Page 50 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"And in that time, have you once considered that perhaps you're punishing Elizabeth for crimes she hasn't committed?" Percival pressed. "Madeleine tells me your wife is different from any woman she's ever met. That she challenges you, matches your wit, makes you laugh?—"

"Enough!" Cecil's voice cracked like a whip through the room. "I made my decision. I won't risk?—"

"Risk what?" Laurence interrupted, pushing away from the window. "Risk being happy? Risk having a real marriage instead of the cold, empty thing you've condemned yourself to?"

Cecil turned to face his cousin, his eyes blazing. "Risk loving her more than I already do!"

The words echoed in the sudden silence of the study. Percival and Laurence exchanged glances, and for the first time that evening, a hint of hope crossed Percival's features.

"Well," he said quietly, "at least you've finally admitted it."

Cecil sank back into his chair, suddenly feeling every hour of sleep he'd missed this past week. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "What's done is done."

"It matters entirely," Percival countered, leaning forward. "You love her. And from what I observed at dinner last month, she loves you too. Only a fool would throw that away."

"Then I'm a fool." Cecil reached for his glass again, but Laurence moved faster, snatching it away.

"Enough drowning your sorrows," his cousin said firmly. "You're the Earl of Stonefield. Start acting like it."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted whatever retort Cecil had been about to make. Harrison, entered with the precise efficiency that had served the household for twenty years.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," Harrison said, his face carefully neutral, "but you have a visitor."

Cecil's heart leaped traitorously in his chest. Could it be...? "Who is it?"

"Lady Harriet Cooper, my lord."

The hope that had flared in Cecil's chest died as quickly as it had kindled. Not Elizabeth then. Of course not. Why would she come after the way he'd left things?

Percival stood, straightening his waistcoat. "Perhaps that's our cue to leave."

"Indeed," Laurence agreed, setting Cecil's untouched glass on the desk. "Try not to do anything foolish, cousin."

Cecil barely registered their departure, his mind racing. Why would Harriet come to see him? Had something happened to Elizabeth? Was she unwell?

"Show her in," he ordered Harrison, forcing himself to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look more presentable, acutely aware of his rumpled appearance and the heavy scent of whiskey in the air.

Harrison bowed and withdrew, returning moments later with Harriet. Cecil's sister-in-law stood in the doorway, her face set in lines of determination that reminded him painfully of Elizabeth.

"Lady Harriet," he managed, attempting to summon some semblance of his usual composure. "This is...unexpected."

"Not as unexpected as your abandonment of my sister," Harriet replied, her voice sharp as ice. She remained standing, ignoring Cecil's gesture toward a chair.

The accusation hit him like a physical blow. "I didn't?—"

"Didn't what? Didn't abandon her? Didn't break her heart?" Harriet's eyes flashed with anger. "I've spent the past week watching my sister pretend she isn't falling apart, Lord Stonefield. She barely eats. Barely sleeps. Though from the look of you, perhaps you're familiar with that particular affliction."

Cecil gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. "Why are you here, Lady Harriet?"

"Elizabeth didn't want to come herself." Harriet lifted her chin, looking every inch the nobleman's daughter she was. "She didn't want to see you at all, actually. But something needs to be done."

A cold dread settled in Cecil's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"She wants a divorce."

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Divorce? His Elizabeth wanted to...to end their marriage?

"No," he said hoarsely, before he could stop himself.

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