Page 13 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"For which I remain grateful," Cecil nodded to his friend. "The less speculation about the...unusual circumstances of my marriage, the better."

"Unusual?" Percival chuckled. "Is that what we're calling it when one sister runs away and you marry the other instead?"

The glass in Cecil's hand creaked dangerously. "I would appreciate it if we could discuss something else."

"Come now," Percival leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "We've known each other since we were boys. Something about this marriage troubles you beyond mere irritation with your wife's spirit."

Cecil stared into the depths of his glass, weighing his words carefully. "She's...different from what I expected. When I first arranged the match with her sister, I thought everything would proceed according to plan. A suitable bride, an heir, a simple transaction. But Elizabeth..."

"Has proven to be more than a simple transaction?" Laurence supplied, his usually stern features showing a flicker of interest.

"She treats the staff with respect, yet maintains proper authority. She's already identified improvements needed in the estate's management that my steward overlooked. And when shespeaks..." Cecil trailed off, remembering their heated exchange in his study. "She has a way of making me want to provoke her, just to see the fire in her eyes."

Percival's knowing smile widened. "Ah, so that's it. You find yourself attracted to your own wife. How inconvenient for a man who claimed he wanted a marriage in name only."

"It's not attraction," Cecil protested, perhaps too quickly. "It's...vexation. The woman drives me mad." He paused, swirling the brandy in his glass. "When I told her I intended to be faithful during our arrangement, she acted as if she hadn't expected such behavior from me. As if I were incapable of honoring my marriage vows."

"And yet that offends you?" Laurence raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. "You've never been one to break marriage vows, notorious reputation aside."

"Of course I wouldn't," Cecil snapped, then caught himself. "But her assumption that I would..." He trailed off, jaw tightening. "She looks at me as if I'm no better than a common scoundrel."

"My friend," Percival laughed softly, "I believe you're in more trouble than you realize. The infamous Earl of Stonefield, bothered by his wife's opinion of his character? Perhaps you should be more concerned with why her good opinion matters so much to you.”

"She challenged me," Cecil admitted, recalling the defiant tilt of Elizabeth's chin, the way her pulse had jumped beneath hisfingers when he'd touched her scar. "Said she wouldn't believe I could maintain such fidelity. So naturally..."

"You couldn't resist proving her wrong," Laurence finished, shaking his head. "Your pride will be your downfall, cousin."

"Pride has nothing to do with it," Cecil retorted, though something in his expression suggested otherwise. "I simply want to prove that her assumptions about my character are mistaken."

"What are you planning, then?" Percival's tone was knowing. At Cecil's sharp look, he shrugged. "You've never been one to back down from a challenge, my friend."

A dangerous smile played at Cecil's lips. "She thinks she knows what kind of man I am. Thinks she can anticipate my every move because of my reputation." His voice dropped lower. "She'll learn the folly of provoking a rake. I will punish her."

"Nothing involving the Earl of Stonefield remains predictable for long," Laurence observed dryly. "Particularly when it involves such an...unconventional marriage. The gossips are having quite a feast with this one."

"Let them gossip," Cecil said, but his grip on his glass tightened. "It changes nothing.”

"Doesn't it?" Percival pressed. "You arranged a marriage with one sister, ended up with another, and now find yourself makingunprecedented vows of fidelity to a woman you claim merely irritates you. One might think?—"

"One might think very carefully before finishing that sentence," Cecil warned, his voice dropping dangerously.

Percival held up his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes danced with amusement. "I merely observe that for a man who planned a simple transaction, you seem remarkably invested in proving something to your new countess."

"The only thing I'm invested in is maintaining my sanity for the next three months," Cecil muttered. "Do you know what she did yesterday? Rearranged my entire study because she claimed it was 'inefficient.' The woman has no concept of boundaries."

"And yet you allowed it?" Laurence's question cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Cecil's silence spoke volumes.

"I'm beginning to think," Percival said carefully, "that your wife isn't the only one who finds themselves challenged by this arrangement."

Cecil stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, London's fashionable streets bustled with evening traffic, but he saw none of it. Instead, he kept seeing Elizabeth's face when she'd discovered a more efficient way to organize his correspondence—that flash of triumph in her green eyes, the slight curve of her lips that made him want to...

"She's not what I expected," he admitted finally, his voice low. "When I made the original arrangement with Baron Trowbridge, I thought to secure a biddable bride. Someone who would fulfill her duties without...complications."

"And instead you got a woman who matches you wit for wit," Percival observed. "How terribly inconvenient."

"It's more than that." Cecil turned back to his friends, frustration evident in every line of his body. "She sees too much. Questions too much. The other night, when I found her in that forbidden room..."

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