Page 53 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"The truth?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Which truth would that be? That you love me, yet left without a word? That you trust me, yet ran at the first sign of vulnerability?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she saw him flinch.

"Elizabeth—"

"No," she cut in, stepping away from him. She needed distance to think clearly. "You asked me that morning if having your heir would make you stay. When I said yes, you told me you weren't interested anymore. Was that a lie too?"

Cecil's expression tightened with pain. "I couldn't bear the thought of you doing something you didn't want, simply to keep me. You spoke so passionately about never wanting children, about your fears?—"

"And you never thought to ask if my feelings had changed?" Elizabeth demanded. "Never considered that perhaps, after seeing what kind of man you truly were, I might want something different?"

He stared at her, hope and disbelief warring in his eyes. "Had they? Changed?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" She turned toward the window, watching as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. "You made that decision for both of us."

"Elizabeth." His voice was closer now, though he still didn't touch her. "Please look at me."

She closed her eyes instead, fighting back tears. "Why should I?"

"Because I need you to see the truth in my eyes when I tell you that leaving you was the greatest mistake of my life." His voice was raw, stripped of all its usual polish. "Because I have spent every moment since then hating myself for hurting you. Because the thought of you wanting my child makes me want to fall to my knees and beg your forgiveness."

Despite herself, Elizabeth turned to face him. He stood so close now that she could see the stubble on his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

"I told myself I was protecting you," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers. "That I was saving us both from the pain my parents' marriage caused. But I was wrong, Elizabeth. So terribly wrong. I wasn't protecting anyone—I was simply a coward, running from the best thing that ever happened to me."

"And what happens the next time you're frightened?" she whispered. "The next time your past threatens to overwhelm you?"

Cecil's hands clenched at his sides, as if physically restraining himself from reaching for her. "I cannot promise I will never be afraid again," he said honestly. "But I can promise that I will never run from you again. That I will trust you with every part of me, even the darkest parts. That I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of your love, if you'll let me."

A single tear slipped down Elizabeth's cheek. "Pretty words," she said softly. "But how can I trust them?"

"Because I am not offering you just words," Cecil said, his voice hoarse. "I am offering you everything I am. My heart, my soul, my life—they are yours to do with as you wish." He took a shuddering breath. "You may break them, cast them aside, or cherish them. But they are yours, Elizabeth. They have been since the moment you challenged me over those paintings of my mother."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her throat, fingers brushing against her scar—a gesture he had come to recognize as a sign of her distress. "You cannot say such things," she whispered.

"I must. Even if you send me away, I must tell you this." He moved closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "Do you know what these weeks without you have taught me?"

She shook her head mutely.

"That I would rather face every demon from my past, every fear that haunts me, than spend another day without you." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "That I would rather risk having my heart shattered like my father's than never feel your touch again. That I?—"

"Stop," Elizabeth breathed, pressing her hands against his chest. Whether to push him away or hold him closer, she wasn't certain. "You cannot simply appear here and say these things as if—as if?—"

"As if what?" His hands came up to cover hers where they rested against his chest. "As if I love you? As if I have been half-mad without you? As if every moment we're apart feels like slow torture?"

"Cecil—"

"Tell me you don't still love me," he challenged, his grip on her hands tightening slightly. "Tell me you don't want me here, and I will go. Tell me you truly wish to divorce me, and I will sign whatever papers necessary, though it will destroy me to do so."

Elizabeth could feel his heart pounding beneath her palms, its rapid beat matching her own. "I—I cannot tell you that," she admitted.

Hope flared in his eyes. "Then tell me what you want, my love. Anything—anything at all—and it's yours."

"I want..." She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "I want to trust you again. I want to believe that you won't run the next time something frightens you. I want—" Her voice broke slightly. "I want my husband back."

Cecil made a sound deep in his throat, something between a groan and a sob. "Elizabeth." His forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm on her face. "My brave, beautiful Elizabeth. I swear to you, I will spend every day proving myself worthy of that trust. I will never leave you again. Never doubt you again. Never?—"

"If you do," she interrupted, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, "if you ever try to leave me again, I will hunt you down myself."

A startled laugh escaped him. "Will you?"

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