Page 12 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Running away again?" His voice held a dangerous edge. "Like sister, like sister, it seems."

"At least Harriet had the courage to follow her heart," Elizabeth shot back. "Unlike some who hide behind locked doors and forbidden rooms, too afraid to?—"

"You seem very interested in my past affairs."

"Not at all," Elizabeth said, proud that her voice remained steady despite his approach. "I simply find it curious that a man so eager to secure an heir would keep a shrine to his previous?—"

"Enough." He stopped mere inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes dropped to her neck, following the line of her scar where it disappeared beneath her bodice. "Has anyone ever told you how fascinating you are when you're angry?"

Elizabeth's breath hitched. "I'm not angry, I'm?—"

"No?" His fingers traced the air just above her collarbone, not quite touching but close enough to make her skin tingle. "Your breathing says otherwise. I know what desire looks like, Elizabeth. The quickening breath, the flush in your cheeks...No matter how you try to hide it, I can always tell." He indicated the spot on her neck where her heartbeat betrayed her. "Like a trapped bird."

"Perhaps because you're blocking my escape," she managed, though her voice emerged huskier than intended.

"Am I?" His lips curved into that dangerous smile she was beginning to know too well. "You could easily step around me. Yet you remain." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Why is that, I wonder?"

Elizabeth fought to control her breathing, acutely aware of how her body was responding to his proximity. "You presume too much, my lord."

"I don’t presume. I am certain.” His hand came to rest on the wall beside her head, caging her in. "Tell me, Elizabeth, do all your arguments end with you pressed against walls, or am I special?"

"You're insufferable," she whispered, hating how her body swayed toward his unconsciously.

"And you're trembling." His other hand came up to touch a loose curl by her cheek. "Is it fear that makes you shake so...or something else entirely? "How about we find that out tonight? I will see you at my study, ten o’clock. Don’t be late, wife. "

CHAPTER FIVE

The Gentleman's Club

The rich aroma of aged brandy and Cuban cigars filled the private room at White's, where Cecil found himself seeking refuge from the mounting tension at home. He lounged in one of the deep leather chairs, watching the amber liquid in his glass catch the lamplight as his mind wandered traitorously to Elizabeth.

God, but she was beautiful—not in the conventional way of society's pampered debutantes, but in a way that haunted him. Her eyes were a striking emerald green, large and expressive, framed by thick dark lashes that cast shadows on her high cheekbones when she looked down at her ledgers. Her lips, full and naturally pink, had a tendency to quirk up at one corner when she was trying not to smile at his provocations. And her hair—a rich mahogany that caught red highlights in the sunlight—was always trying to escape its pins in wayward curls that made his fingers itch to free them completely.

Then there was her scar—the very feature society deemed a flaw but which he found inexplicably alluring. It traced a delicate path from just below her left ear down the elegant column of her throat, disappearing beneath her neckline in a way that made him desperate to discover its end.

Her figure was fuller than fashion dictated, with curves that his hands ached to trace. He'd caught himself staring at the swell of her breasts above her neckline, imagining how they would feel filling his palms. The way her waist nipped in, emphasized by her well-fitted gowns, led to generous hips that swayed ever so slightly when she walked—a subtle movement that had him gritting his teeth with want.

He wondered if her breasts would be as full and responsive as they looked, if her nipples would pucker tight when he...

"I must say, Stonefield," the Duke of Greyhall remarked from his position by the fireplace, "you seem rather preoccupied for a newly married man." Percival Hardy, Cecil's closest friend since boyhood and now his brother-in-law through his marriage to Madeleine, wore a knowing smile that held a hint of amusement. "Your new bride proving more challenging than anticipated?”

Cecil's jaw tightened. "Challenging is hardly the word I'd use. The woman is absolutely infuriating."

"Which woman?" The frigid question came from Laurence Gillet, Duke of Westrow, as he entered the room. Cecil's cousin had only recently returned from his self-imposed exile in Scotland, and his imposing presence—made all the more severeby years of isolation—drew the immediate attention of the few other gentlemen present. Though they shared blood, there was nothing warm in his voice as he asked, "The bride you intended to marry, or the one you actually did?"

"The latter," Cecil muttered, taking another sip of his brandy. "Miss Elizabeth Cooper—now the Countess of Stonefield—has proved to be far more...infuriating than anticipated."

"Challenging?" Percival's eyebrows rose. "Do tell.”

"She questions everything. Challenges my authority in my own home. And has an utterly maddening habit of appearing exactly where she shouldn't be." Cecil ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his frustration. "Just yesterday, I found her in a room I specifically told her was forbidden."

"Perhaps she's simply curious about her new home," Percival suggested diplomatically.

"Curiosity has no place in a marriage of convenience," Laurence stated flatly, accepting a glass from the hovering servant. His perpetual frown deepened as he settled into a chair. "Though I still fail to understand why you required such an arrangement in the first place."

Cecil shot his cousin a warning look. "The reasons are my own."

"And I suppose those reasons have to do with why you didn't want your sisters present at the ceremony?" Laurence pressed,his cold eyes studying Cecil's reaction. "Percival here went to considerable trouble to keep them away."

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