Page 15 of The Earl’s Scarred Bride (Taming the Gillets #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he Duke of Greyhall's dining room glittered with candlelight, but Elizabeth found her attention drawn repeatedly to her husband's taut expression. Cecil had barely spoken since their arrival, responding to his sisters' cheerful chatter with nothing more than curt nods. Even now, he seemed distant, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against his wineglass.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, brother," Madeleine observed, her hand resting unconsciously on her growing belly. "Surely married life hasn't made you this somber?"

Cecil's fingers stilled on his glass. "Perhaps I simply have nothing of interest to contribute."

"Nonsense," Emily countered, reaching for another slice of roast. "You always have something clever to say. Though I must admit, you've been different since—" She broke off, something flickering across her face. "Well, since Father passed."

Elizabeth watched her husband's jaw tighten, the muscle there jumping beneath his skin. She longed to reach for his hand beneath the table, to offer some comfort, but his rigid posture warned against it.

"Do you remember," Madeleine said, her voice softening with nostalgia, "how Mother used to let us hide in her painting room when Father was cross about some childish mischief? She'd distract him with tea while we giggled behind her easel."

"She was always protecting us," Emily agreed, her eyes misting slightly. "Even from our own foolishness. Remember when Cecil tried to teach himself fencing using her best parasols?"

Elizabeth noticed how Cecil's knuckles whitened around his glass at the mention of his mother. She'd seen that same tension whenever the paintings were mentioned, but now there was something darker in his expression—something that made her chest ache with an emotion she didn't dare name.

"Mother would have loved you, Elizabeth," Madeleine continued, oblivious to her brother's growing discomfort. "She always said Cecil needed someone who could match his wit and temper his worst impulses. Cecil, don't you think?—"

"Enough." The word cracked through the room like a whip. Cecil stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Elizabeth, we're leaving."

"But we haven't even had dessert," Emily protested. "And you haven't said a word about?—"

"I said enough." Cecil's voice dropped dangerously low. He turned to Percival, who had been watching the exchange with shrewd eyes. "My apologies, but we must take our leave. Elizabeth?"

She rose quickly, not wanting to cause more of a scene. But as Cecil practically dragged her from the dining room, she caught a glimpse of his sisters' bewildered expressions and felt her heart twist. Whatever demons haunted her husband, they clearly had deep roots in his family's past.

The carriage ride home was silent save for the clatter of hooves and the occasional creak of wheels. Cecil stared out the window, his profile harsh in the intermittent lamplight, while Elizabeth's mind raced with questions she wasn't sure she dared to voice.

The moment they arrived at Stonefield Manor, Cecil strode from the carriage without offering Elizabeth his hand—a small slight that spoke volumes. She watched him disappear inside, his long legs carrying him swiftly toward the stairs that led to his private chambers.

Her sensible side urged her to retire to her own room, to give him space to wrestle whatever demons had emerged during dinner. But something stronger—something that felt dangerously like love—made her gather her skirts and follow.

"Cecil," she called, catching up to him in the darkened corridor. "Wait."

He paused, his hand on his bedchamber door. "Go to bed, Elizabeth."

"No." The word emerged stronger than she'd intended, echoing slightly in the empty hallway. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

He turned then, and the raw pain in his eyes made her breath catch. "Some truths are better left buried."

"Like the truth about your mother's paintings?" She took a step closer, emboldened when he didn't retreat. "About why you can barely look at them, yet can't seem to part with them either?"

"Elizabeth." Her name was a warning on his lips. "Don't."

But she was already moving forward, close enough now to catch the scent of brandy on his breath. "Your sisters clearly adored her. Yet whenever she's mentioned, you look as if you're being slowly tortured. Why?"

"Because they didn't know her!" The words exploded from him with such force that Elizabeth actually stumbled back. Cecil caught her arm, steadying her even in his anger. His fingers burned through the silk of her gown. "They didn't see—" He broke off, his breath harsh in the silence.

"What didn't they see?" Elizabeth whispered, laying her free hand against his chest. She could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm. "Tell me, Cecil. Please."

He stared down at her for a long moment, something desperate and wild in his gaze. Then, without warning, he yanked open his chamber door and pulled her inside.

Elizabeth barely had time to register that she was in her husband's bedroom—a place she'd never been permitted to enter—before he released her and began to pace like a caged animal.

