Page 6 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Sending men to hunt down an unwilling bride?" Cecil's mouth curved into a smile that held no warmth. "How...medieval of you, baron."

The earl descended the altar steps with predatory grace, each footfall echoing in the now-silent church. Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as he approached, unable to look away from the dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Tell me, my lord baron," Cecil continued, his voice deceptively soft, "did you truly think I wouldn't notice the signs? The hasty wedding preparations, the lack of proper settlements drawn up, the way your daughter could barely look at me?"

Luke Cooper paled visibly. "I assure you?—"

"Your assurances," Cecil cut in, "are worth about as much as your daughter's presence at the altar." His gaze flickered briefly to Elizabeth again, making her heart stutter. "Though perhaps not all your daughters share the same...reluctance."

Elizabeth's spine stiffened at his implication, even as her father sputtered indignantly beside her.

The earl's attention was fully on her now, those stormy blue eyes studying her with an intensity that made her want to shrink into the shadows—or perhaps step forward into the light. She wasn't entirely sure which impulse was more dangerous.

A bell tolled somewhere in the distance, marking another quarter-hour of this increasingly uncomfortable spectacle. Cecil's smile widened fractionally at the sound, as if it had reminded him of something amusing.

"Well," he drawled, his voice carrying clearly through the hushed church, "it seems we find ourselves at an interesting impasse."

"My lord," Elizabeth found her voice, though it emerged softer than she'd intended. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more... private?"

Cecil's eyebrow arched elegantly. "And deny our guests the entertainment they so clearly crave?" He gestured to the assembled crowd, who didn't even pretend not to be hangingon every word. "Besides, I believe what I have to say concerns everyone present."

Elizabeth's heart thundered against her ribs as he moved closer, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to his immaculate coat. Even through her mounting anxiety, she couldn't help but notice how his presence seemed to fill the space around them, making the large church feel suddenly, impossibly intimate.

"Do enlighten us, then," she managed, lifting her chin despite her racing pulse.

Something flickered in Cecil's eyes—appreciation? Amusement? But his voice remained coldly pleasant as he addressed the congregation while keeping his gaze fixed on Elizabeth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it appears Miss Harriet Cooper has made her feelings about this match quite clear through her absence." A ripple of murmurs swept through the church. "However, I find myself in a rather unique position."

He turned slightly to pin Luke with a look that made the baron shrink back. "You see, certain arrangements were made. Certain...promises given. And I do not leave promises unfulfilled."

Elizabeth watched her father's face drain of what little color remained. There was something in the exchange she wasn't understanding—some underlying current of threat or obligation that made her father look positively ill.

"The Earl of Stonefield does not walk away from the altar without a bride," Cecil announced, his voice ringing with authority. His smile turned predatory as his attention returned to Elizabeth. "Fortunately, the baron has another daughter."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Elizabeth felt the world tilt sideways.

Surely she had misheard.

Surely he couldn't mean?—

"You can't be serious," she breathed, aware of hundreds of eyes fixed upon them.

"Oh, but I am." Cecil's smile held a dangerous edge. "In fact, I've never been more serious in my life." He glanced at the ornate clock above the church entrance. "I'll make this very simple. If a bride—any bride—is not standing before that altar in the next five minutes, there will be...consequences."

The last word fell like a stone into the silence. Elizabeth saw her father flinch violently beside her.

"My lord," Luke started, his voice trembling. "Surely we can come to some other arrangement?—"

"Can we?" Cecil's tone dropped several degrees in temperature. "Tell me, baron, what else do you have to offer? Your good name?" His laugh was sharp enough to cut. "Or perhaps we should discuss certain financial matters? Here, before all your peers?"

Elizabeth watched the interplay between them with growing unease. There was something here she wasn't understanding—some hidden current of power and obligation that made her father look increasingly desperate.

Her heart stuttered, then began racing so violently she feared it might burst from her chest.

A rustle of fabric drew her attention as several ladies in nearby pews leaned forward, eager not to miss a word of what was quickly becoming the scandal of the season. Elizabeth could practically see tomorrow's gossip spreading through London's drawing rooms.

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