Page 16 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Because I know something you don't." He leaned down, his breath fanning against her ear. "Once you discover what real pleasure feels like, you won't be able to stop craving it. And I'm very, very good at providing pleasure."

Elizabeth's heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his proximity affected her. "Your reputation precedes you, but I assure you, I'm made of sterner stuff than your usual conquests."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." His smile was pure sin. "It will make your eventual surrender all the sweeter."

"And if I don't surrender?" Elizabeth challenged, though her voice emerged huskier than intended. "What then?"

"Then you'll have proven yourself the first woman in London capable of resisting my charms." His fingers traced the air along her neck, following the path of her scar without touching. "Though that lovely blush suggests you're not quite as immune as you pretend."

Elizabeth cursed the betrayal of her own body. Even without contact, his proximity made her breath catch, her skin flush with unwanted awareness. "Perhaps it's merely irritation, my lord. You do seem to excel at provoking that particular response."

"Do I?" His smile widened as he noticed her slight shiver. "And yet you haven't moved away. Shall I tell you what I think, Elizabeth?"

She should leave. Every instinct screamed at her to flee before this dangerous game went too far. Instead, she heard herself ask, "What do you think?"

Cecil's hand came to rest on the back of her chair, effectively caging her in. "I think you're curious. I think you lie awake at night, wondering what it would feel like to be touched—really touched—by someone who knows exactly how to pleasure a woman."

"You presume too much," she whispered, but the breathless quality of her voice betrayed her.

"Do I?" He leaned closer still, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "Then why are you trembling, wife? Why does your breath quicken when I'm near? Why haven't you run from this study the moment I suggested our little challenge?"

Elizabeth gripped the arms of her chair, fighting the urge to lean into his warmth. "Because I refuse to let you win. You may be London's most notorious rake, but I won't become another conquest in your collection."

"No," he agreed, his voice dropping even lower. "You'll be my wife who tried to resist me...and failed spectacularly. The fact that you're mine makes the challenge all the sweeter."

Elizabeth gathered her courage and stood abruptly, forcing Cecil to step back. "You overestimate your charms, my lord. I've spent years turning down unwanted attention?—"

"And yet," he cut in, his eyes darkening with predatory intent, "none of those men were your husband. None of them had the right to pursue you...as thoroughly as I intend to.”

Before she could react, he caught her wrist—not roughly, but with enough authority to halt her retreat. His thumb brushed over her racing pulse point, and Elizabeth felt heat spiral through her body at that simple touch.

"You feel that?" he murmured, his eyes locked on hers. "How your body responds to even the lightest caress? Imagine what it would feel like if I touched you...here." His free hand hovered over her collarbone, not quite making contact. "Or here." Lower, tracing the air above the swell of her breast.

"Stop," she breathed, though she couldn't bring herself to pull away.

"I'm not touching you," he reminded her with wicked amusement. "Just showing you what you're denying yourself. Would you like to know more, Elizabeth? Would you like me to tell you exactly what I could do to make you forget every proper thought in that clever head of yours?"

She should say no. Should tear herself away from his grip and flee to the safety of her chambers. Instead, she heard herself whisper, "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" His smile was pure temptation. "I could tell you how I'd start with soft kisses along your neck, following the path of this fascinating scar that you try so hard to hide. How I'd learnevery sensitive spot until you were gasping my name. How I'd use my hands, my mouth, to make you feel pleasure you've never even imagined."

Elizabeth's face flamed at his bold words, but something molten pooled in her belly. "You're being deliberately shocking."

"Tell me, Elizabeth," Cecil's voice remained low but took on a more serious note, "why do you truly resist? Is it fear of what others might think? Or fear of what you might discover about yourself?"

She tried to step back, but found herself against his desk. "I fear nothing, my lord. Least of all your supposed charms."

"Then prove it." He released her wrist and moved away, creating space between them. "Accept my challenge. Three months. If you can truly resist me for that long, I'll leave as planned and never question your resolve again."

"And if I can't?" Elizabeth forced herself to ask, though she dreaded the answer.

"Then you'll have to admit that even in a marriage of convenience, certain...pleasures shouldn't be denied." His eyes held hers with unsettling intensity. "After all, we both might as well enjoy our temporary arrangement.”

"You speak of this with remarkable confidence for a man who claims to want nothing but an heir," she observed, finding her footing again in their verbal sparring.

Something flickered across his face—pain? Regret? But it vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. "The terms are simple enough. I won't touch you unless you ask. But make no mistake, wife—I will do everything in my power to make you want to ask."

"Through scandalous words and improper suggestions?" She lifted her chin defiantly.

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