Page 29 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"And that's precisely the problem." His smile held a wicked edge. "You think far too much about what others might say, rather than embracing what makes you extraordinary."

Madame Laurent cleared her throat delicately. "If I may suggest, my lady, the emerald gown could be cut to emphasize your elegant neck while remaining entirely proper for evening wear. Perhaps with some strategic ruching here..." She gestured to her own collar.

As Madame Laurent fluttered around with measuring tape and pins, Cecil lounged in a velvet chair, his predatory gaze following Elizabeth's every movement.

"A nightgown as well, I think," he announced casually, making Elizabeth nearly choke. "Something in ivory silk."

"My lord!" Elizabeth hissed, her cheeks flaming. "That's hardly?—"

"Appropriate?" His smile was pure sin. "I'm merely being a considerate husband, ensuring my wife has proper attire for all occasions."

"Including occasions where I might wish to maintain some dignity?"

"Dignity?" Cecil's laugh was low and dangerous. "Is that what you're thinking of when you lie alone in your bed at night, wife?"

Elizabeth jabbed him with her fan, forgetting herself entirely. "You are absolutely insufferable."

"And yet you haven't run away screaming." He caught her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. "In fact, I'd say you rather enjoy our little exchanges."

"Enjoy being scandalous?" But she couldn't quite suppress her smile. "You clearly don't know me at all, my lord."

"No?" He released her wrist but his eyes still held hers captive. "Then perhaps you'll indulge my curiosity. Do you dance, wife?"

Elizabeth shifted under his intense scrutiny. "I...know the steps."

"That's not what I asked." Cecil rose from his chair with fluid grace. "Do you dance, Elizabeth?"

"I haven't had much occasion to practice," she admitted. "Being a chaperone usually involves watching from the sidelines rather than participating."

"And before that?" He moved closer, lowering his voice so Madame Laurent couldn't hear as she sorted through lace samples. "Surely during your own season..."

"My season was rather abbreviated." Elizabeth lifted her chin, refusing to show how much the memory stung. "Young lords tend to lose interest in dancing when they notice certain...imperfections."

Cecil's expression darkened. "Fools, all of them."

"Careful, my lord. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Perhaps it was." His fingers traced the air above her scar, not quite touching but close enough to make her shiver. "We have Lady Morrison's ball tomorrow night. I look forward to seeing if you're as skilled at dancing as you are at wielding that sharp tongue of yours."

"I never said I was skilled," Elizabeth protested. "Merely that I know the steps."

"Then I suppose I'll have to hold you very close," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "to ensure you don't stumble."

"My lord," Madame Laurent interrupted, holding up a length of delicate lace. "Perhaps you might approve the trim while your lady tries on the first gown?"

"By all means." But Cecil's eyes remained fixed on Elizabeth. "Though I doubt any amount of decoration could improve upon what nature has already provided."

Elizabeth escaped behind the dressing screen, her pulse racing. As her maid helped her into the emerald silk, she tried to steady her breathing. The neckline was indeed daring—not scandalously low, but cut in a way that drew attention to her throat rather than hiding it.

When she emerged, Cecil's expression made her breath catch. He'd risen from his chair again, his eyes darkening as they traveled over her form.

"Turn," he commanded softly.

Elizabeth complied, the silk rustling around her ankles. The mirror showed her reflection—a woman she barely recognized, elegant and almost exotic with her scar displayed like an ornament rather than a flaw.

"Perfect." Cecil's voice had dropped to that dangerous register that made her skin tingle. "Though something seems to be missing..." He approached the modiste's jewelry display and selected a delicate gold chain with a single emerald drop. "This, I think."

Before Elizabeth could protest, he was behind her, his fingers brushing her nape as he fastened the necklace. The emerald came to rest precisely where her scar began.

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