Page 19 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Your father awaits us in the drawing room, I believe?" Cecil's voice cut through her thoughts as he offered his arm to Elizabeth. "Shall we?"

She took his arm, trying to ignore how even this simple contact made her skin tingle. As they walked, he bent his head close to her ear and whispered, "Your pulse is racing again, wife. Surely you're not jealous of my attention to your friend?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed back, but she felt his low chuckle rumble through his chest where their arms connected.

"If you want my attention," he murmured, his lips barely brushing her ear, "you need only ask."

They entered the drawing room to find Luke pacing before the fireplace, his expression darkening at the sight of his daughter's flushed cheeks. Cecil's grip on Elizabeth's arm tightened imperceptibly as he guided her to a seat, then positioned himself between her and her father—a subtle gesture that didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room.

"Ah, Stonefield," Luke's attempt at a jovial tone rang false. "I was just discussing with Elizabeth the importance of proper wifely duties?—"

"Were you?" Cecil's voice dropped several degrees in temperature. "How fascinating that you feel qualified to instruct my wife on her duties in my own home."

Luke faltered slightly. "I merely meant to ensure?—"

"That she maintains the high standards expected of a countess?" Cecil's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I assure you, your daughterhas exceeded every expectation. The estate has never run more efficiently."

Elizabeth looked up at her husband in surprise. He hadn't mentioned any approval of her changes to the household management.

"Yes, well," Luke shifted uncomfortably, "there are other duties a wife must?—"

"I believe," Cecil cut in, his tone now arctic, "that any discussion of my wife's duties falls under my purview alone. Unless you're suggesting you know better than I what I require in my marriage?"

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. Luke had the grace to look abashed, though his eyes still held that familiar disapproval when they flickered to Elizabeth.

"Of course not, my lord. I simply want to ensure Elizabeth remembers her place?—"

"Her place," Cecil interrupted again, "is as my countess. And I'll thank you to remember yours, baron."

The silence that followed was deafening. Dinah looked between them all with wide eyes while Elizabeth held her breath, watching her father's face turn an interesting shade of puce.

"Perhaps," Luke managed finally, "it's time we took our leave. Miss Barnes?"

Dinah rose quickly, shooting Elizabeth an apologetic look. "Thank you for your hospitality, my lord, my lady."

Cecil's charm returned as he bowed over Dinah's hand. "A pleasure as always, Miss Barnes. Do call again—though perhaps with different company next time."

The pointed remark wasn't lost on Luke, who struggled to maintain his dignity as he made his farewell bow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The moment her father and Dinah departed, Elizabeth found herself alone with Cecil in his study, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. She stood by the windowsill, watching their carriage disappear down the long drive, gathering her courage for what she needed to say.

"Cecil," she began, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. "You need to be more careful. You're being too...familiar with every lady you meet."

Cecil turned to her, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Jealous, are we?"

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. "Certainly not. I merely think you should be more mindful of your actions. This is not the behavior you promised me."

Cecil stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're right. I promised you many things, didn't I?" His voice was a low rumble, a sound that sent an involuntary shiver down Elizabeth's spine. She needed to change the subject, to escape the intensity of his gaze.

"I want to make some changes," she blurted out, her eyes darting to the door of the room he had forbidden her from entering. "That room, for instance. It's high time it saw some light and fresh air."

Cecil's expression darkened briefly, a shadow passing over his features. "That room is off-limits, Elizabeth. You know that."

Elizabeth lifted her chin, defiance sparking in her eyes. "Yes, but I want to change it. Those paintings, for instance?—"

"Those paintings stay," Cecil interjected, his voice firm. Elizabeth bristled at his tone, her suspicions about the paintings' origins fueling her resolve. She still believed them to belong to an ex-lover, a thought that ignited a fire within her.

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