"I was eighteen," he said finally, his voice rough. "Young enough to still believe in perfect things. Perfect families. Perfect love." He gave a bitter laugh that made Elizabeth's chest ache. "I found her in the garden with him. Some nobleman whose name I never learned. They were..." He swallowed hard. "Well, let's just say their embrace wasn't motherly."

Elizabeth watched as Cecil poured himself a generous measure of brandy, his movements sharp with suppressed emotion. "I told myself I must have misunderstood," he continued, staring into the amber liquid. "That perhaps I was seeing things that weren't there. After all, she was the perfect countess, the perfect mother. How could she possibly—" He broke off, downing half his glass in one swallow.

"But you knew," Elizabeth said softly.

"I knew." His laugh held no humor. "Though I tried desperately to forget. Even after her death, I kept telling myself it had been nothing. An aberration. A moment of weakness." He set down his glass with more force than necessary. "Until I found the letters."

Elizabeth's breath caught. "Letters?"

"Hidden in her painting room. Dozens of letters, spanning years," Cecil said, his voice raw with old pain. "Declarations of love. Secret meetings arranged in code so obvious a child could have broken it."

He turned away, unable to meet Elizabeth's eyes. "At first, I didn't know what to do. I was young, scared. I thought if I kept them hidden, protected everyone from the truth..."

"How long did you keep them hidden?" Elizabeth asked softly.

Cecil's laugh was bitter. "Years. I told myself I was protecting my sisters. Protecting my father from the truth about the woman he worshipped." His fingers clenched. "But when he finally found them in my room, it destroyed him. He was sick within months. The physician called it a fever, but I knew. The truth killed him as surely as any illness."

"You were trying to protect your family," Elizabeth said gently. "A boy trying to shield those he loved from a painful truth."

"Was I protecting them?" His voice dropped, filled with self-loathing. "Or was I just a coward, carrying this secret that ate away at me?"

"The truth," Elizabeth whispered, finally understanding. "The truth about a woman he'd loved without reservation."

"I should have burned them the moment I found them. Should have?—"

But Elizabeth was already closing the distance between them, her hands coming up to frame his face. "Listen to me," she said fiercely. "You were eighteen years old, carrying a burden no child should bear. You tried to protect everyone you loved, even if it meant suffering alone."

"Elizabeth—" His voice was hoarse, his hands coming up to circle her wrists as if to pull away.

"No." She held his gaze, willing him to believe her. "Your father's death was not your fault. Your mother's choices were not your fault. You were just a boy who loved his family too much to break their hearts."

Something broke in Cecil's expression then—some wall he'd built around his pain crumbling at her words. Before she could react, his mouth was on hers, desperate and demanding.

The kiss was different from their previous encounters—rawer, more desperate. Cecil kissed her like a drowning man seeking air, his hands tangling in her hair as pins scattered to the floor. Elizabeth melted into him, offering the comfort he seemed to desperately need.

"I should stop," he breathed against her mouth, even as his hands tightened on her waist. "I've already said too much, revealed too much?—"

"No." Elizabeth pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. In the flickering candlelight, she could see the vulnerability beneath his usual mask of control. "No more hiding, Cecil. No more pushing me away."

His thumb traced the line of her scar with exquisite gentleness. "You deserve better than a man haunted by ghosts."

"I deserve the truth," she whispered, turning her face to press a kiss to his palm. "And you've given me that tonight."

A shudder went through his powerful frame. "Elizabeth." Her name was both warning and plea. "If you stay, I won't be able to?—"

"Then don't." She reached up to trace his jaw, feeling the tension there. "Let me in, Cecil. Let me help you forget, just for tonight."

His control snapped. The next kiss was searing, stealing her breath as he backed her toward his massive bed. Her hands found his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath his evening coat. When her legs hit the mattress, she pulled him down with her, needing to feel his weight, his solidity.

"You trust me too much," he muttered against her throat, his hands working at the fastenings of her gown. "After everything I just told you about betrayal?—"

"I trust you," she cut him off, arching as his lips found a sensitive spot behind her ear, "because you've proven worthy of that trust. Because you sacrificed your own happiness to protect those you loved."

He stilled above her, his eyes searching her face in the dim light. What he saw there must have convinced him, because his next kiss was achingly tender. His hands, when they returned to her gown, moved with reverent care.

