carried an unusual note of skepticism. "Because from where I sit, cousin, it seems you're already in deeper than you intended."

Cecil shot his cousin a dangerous look. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Merely that for a man planning to leave in three months, you seem extraordinarily concerned with your wife's every move." Laurence took a slow sip of his brandy. "When was the last time you visited your usual...entertainments?"

"I made a vow of fidelity," Cecil said stiffly.

"I seem to recall at least three broken engagements where similar vows were made." Laurence countered.

"That was different," Cecil snapped, though he couldn't quite explain why. The thought of betraying Elizabeth's trust made something in his chest constrict painfully.

"Different because this time you actually care what she thinks of you?" Percival suggested mildly.

Cecil's silence was damning.

"You know," Percival continued, swirling his brandy thoughtfully, "my Madeleine was quite impressed when she heard about your marriage. Said it showed remarkable growth in character, choosing a wife for her intelligence rather than her beauty."

"I didn't choose her," Cecil protested. "She was merely...convenient."

"Convenient?" Laurence's sardonic laugh cut through the room. "Cousin, nothing about Elizabeth Cooper appears convenient. A scarred spinster with a sharp tongue and sharper mind, who challenges your authority at every turn? You could have had your pick of docile debutantes. Instead, you married the one woman in London who seems immune to your charm."

"She's not entirely immune," Cecil muttered before he could stop himself, remembering the way Elizabeth had trembled under his touch, the flush that crept up her neck when he stood too close.

Percival's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Do tell."

"There's nothing to tell," Cecil said quickly, but his friends' knowing looks told him he'd already revealed too much. "We have an arrangement, nothing more."

"An arrangement that has you thinking about her reactions, analyzing her every move," Percival pointed out. "When was the last time you spent this much effort understanding a woman's mind rather than just pursuing her body?"

Cecil's jaw clenched. "You make me sound like some lovesick fool."

"Not lovesick," Laurence observed coldly. "But certainly preoccupied. You've barely touched your brandy, and you've adjusted your cravat three times in the last quarter hour—something you only do when thoroughly unsettled."

"The only thing unsettling me is this interrogation," Cecil growled, though he forced his hand away from his cravat. "I came here for a quiet evening among friends, not an inquiry into my marriage."

"Did you?" Percival leaned forward. "Because it seems to me you came here hoping we'd convince you that your growing attachment to your wife is merely temporary madness."

"I am not growing attached," Cecil insisted, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Elizabeth is...she's just..."

"Just what?" Laurence prompted when Cecil fell silent.

Cecil stared into the depths of his glass, seeing instead the way Elizabeth's eyes lit up when she solved a problem, the gentle way she spoke to the staff, the fierce pride with which she carried herself despite the scar that made lesser people turn away.

"She's unexpected," he finally said, his voice rough. "Everything about her is unexpected."

"And that vexes you?" Percival's tone held a hint of amusement.

"She's hardly the convenient match I anticipated," Cecil admitted, standing to pour himself another drink. "Do you know what she said when I mentioned my reputation? That she wasn't some innocent miss who faints at the mention of marital duties."

Percival's laugh echoed through the room. "Your new countess seems determined to keep you on your toes."

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