Page 28 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Leave it," he said, his voice commanding as he snatched up her chemise and tossed it into the fireplace. The delicate fabric caught immediately.

"What are you—" Elizabeth gasped in outrage, instinctively moving to cover herself. "The servants?—"

"—won't be anywhere near this floor tonight," he finished with a predatory smile. "I've made quite sure of that."

Understanding dawned, making her cheeks flame even hotter. "You planned this," she accused. "This whole evening was a trap."

"A seduction," he corrected, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "And you fell into it beautifully. Now, go to your chambers like this, wearing nothing but your stockings. Feel the cool air on your skin, the brush of your hair against your back. Let every step remind you of who made you feel such pleasure."

Elizabeth's hands clenched into fists. "You are impossible," she hissed, though she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her at his words. "What if someone sees me?"

"Trust me," he murmured, tracing the air above her collarbone. "The path is clear. Unless...you'd prefer to stay?"

She turned away quickly, not trusting herself to respond. It was infuriating how easily he could make her body betray her better judgment."And Elizabeth," he said, his voice low and rough. "When you touch yourself, imagine it is my hands on your body, my fingers inside you, my mouth tasting you. Imagine it is me bringing you pleasure, me making you cry out in ecstasy."

A shiver of desire ran through her at his words. She nodded once more, then slipped out of the room, her body already aching with renewed need.

As she made her way to her chambers, she was acutely aware of every sensation. The cool air on her skin, the soft brush of her hair against her back, the silken slide of her stockings against her thighs. She felt alive, her body thrumming with desire and anticipation.

Once in her chambers, she climbed onto her bed, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves.

She lay back against the pillows, her breath coming in shallow pants. For a moment, her hand drifted towards her body, curiosity and desire warring within her.

"No," Elizabeth whispered firmly to herself, pulling her hand away. She would not give him the satisfaction of breaking her resolve.

She took deep, measured breaths, forcing her racing thoughts to calm. The earl might think he could unsettle her with his provocative words, but she was made of sterner stuff. She wouldshow him that she was not some simpering miss to be easily manipulated.

Determinedly, Elizabeth reached for a book on her bedside table, channeling her restless energy into reading and pushing away the dangerous temptations.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Iassure you, my lord, this is entirely unnecessary," Elizabeth protested as Cecil handed her down from the carriage before an elegant shop front on Bond Street. The gold lettering on the window proclaimed "Madame Laurent's Fine Modiste" in sweeping script.

"On the contrary," Cecil replied, his hand lingering at her waist a moment longer than strictly proper. "My countess requires a proper wardrobe."

"I have perfectly serviceable gowns?—"

"'Serviceable' is not the word I want associated with my wife." His eyes held that dangerous glint that made her pulse quicken. "Besides, I find myself rather looking forward to seeing you in something of my choosing."

Before Elizabeth could formulate a suitably cutting response, the shop door opened to reveal a striking woman of middle years, her silver-streaked dark hair arranged in an elegant coiffure.

"My lord Stonefield!" The modiste's French accent was pronounced but warm. "What an unexpected pleasure. And this must be your new countess?"

"Madame Laurent." Cecil executed a small bow. "May I present my wife, Lady Stonefield?"

The modiste's eyes widened slightly at Elizabeth's scar but, to her credit, she recovered quickly. "Enchantée, my lady. Please, come in. I have just received the most exquisite silks from Lyon..."

Inside, lengths of fabric in jewel tones and delicate pastels draped the walls. Elizabeth found herself running her fingers over a bolt of emerald silk before she could stop herself.

"Ah, you have excellent taste, my lady," Madame Laurent approved. "This shade would complement your coloring beautifully."

"The emerald," Cecil decided, his voice brooking no argument. "And that sapphire as well." He gestured to another bolt of fabric that shimmered like deep water. "Both with necklines that show her throat."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her scar instinctively. "My lord, surely?—"

"Why do you insist on hiding your most intriguing feature?" Cecil moved closer, his fingers brushing her neck where her hand covered the mark. The touch sent shivers down her spine. "The scar makes you unique, wife. Like a rare diamond with a distinctive flaw that only enhances its value."

"I hardly think?—"

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