Page 8 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

When it was her turn, Elizabeth's voice wavered only slightly. "I, Elizabeth..."

This isn't real, she told herself.This cannot be real. Yet the weight of the ring sliding onto her finger was undeniable.

"You may kiss the bride."

For the first time since the ceremony began, Cecil turned to face her fully. His eyes traveled from her scar to her lips, and Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks despite her best efforts to remain impassive. He leaned down, and she braced herself for the contact.

But instead of kissing her lips, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "Well played, my dear."

The words sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, he had already pulled away, turning to accept congratulations from the assembled guests.

Elizabeth stood frozen, her new husband's words echoing in her mind. What game was he playing? And more importantly, what were the rules?

The carriage ride to Cecil's estate passed in complete silence. Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, though she could feel her husband's eyes on her more than once. The sprawling grounds of Stonefield Manor came into view just as the afternoon sun began its descent, bathing everything in golden light.

"Welcome home, my lady," Cecil said, his deep voice breaking the silence as he helped her down from the carriage.

Elizabeth's breath caught at her first proper view of the manor. It was magnificent—three stories of pale stone with tall windows that caught the sunlight like diamonds. Yet there was something almost forbidding about its grandeur.

A line of servants waited to greet them, arranged precisely by rank. The butler, a dignified man with graying hair, stepped forward first.

"My lord, welcome back." He bowed deeply. "And may I present the staff to her ladyship?"

"Proceed, Harrison," Cecil replied, his hand coming to rest at the small of Elizabeth's back. The touch, even through layers of fabric, sent warmth spreading through her body.

"Her ladyship, the Countess of Stonefield," Harrison announced formally, and Elizabeth noticed several of the servants exchange quick glances at the sight of her scar.

The introductions continued, but Elizabeth barely registered the names and faces. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the day, from the title she now bore, from the warmth of Cecil's hand still pressed against her back.

"That will be all," Cecil dismissed the staff once the introductions were complete. "Leave us."

The servants dispersed with practiced efficiency, leaving Elizabeth alone with her new husband in the grand entrance hall. The moment the last footstep faded, Cecil's demeanor changed. The proper aristocrat disappeared, replaced by something darker, more dangerous.

"Now then," he said, circling her slowly, "shall we discuss the terms of our arrangement?"

Elizabeth turned to face him, refusing to be intimidated despite the way his presence seemed to fill the entire hall. "Terms, my lord? I wasn't aware marriage vows had negotiable terms."

A wolfish smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Come now, we both know this is hardly a conventional marriage." His eyes traveled deliberately down her form. "Though I must admit, you make a far more...interesting bride than your sister would have been."

"If you're trying to shock me, my lord?—"

"Cecil," he interrupted, moving closer. "If we're to share a bed, you might as well use my name."

Heat flooded Elizabeth's cheeks. "And who says we'll be sharing a bed?"

He laughed then, a rich sound that seemed to reverberate through her very bones. "That's precisely what we need to discuss." He gestured toward a nearby door. "Shall we?"

Elizabeth preceded him into what appeared to be his study, a masculine room dominated by a massive mahogany desk. The door closed behind them with a decisive click.

"Let me be clear," Cecil said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "I require one thing from this marriage: an heir. Nothing more."

Elizabeth's heart hammered against her ribs. "And after?"

"Three months." He prowled closer, and Elizabeth forced herself not to step back. "I'll stay for three months to ensure the deed is done. After that, you'll be free to live as you please. The estate will be yours to manage, with a generous allowance."

"How...practical of you," Elizabeth managed, hating the slight tremor in her voice.

"I'm nothing if not practical, my dear." His lips curved into that dangerous smile again. "Though I should warn you—I have nointention of maintaining my...other arrangements while we're married."

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