Page 32 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

A couple dancing nearby shot them a scandalized look, no doubt noting their intimate proximity. Elizabeth felt her earlier insecurities resurface as she caught fragments of whispered conversation.

"Did you see her scar?"

"—can't believe he married?—"

"Must have been desperate for an heir?—"

"Stop," Cecil commanded softly, his fingers tightening on hers. "I can practically hear you retreating into yourself."

"I'm merely being realistic." Elizabeth forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Your reputation may survive dancing with your scarred wife, but mine has already caused quite enough gossip for one evening."

Cecil's expression darkened. "Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you tonight?"

"My lord?—"

"I see a woman who outshines every diamond-draped debutante in this room. I see grace in every move you make, fire in every word you speak." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I see the way that gown clings to your curves, making me want to?—"

"Now who's being improper?" But her voice emerged breathless, betraying her.

"Improper would be telling you how that dress makes me want to?—"

"My lord!" Elizabeth cut him off, though her pulse raced at the heat in his voice. "You promised to teach me to dance, not scandalize me entirely."

"Are you quite certain those goals are mutually exclusive?" His hand at her waist drew her imperceptibly closer. "Because I find myself rather enjoying the combination."

Elizabeth tried to summon a suitably cutting response, but something was happening to her heart—something terrifying and wonderful that made it difficult to remember why she'd ever tried to resist this man.

Oh God. She was falling in love with her husband.

The realization hit her with such force that she nearly missed a step, saved only by Cecil's sure grip.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cecil stared unseeing at the ledger before him, his mind drifting far from the columns of numbers. He was losing control, and he knew it. His wife had become a dangerous distraction—consuming his thoughts at the most inopportune moments. What had begun as a calculated seduction was becoming something far more perilous. He was developing feelings he couldn't afford to acknowledge.

These moments of weakness were unacceptable. He was the Earl of Stonefield, not some lovesick youth to be swept away by a pair of green eyes and a sharp tongue. He needed to maintain distance, to remember the original terms of their arrangement. Three months. An heir. Nothing more.

Yet even as he tried to steel himself, images of Elizabeth invaded his mind—the way she managed his household with quiet competence, her unexpected wit, the soft gasp she made when he touched her just so...

Damn it all.

He gripped his pen more tightly, determined to focus on the accounts before him.

"My lord?" Mr. Harrison's impatient tone suggested it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get Cecil's attention. "These accounts require your immediate?—"

A soft knock at the study door made Cecil's pulse quicken embarrassingly. He knew that knock.

"Enter," he called, perhaps too eagerly.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, a becoming pink staining her cheeks. She wore a simple morning dress in pale blue that somehow made her more alluring than any ball gown. "I apologize for interrupting, but I wondered if you might have time for..." She glanced at Mr. Harrison and faltered. "It can wait."

"No," Cecil said quickly, rising from his desk. "Mr. Harrison was just leaving."

The accountant clutched his papers protectively. "My lord, these matters are most urgent?—"

"Not as urgent as my wife." Cecil's tone brooked no argument. He fixed Harrison with a look that had sent bolder men scurrying. "We'll continue tomorrow."

Harrison opened his mouth as if to protest further, but something in Cecil's expression made him think better of it. With a stiff bow to Elizabeth and a rather sulky one to Cecil, he gathered his things and departed.

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