Page 37 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Or perhaps he saw what I've always seen—a beautiful woman who's too busy taking care of everyone else to notice her own worth." Harriet squeezed her hand. "The question is, dear sister, what are you going to do about it?"

Elizabeth stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, the gardens Cecil's mother had lovingly tended stretched toward the horizon. "There's nothing to be done," she said. "Even if I...even if my feelings have changed, Cecil was clear about his expectations. Three months to secure an heir, then freedom for us both."

"And what if his feelings have changed too?" Harriet pressed. "Have you asked him?"

Elizabeth gave a hollow laugh. "Asked the most notorious rake in London if he's developed tender feelings for his scarred, temporary wife? I think not."

"The same rake who hasn't been seen at any of his usual haunts since your marriage? Who, according to Dinah's letters, spends his evenings in his study with you rather than carousing with his friends?" Harriet rose to join her at the window. "Men don't change their habits so completely unless their hearts are engaged."

"Or unless they're honoring their word about fidelity," Elizabeth countered, though something warm flickered in her chest at her sister's observations.

"Fidelity?" Harriet's eyes widened. "You made the Earl of Stonefield promise to be faithful? And he agreed?"

"It was a condition of our arrangement," Elizabeth muttered, though she could still hear Cecil's dark laugh when she'd made her demand. Still feel the heat of his breath against her ear as he'd promised to make her beg for his touch.

"An arrangement that seems to grow more interesting by the minute," Harriet observed. "Tell me, does this arrangement also include the way your breath catches whenever you speak his name? Or how your eyes darken when you think no one's watching?"

"I don't—" Elizabeth began, but Harriet cut her off.

"You do. Just as you're doing now." She touched Elizabeth's flushed cheek. "Oh, Elizabeth. You've spent so long being strong for everyone else. Perhaps it's time to be brave for yourself?"

"Brave?" Elizabeth whispered. "Or foolish?"

"Sometimes the bravest choices look foolish to others," Harriet said softly. "Like helping your sister escape an unwanted marriage, knowing you might take her place."

Elizabeth's throat tightened. "That was different."

"Was it?" Harriet's eyes filled with fresh tears. "You saved me from a marriage to a man I never loved, only to find your own heart at risk with him instead. The irony would be amusing if I didn't feel so wretchedly guilty."

"Don't," Elizabeth said fiercely, pulling her sister close. "Never feel guilty for following your heart, even if it led you astray. At least you had the courage to try."

"And now?" Harriet pulled back to study her face. "Will my brave sister find the courage to fight for her own happiness?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor made them both freeze.

"I should go," Harriet said quickly, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth's cheek. "Think about what I said, sister. Some risks are worth taking."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Gentleman's Club

The distinctive sound of fists striking leather echoed through the private boxing room at White's as Cecil ducked another of Laurence's precise jabs. Sweat dampened his shirt, plastering the fine linen to his chest as he circled his opponent. His cousin had always been the more technically skilled fighter, but today Cecil's distraction made him an embarrassingly easy target.

"Your guard is dropping," Laurence observed coldly, following up with a swift combination that Cecil barely managed to block. "I've seen drunken lords show better form."

From his position by the wall, Percival made a sound suspiciously like a suppressed laugh. "Perhaps if our friend weren't so preoccupied with thoughts of his new countess..."

Cecil's attention wavered at the mention of Elizabeth, and Laurence's next strike caught him squarely in the ribs. He stumbled back, cursing under his breath.

"I see I've hit a tender spot," Laurence remarked, though whether he meant the physical blow or the mention of Elizabeth remained unclear. "Shall we take a break before you embarrass yourself further?"

"Your concern is touching," Cecil muttered, but he didn't protest when Percival tossed him a towel. His body ached, though more from tension than exertion. He hadn't slept properly in days, his dreams haunted by images of Elizabeth—her smile when she thought he wasn't looking, the way she trembled under his touch, the quiet strength with which she faced every challenge.

"You're brooding again," Percival observed, pouring three glasses of brandy. "I haven't seen you this out of sorts since...well, since before your father's passing."

Cecil's hand tightened around his glass. "Less than a month," he said abruptly, changing the subject. "That's all that remains of my agreement with Elizabeth. Then I'll leave London as promised."

"And is that what you want?" Laurence asked, his voice cutting through Cecil's defenses like one of his precise strikes. "To abandon your estate—and your wife—simply because you made some ill-conceived promise?"

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