Page 7 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Four minutes now," Cecil announced pleasantly, though his eyes remained hard as steel. "Tick tock, baron. What shall it be? Your reputation?" His gaze slid meaningfully to Elizabeth. "Or your eldest daughter?"

"This is madness," Elizabeth found herself saying, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "You cannot seriously intend?—"

"Can I not?" Cecil's attention fixed on her fully now, his gaze so intense she had to fight the urge to step back. "Tell me, MissCooper, what makes you think you understand my intentions at all?"

Something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. This was not the charming rake she'd observed at the masquerade. This man was dangerous—a predator waiting to strike.

"Three minutes," he continued softly. "Though I suppose we could skip the waiting entirely if you'd care to make the decision yourself, Miss Cooper."

Elizabeth felt trapped in his gaze, like a bird before a snake. "I?—"

"Elizabeth." Her father's urgent whisper cut through her confusion. "A word. Now."

She allowed Luke to pull her slightly aside, though she could feel Cecil's eyes following their every movement.

"Listen to me carefully," Luke hissed, his face ashen. "You must do this. You must marry him."

"What?" Elizabeth stared at her father in disbelief. "Have you gone mad? He's barely met me, he can't possibly?—"

"He can and he will," Luke cut in, his fingers digging into her arm. "You don't understand. The earl...he holds certain papers. Certain promises I made. If he were to call in those debts?—"

"Debts?" Elizabeth's eyes widened. "What debts? What have you done?"

"Two minutes," Cecil's voice rang out, making them both jump.

"Father?" Elizabeth pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What aren't you telling me?"

Luke's eyes darted frantically between her and the earl. "There's no time to explain. Just know that if you don't do this, we'll be ruined. Not just socially—completely ruined. We'll lose everything."

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face as understanding dawned. Her father had gambled away their future, and now the earl held their fate in his elegant, ruthless hands.

"One minute," Cecil announced, sounding almost bored. But when Elizabeth glanced his way, she caught a flash of something else in his expression—a keen intelligence that suggested he was playing a game whose rules only he fully understood.

"He can't truly want this," she protested weakly. "A scarred spinster instead of?—"

"What I want," Cecil interrupted, having apparently heard her whispered words, "is irrelevant. What matters is what I will have." His eyes locked with hers. "Thirty seconds, Miss Cooper. Make your choice."

The church seemed to hold its collective breath. Elizabeth could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she looked between her father's desperate face and Cecil's calculated calm.

"Time's up," Cecil said softly. "Well, baron? Shall I make public exactly how much you?—"

"I'll do it." The words escaped Elizabeth's lips before she could stop them.

Cecil's predatory smile returned. "I beg your pardon?"

Elizabeth lifted her chin, gathering what remained of her dignity. "I said, I'll do it. I'll marry you."

CHAPTER THREE

Everything that followed happened in a blur. Elizabeth felt as though she was watching herself from above as her father led her down the aisle. The few guests present—mostly her father's acquaintances who had come to see Harriet wed—whispered behind their fans, no doubt reveling in the scandal of the scarred sister replacing the beautiful bride.

Cecil stood at the altar, his broad shoulders straight and proud in his perfectly tailored coat. He didn't turn to look at her as she approached, and Elizabeth was grateful for small mercies. She wasn't sure she could maintain her composure if she had to meet those piercing blue eyes.

"Dearly beloved..." The vicar's voice seemed to come from far away.

Elizabeth's fingers trembled as Cecil took her hand. His touch was warm, almost gentle, but she could feel the strength in his grip. A warning, perhaps, or a promise.

"I, Cecil..." His voice was clear and commanding as he repeated his vows, never once hesitating.

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