Page 5 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Think about it," Elizabeth pressed. "The countryside is far enough from London and Father's reach. You can stay there while I handle things here. If James truly loves you, he can wait until circumstances are more favorable."

"But Father will be furious," Harriet protested weakly, though Elizabeth could see her considering the alternative. "And the earl—what about his reaction?"

"Let me worry about that," Elizabeth said firmly, though her stomach churned at the thought of Cecil Gillet's infamous temper. "At least this way, you'll be safe with family instead of ruined by scandal."

Harriet bit her lip, hesitating. "But what if..." She looked at Elizabeth with sudden fear. "What if Father makes you marry him instead?"

Elizabeth forced a laugh, though the suggestion sent an unexpected flutter through her chest. "Don't be ridiculous. The earl would never accept a scarred spinster when he could have his pick of any beauty in London."

"You undervalue yourself," Harriet said softly, reaching up to touch Elizabeth's scar. "This doesn't define you, Elizabeth."

"Stop it. This isn't about me," Elizabeth cut her off gently, stepping back. "We need to focus on getting you safely away. There's not much time before the household wakes."

She moved to her writing desk, pulling out paper and ink. "I'll write to Aunt Margaret immediately. We can have Thomas drive you to the morning coach?—"

"Thomas?" Harriet's voice quavered. "But he's Father's groom. Surely he'll tell?—"

"Thomas has a soft spot for you since you nursed his daughter through the fever last winter," Elizabeth reminded her, already writing swiftly. "Besides, he owes me a favor."

The scratch of her quill filled the silence as Harriet wrestled with the decision. Finally, her sister spoke in a small voice: "You truly think this is better than going with James?"

Elizabeth paused in her writing, choosing her words carefully. "I think that if James truly loves you, he'll still be there when the time is right. Running away to Gretna Green speaks of desperation, not devotion."

"But what if—" Harriet's words were cut off by the distant sound of movement in the house. The servants would be starting their morning duties.

"We haven't much time," Elizabeth said, quickly folding and sealing her letter. "Pack only what you absolutely need. Nothing that will be immediately missed."

As Harriet hurried to her chamber, Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window. Outside, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to paint the London sky in shades of pink and gold. In a few hours, those same rays would illuminate an empty church, a furious earl, and an absent bride.

Please God,she prayed silently,let me be doing the right thing.

The morning sun streamed through St. George's stained glass windows, casting rainbow shadows across the assembled guests.

Elizabeth sat rigid in the family pew, acutely aware of the mounting tension as minutes stretched into quarters of hours with no sign of the bride.

Her father shifted restlessly beside her, his face growing redder with each passing moment. The whispers had started about ten minutes ago—first just a gentle murmur, but now growing into a steady undercurrent of speculation that even the vicar's pointed coughs couldn't quite suppress.

But it was the earl himself who drew Elizabeth's unwilling attention.

Cecil Gillet stood at the altar, his broad shoulders straight and proud in his perfectly tailored black coat. Though his expression remained carefully neutral, there was something in the set of his jaw that spoke of barely contained fury.

He's even more handsome than I thought, Elizabeth thought traitorously, then immediately chastised herself for the observation. This was hardly the time to notice how his dark blue eyes seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, or how his fingers, elegant but strong, tapped an ominous rhythm against his thigh.

A movement at the church entrance caught her attention. Harrison, Cecil's butler, approached his master with swift, purposeful steps. The earl bent his head to receive whatever message was delivered, and Elizabeth's heart nearly stopped as those penetrating eyes suddenly fixed on her father.

"My lord," Baron Cooper rose hastily, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "I'm certain there's a perfectly reasonable explanation?—"

"Is there?" Cecil's voice cut through the church like a blade, silencing all whispers. "Then perhaps you'd care to share it with your assembled guests? Some of whom, I might add, have waited nearly an hour for this ceremony to begin."

Elizabeth watched her father flinch at the earl's tone. She had never seen the baron so discomposed—not even when she'd accidentally spilled wine on the Turkish carpet last Christmas.

"I'll send someone to check on her immediately," Luke stammered, but Cecil's cold laugh stopped him.

"Don't bother." The earl's eyes swept the church, lingering for a moment on Elizabeth in a way that made her skin prickle. "I believe we all know your younger daughter won't be joining us today."

Elizabeth's fingers twisted in her lap as whispers erupted through the church once more. Cecil's words had confirmed what many had likely suspected—the bride had fled. She could feel curious glances darting her way, no doubt wondering if she'd had a hand in her sister's disappearance.

"My lord," her father tried again, his voice strained. "If you'll allow me to send searchers?—"

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