Page 52 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

Harriet's face softened with concern. "Are you certain?"

No, Elizabeth wanted to say. She wasn't certain of anything anymore. But she nodded anyway, because the alternative—sending him away without knowing why he was here—would haunt her far longer than any memories.

"The drawing room," she said, proud of how steady her voice remained. "We can speak there."

Cecil inclined his head slightly, a ghost of his usual courtly manners. As he stepped past Harriet, Elizabeth caught the scent of him—sandalwood and leather—and her traitorous heart quickened. She led the way to the drawing room, painfully aware of his presence behind her, of every step that brought them closer to being alone together again.

Once inside, she moved to stand near the window, needing the distance between them. The late afternoon light caught the crystals of the chandelier, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. She focused on them, anything to avoid looking directly at him.

"Why are you here?" she asked, hating how her voice trembled slightly. When he didn't immediately answer, she forced herself to turn and face him. "After what you did—after walking away without a word—what right do you have to come here now?"

"Elizabeth." Her name on his lips was like a physical touch. He took a step toward her, then stopped himself, his hands clenching at his sides. "I..."

"You knew," she continued, weeks of pain and anger finally spilling out. "You knew I had fallen in love with you, and still you left. Without an explanation, without—" Her voice broke, and she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry in front of him.

Cecil moved suddenly, striding across the room until he was mere feet from her. "I am a selfish devil," he said, his voice rough. "A coward who ran from the best thing that ever happened to him. But I cannot—" He broke off, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I cannot sign those papers."

Elizabeth stared at him, confusion momentarily overtaking her anger. "What papers?"

"The divorce papers." His blue eyes were stormy as they met hers. "I know I have no right to refuse, that I forfeited any claim to you when I left, but I cannot—will not—let you go."

"Divorce papers?" Elizabeth repeated, her mind spinning. "What divorce papers?"

Something flickered across Cecil's face—confusion, then dawning comprehension. "Your sister came to me," he said slowly. "She said you wanted nothing more to do with me. That you demanded a divorce."

Understanding crashed over Elizabeth like a wave. "Harriet," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. Of course her sister would try to protect her, even if it meant?—

"You didn't send her?"

The hope in his voice made her heart ache. She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, as if trying to read the truth in her face. "No," she said softly. "I did not send her."

Cecil exhaled sharply, taking another step toward her. "Elizabeth?—"

"That doesn't change what you did," she cut in, raising her chin. The afternoon sun streaming through the window caught the scar on her neck, and she resisted the urge to turn away. "You left me. Without a word of explanation, without?—"

"Because I am a fool who does not deserve you," he interrupted, his voice raw. "Because I looked at you that morning, sleeping beside me, and I realized I had done the one thing I swore I never would."

"And what was that?" Elizabeth demanded, her hands trembling at her sides.

"I fell in love." The words seemed torn from him. "Completely, irrevocably in love. And it terrified me."

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to remain still, though every fiber of her being yearned to go to him. "So you ran?"

"I told myself it was better this way," he said, beginning to pace. "That I would only hurt you in the end, as my father was hurt. That I would become him—a shell of a man, destroyed by loving someone too much." He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "But I was wrong. I became him anyway, Elizabeth. These past weeks without you?—"

"Don't," she whispered, but he continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"I cannot sleep. Cannot eat. Cannot think of anything but you. The way you smile when you best me at cards. The sound of your laugh when you're truly amused. The feel of your skin beneath my hands." His voice dropped lower, making her shiver. "I thought leaving would protect us both, but all I did was destroy everything good between us."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together. "And now? What do you want now?"

He moved closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached for her but stopped just short of touching her.

"I want you," he said simply. "In whatever way you'll have me. If you tell me to go, I will go. If you truly want that divorce, I will sign the papers, though it will kill me to do so. But if there is any chance—any at all—that you might forgive me..."

"Stop," Elizabeth said, pressing her fingers to her temples. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, made worse by his proximity. "You cannot simply appear here, say these things, and expect?—"

"I expect nothing," Cecil interrupted softly. "I deserve nothing. But I had to tell you the truth, even if you send me away afterward."

---