Page 36 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

Elizabeth stroked her sister's hair, fury building in her chest at the man who'd broken her sister's heart. "Perhaps it's time to go home," she suggested gently. "Father will forgive you, especially now that I'm..." She hesitated. "Well settled."

Harriet pulled back, wiping her eyes. "You'll come with me?"

"Of course, if you wish?—"

"No." Harriet straightened her spine, and Elizabeth saw a flash of their father's stubbornness in her expression. "No, I need to face him myself. You've protected me long enough, sister."

Elizabeth studied her sister's newly composed expression with a mixture of pride and concern. It seemed their separation had matured Harriet in ways she hadn't expected.

"Are you certain?" Elizabeth asked, reaching to tuck a stray curl behind Harriet's ear—a gesture she'd performed countless times during their childhood. "Father can be...difficult when his pride is wounded."

"Which is precisely why I must go alone.” Harriet captured Elizabeth's hand in hers. "But first, tell me truly—are you happy here? I've heard such stories about the earl's reputation, his previous broken engagements..."

Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken at the mention of Cecil. Images from their latest encounter in his study flashed through her mind—his hands on her skin, his lips against her neck—and shepushed the memories away, fighting a blush. "The stories don't tell the whole truth of him," she said carefully.

"Your cheeks tell quite a different story," Harriet observed with a ghost of her old teasing smile. "Good heavens, Elizabeth—you're actually fond of him, aren't you?"

"It's...complicated," Elizabeth hedged, rising to pour them both tea to hide her flustered state. "Cecil is not what I expected. He can be demanding and infuriating one moment, then surprisingly thoughtful the next."

"You speak of him quite familiarly now. And you're blushing again, sister."

Elizabeth handed Harriet a cup with perhaps more force than necessary. "You're reading far too much into simple courtesy between husband and wife."

"Am I?" Harriet took a delicate sip. "Then why won't you look at me when speaking of him? The last time I saw you this flustered was when Lord Pembrooke's son tried to steal a kiss in the garden and you slapped him."

"That was entirely different," Elizabeth protested. "I was outraged by his presumption."

"And now?" Harriet pressed. "What presumptions does your husband make that put such color in your cheeks?"

Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea. If only her sister knew about the wicked things Cecil whispered in her ear, the way his hands...

She cut off that dangerous line of thought. "We've reached an...understanding," she said primly.

Harriet set down her teacup with an unladylike snort. "An understanding? Is that what we're calling it now? Because the way you keep touching your neck when speaking of him suggests something far more interesting than an understanding."

Elizabeth's hand dropped from where it had indeed been tracing the path Cecil's lips had taken just yesterday. "You're being scandalous," she chided, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I'm being observant," Harriet countered. "And what I observe is my proper, responsible sister looking rather...well-kissed."

"Harriet!" Elizabeth glanced anxiously at the door, though she knew the servants wouldn't dare eavesdrop. "You cannot say such things."

"Why not? You're married to him, after all." Harriet's expression softened. "And I must say, it's refreshing to see you so...alive. You've spent so many years being Mother and Father and chaperone all at once. Perhaps it's time you allowed yourself to simply be a woman."

Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes at her sister's words. "I hardly know how anymore," she admitted quietly. "For so long, my only thought was ensuring your future. And now..."

"And now you find yourself with a devastatingly handsome husband who clearly affects you deeply." Harriet reached for her hand. "Tell me truly, Elizabeth—are you falling in love with him?"

The question struck Elizabeth like a physical blow. She'd been so careful not to examine her growing feelings for Cecil too closely, knowing their arrangement was temporary. Three months, he'd said. And already half that time had passed.

"It doesn't matter what I feel," she said finally. "Cecil has made it clear this is a marriage of convenience only. Once he has his heir..." She trailed off, remembering how she'd told him she didn't want children. Had she unknowingly sealed the fate of their marriage with those careless words?

"But that's not what you want anymore, is it?" Harriet's voice was gentle. "I can see it in your face when you speak of him."

"What I want hardly matters," Elizabeth replied, her fingers twisting in her skirts. "Cecil has his own demons to battle. And I..." She touched her scar unconsciously. "I'm hardly the sort of wife a man like him would choose to keep."

"Stop that," Harriet said sharply. "You've spent years hiding behind that scar, letting Father's cruel words convince you it makes you somehow less. But I've seen the way the earl looks atyou—even at the masquerade, before he knew who you were. He couldn't take his eyes off you."

"He was probably trying to determine if I was the sister he was meant to marry," Elizabeth said dryly.

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