Page 62 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Oh!" she gasped, dropping to her knees without a thought for her expensive muslin gown. The puppy immediately scrambled into her lap, tail wagging so hard its entire body wiggled with joy.

"Do you like him?" Cecil asked, and there was something in his voice—a touch of uncertainty that made Elizabeth look up. Her husband, usually so confident and commanding, was watching her with an almost shy expression.

"Like him? Cecil, I adore him!" She gathered the squirming puppy close, laughing as it attempted to lick every inch of her face. "But whatever made you think of getting a puppy?"

Cecil knelt beside her, his fingers gentle as he scratched behind the puppy's ears. "I thought...well, that is to say..." He cleared his throat, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. "I thought it might be good practice. For us. For when we...that is, if you wish...when we have children of our own."

The words hung in the air between them, laden with meaning and hope. Elizabeth's heart seemed to grow three sizes at once, and she had to blink back sudden tears.

Elizabeth reached out to cup Cecil's cheek, her touch infinitely tender. "You want to practice being a father?"

"I want to be worthy of it," he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "My own father was...well, you know what he was. I don't want to repeat his mistakes. I thought perhaps if we started with something smaller..." He gestured to the puppy, who had flopped onto its back, begging for belly rubs with shameless enthusiasm.

"Cecil." Elizabeth's voice held such warmth that he had to look at her. "You are nothing like your father. Nothing. And you prove it every day with how you treat everyone around you—from the lowest stable boy to the highest peer."

"You make me want to be better," he murmured, turning his face to press a kiss to her palm. "Every day, in every way."

The puppy, apparently feeling neglected, chose that moment to wedge itself between them, demanding attention with a series of small, adorable whimpers.

Elizabeth laughed, the sound like music. "Well, it seems our new addition has your commanding presence, my lord. Though perhaps with slightly more charm."

"Minx." Cecil's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are you suggesting that I lack charm?"

"Never." She leaned forward to kiss him quickly, mindful of their squirming audience. "Though I must say, this particular surprise has rather exceeded your usual standard. Does our new companion have a name?"

Cecil's expression turned sheepish. "I thought perhaps you might like to do the honors. Though I warn you, he's already displaying quite the personality. The breeder said he's the most spirited of the litter."

"Of course he is." Elizabeth scratched under the puppy's chin, earning a look of pure bliss. "You wouldn't have chosen any other, would you? Always drawn to the challenging ones."

"I married you, didn't I?" His grin was unrepentant as she swatted his arm.

Elizabeth studied the puppy thoughtfully. "What about Perseus? He certainly seems brave enough, trying to fit in all this exploration at once."

Indeed, the puppy had already begun investigating the sitting room, nose twitching with interest as he discovered each new scent and sound.

"Perseus." Cecil tested the name. "Yes, I think it suits him. Though I suspect he'll end up being called Percy more often than not."

As if recognizing his new name, the puppy—Percy—came bounding back to them, nearly tripping over his own oversized paws in his excitement.

"Careful, little one," Cecil cautioned, catching the puppy before he could tumble into a delicate side table. "I believe we'll needto make some adjustments to accommodate our new family member."

Elizabeth's heart swelled at his use of the word 'family.' She watched as her husband—the fearsome Earl of Stonefield, known throughout London for his sharp wit and sharper business acumen—gently guided the puppy away from potential mischief, his large hands impossibly gentle with the tiny creature.

The evening light had softened to a gentle purple haze, casting long shadows across the sitting room floor. Percy had finally exhausted himself and lay curled in Elizabeth's lap, his tiny chest rising and falling with each contented breath.

Cecil found himself transfixed by the scene before him—his beautiful wife, her dark curls escaping their pins, her face suffused with such tender affection as she stroked the sleeping puppy. The way the fading light caught her profile, the gentle curve of her neck, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks...

"You're staring, my lord," Elizabeth murmured without looking up.

"Can you blame me?" His voice was husky. "You make quite the picture, you know. I only wish I had the skill to capture this moment properly."

At that, she did look up, curiosity brightening her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Cecil felt an uncharacteristic flush creep up his neck. This wasn't how he'd planned to tell her, but then, Elizabeth had a way of drawing his secrets out before he was ready to share them.

"I've been...that is to say..." He cleared his throat. "I've taken up drawing. Or attempting to, at least."

"Drawing?" Elizabeth's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "When did this begin?"

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