Page 45 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

Elizabeth flinched as if he'd struck her. The calculated mention of his reputation—a reminder of all the women he'd presumably seduced and abandoned—felt like salt in an open wound.

"How dare you," she whispered, anger finally breaking through her shock. "How dare you make me trust you, make me believe—" She broke off, unwilling to reveal just how thoroughly he'd conquered her defenses.

"Believe what, my lady?" His smile held no warmth. "That a scarred spinster had somehow reformed London's most notorious libertine? That a few months of convenient marriage had transformed me into someone worthy of your precious trust?"

"Stop it." Her voice cracked on the words. "This isn't you. The man who held me last night, who shared his pain, his secrets?—"

"Was a fool," Cecil snapped, his composure finally cracking. "A weak fool who forgot himself for a moment. But rest assured, I won't make that mistake again."

Tears burned behind her eyes, but Elizabeth refused to let them fall. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words wounded her.

"Very well," she said, proud that her voice remained steady. "If you wish to end our arrangement early, I won't stop you. But at least have the courage to tell me the truth—was any of it real? Or was I simply another conquest to add to your collection?"

Something dangerous flashed in Cecil's eyes, and for a moment she glimpsed the raw pain beneath his cold facade. He took a step toward her, then seemed to catch himself, his hands clenching at his sides.

"What difference does it make?" he asked, his voice rough. "In a few days, we'll both be free of this farce. You can return to your quiet life, and I..." He gave a harsh laugh. "Well, I'm sure the ton will be delighted to have their favorite rake back in circulation."

"Is that what you want?" Elizabeth challenged, moving closer despite her better judgment. "To return to your empty pursuits? Your meaningless affairs? We both know that's not who you truly are."

"Do we?" His smile was razor-sharp. "Perhaps you've simply seen what you wanted to see. A wounded soul in need of healing. A man worth saving." He leaned closer, his breath fanning hercheek. "But I warned you from the start, Elizabeth. I will ruin you."

"You already have," she whispered, finally letting him see the depth of her pain. "Not with scandal or social ruin, but by making me believe in something more. By making me trust you."

For a heartbeat, Cecil's mask slipped completely. She saw anguish in his eyes, a yearning that matched her own. His hand lifted as if to touch her face, then dropped back to his side.

"Trust is a dangerous thing," he said finally, his voice barely audible. "I thought I'd learned that lesson long ago. But you..." He shook his head, taking a deliberate step back. "It seems we both have painful lessons to learn."

Elizabeth watched him retreat, her heart cracking with each step he took away from her. All her life, she'd guarded herself against this very pain—the agony of opening her heart only to have it shattered. "You don't have to do this," she said softly. "Whatever demons you're fighting, whatever fears drive you to push me away—we could face them together."

Cecil's back went rigid. "There is no 'together,' Elizabeth. There never was. We made a business arrangement, nothing more."

"A business arrangement?" She gave a hollow laugh. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify last night? To excuse the intimacy we shared?"

"Intimacy?" His voice dripped with calculated disdain as he turned back to face her. "Come now, surely you're not so naive. Men of my...reputation are quite skilled at creating the illusion of connection. It makes the seduction so much sweeter."

"I don't believe you," Elizabeth said, her voice wavering between anger and hurt. "Something inside me—call it intuition, call it a sixth sense—knows you're lying."

Cecil turned, his expression deliberately neutral. "What you choose to believe is entirely your prerogative," he said flatly. "I'm simply stating facts."

"Facts?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Those weren't facts. Those were walls. Defenses."

"And what of it?" He shrugged, almost casually. "I never promised you anything more than what we agreed upon. Three months. An arrangement."

"An arrangement doesn't explain the way you looked at me," Elizabeth pressed. "The secrets you shared. The way you?—"

"Careful," Cecil interrupted, a warning edge creeping into his voice. "You're dangerously close to believing something that doesn't exist."

"And what is that?"

"That I'm capable of more than a transaction." His eyes were cold, challenging. "Believe what you want, Elizabeth. I truly couldn't care less.”

"Liar," she whispered, her hand lifting to touch his face.

Cecil caught her wrist before she could make contact.

He had slipped past every defense and made her believe she was worthy of love despite her scars.

He walked away without saying anything else.

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