Page 10 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Boys," he corrected sharply. "You've been resisting boys. I assure you, I am something else entirely." He set down his glass and moved toward her again, his movements predatory. "But don't worry, my dear wife. I won't touch you until you beg for it."

"Then you'll be waiting a very long time."

His smile was pure sin. "We'll see. In the meantime..." He leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing hers. "You might want to learn how to please yourself. The nights can get very...long."

With that parting shot, he turned and strode from the room.

She pressed a hand to her racing heart.

What kind of devil had she married?

And more troubling still, why did part of her long to discover exactly what pleasures that devil could teach her?

CHAPTER FOUR

Elizabeth hadn't slept more than a few hours.

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Stonefield Manor as she made her way down the servant's corridor, intending to speak with the housekeeper about the week's menus. She paused when she heard hushed voices around the corner.

"—scarred like that, and her own sister running away from the marriage too." The words, spoken in a maid's sharp whisper, made Elizabeth's fingers clench in her skirts.

"Seen her yourself then?" another voice asked eagerly.

"Clear as day, that mark running down her neck. No wonder she wasn't married before—and now taking her sister's place at the altar! Makes you wonder what the earl was thinking, accepting such a?—"

"Hush!" A third voice cut in. "That's no way to speak of the new countess."

"Well it's true, isn't it? First time in history Stonefield Manor's mistress is a?—"

Elizabeth stepped around the corner, her head held high. The three maids scattered like startled birds, dropping into hasty curtsies before fleeing. Only Sarah, the youngest maid dared meet her eyes for a moment—a glance full of mortification and apology.

Heat burned in Elizabeth's cheeks, but she forced her spine straighter. Let them whisper. Let them stare. She would prove her worth through actions, not appearances. This house needed a proper mistress, and she would be damned if she let a few gossiping servants undermine her authority.

By the time Mrs. Winters, the housekeeper, found her in the morning room, Elizabeth had already drafted three pages of necessary improvements in her mind.

"My lady?" Mrs. Winters entered with a steaming cup of tea. Her eyes swept over Elizabeth's face, noting but tactfully ignoring the high color in her cheeks. "I thought you might appreciate this before breakfast."

"Thank you." Elizabeth accepted the cup, grateful for both the tea and the elderly woman's dignified professionalism. Unlike the other servants, Mrs. Winters possessed that particular brand of stoicism that marked a truly professional housekeeper.

"Shall I have breakfast served in the morning room, my lady?"

"Yes, please." Elizabeth hesitated. "Will his lordship be joining me?"

Something flickered across Mrs. Winters' face. "His lordship...prefers to take his meals in his study, my lady. He's kept to that habit since—" She stopped abruptly. "For quite some time now."

Of course he did. Elizabeth suppressed a flare of irritation. Even in this, he would maintain his distance, treating their marriage as nothing more than the business arrangement he'd declared it to be.

"I see." She kept her voice neutral. "Then perhaps you could show me through the house after breakfast? I should like to familiarize myself with my new home."

The morning room proved to be a pleasant space, with large windows overlooking the estate's manicured gardens. But Elizabeth found herself picking at her food, her appetite diminished by the conspicuous emptiness of the chair across from her.

"My lady?" Mrs. Winters appeared in the doorway. "Shall we begin the tour?"

Elizabeth welcomed the distraction. As they moved through the house, she found herself impressed by its elegant efficiency.Every room spoke of wealth without ostentation, taste without excess. It was, she realized, rather like its master in that regard—beautiful but controlled, refined yet somehow dangerous.

"The kitchen gardens need attention," Mrs. Winters was saying as they walked. "And the east wing hasn't been properly aired in months. Cook has been asking for new copper pots, and the drawing room curtains..."

"The kitchen gardens should be our first priority," Elizabeth interrupted smoothly. "Fresh herbs and vegetables will reduce our reliance on the market. As for the east wing, we'll need to check the windows for drafts before winter arrives. The copper pots can wait until next quarter, but have the curtains cleaned and repaired rather than replaced—it's more economical."

---