Elizabeth's own fingers weren't idle, working at his cravat, his waistcoat, needing to feel his skin against hers. Each newly revealed inch of him made her breath catch—the strong column of his throat, the broad plane of his chest, the ridges of muscle that spoke of hours spent in physical pursuits.

"My beautiful wife," he breathed, finally freeing her from her gown. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her in nothing but her thin shift. "So perfect. So—" He broke off as her hands found the buttons of his trousers. "Elizabeth, wait. You should know—I won't risk getting you with child. Not when you've made your feelings clear on the matter."

Elizabeth's heart swelled at his consideration, even in this moment of passion. "I trust you," she whispered again, the words carrying more weight than before.

Cecil groaned, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss as his hands skimmed down her sides. The thin fabric of her shift did nothing to dull the heat of his touch. When his fingers found the sensitive spot behind her knee that he'd discovered during their dance lessons, she gasped against his lips.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Every touch, every kiss...do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this?"

Elizabeth could only whimper in response as his mouth traced the line of her scar—that mark she'd spent years hiding, which he seemed to worship. His tongue flicked against her pulse point, making her arch beneath him.

"Cecil, please..." She wasn't even sure what she was begging for, only that she needed more.

"Shh," he soothed, though his own breathing was uneven. "Let me take care of you, love."

Elizabeth's breath caught as Cecil drew closer, his dark blue eyes searching her face with an intensity that made her heart race. In that moment, she saw not the earl, not the rake, but a man haunted by a burden too heavy for any child to carry alone."Elizabeth," he breathed her name like a prayer, his fingers ghosting along her cheek. "Tell me to stop. Tell me this isn't what you want."

But Elizabeth found herself leaning into his touch, drawn by some magnetic force she couldn't resist. "I want..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I want you to let me in. To trust me."

Something shifted in Cecil's expression—a crack in his carefully constructed walls. His thumb traced the line of her scar with exquisite gentleness before sliding into her hair. "You don't know what you're asking for," he murmured, even as he drew her closer.

"Then show me," Elizabeth challenged softly, tilting her face up to his.

The first brush of his lips against hers was achingly tender—so different from the passionate kisses they'd shared before. This felt like surrender, like trust. Elizabeth's hands came up to grip his shoulders, steadying herself as waves of sensation washed over her.

Cecil kissed her as if memorizing every detail—the soft gasp she made when his teeth grazed her lower lip, the way she melted against him when his tongue traced the seam of her mouth. His other hand settled at her waist, pulling her flush against his body until she could feel the thundering of his heart matching her own frantic pulse.

When he finally drew back, his breathing ragged, Elizabeth saw raw need warring with restraint in his darkened gaze. She knew he was giving her one last chance to retreat, to maintain the careful distance between them.

Instead, she reached up to trace his jaw, feeling the tension there. "No more hiding, Cecil," she whispered. "No more pushing me away."

A shudder went through Cecil's powerful frame at her words. His control snapped, and his next kiss was searing—stealing her breath as he backed her toward his massive bed. Elizabeth's hands found his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath his evening coat. When her legs hit the mattress, she pulled him down with her, needing to feel his weight, his solidity.

"You shouldn't trust me so easily," Cecil murmured, his fingers hovering just above the fastenings of her gown. A shadow of uncertainty crossed his face. "After what I've just revealed about my family's past..."

Elizabeth reached up, her hand catching his. "Trust isn't given because someone is perfect," she said softly. "It's given to those brave enough to be vulnerable."

Her words seemed to shatter something within him. For a moment, raw emotion flickered in his eyes—pain, hope, vulnerability—before he gathered her close. His next kiss was different from any before: not demanding, not teasing, but achingly sincere. Elizabeth's own fingers weren't idle, working at his cravat, his waistcoat, needing to feel his skin against hers. Each newly revealed inch of him made her breath catch—the strong column of his throat, the broad plane of his chest, the ridges of muscle that spoke of hours spent in physical pursuits.

"My beautiful wife," he breathed, finally freeing her from her gown. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her in nothing but her thin shift. "So perfect. So—" He broke off as her hands found the buttons of his trousers.

Cecil's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her movement. His breath came ragged, tension evident in every line of his body. "Wait," he said, his voice a low, urgent rasp. "We cannot—I will not compromise you completely."

Elizabeth met his gaze, seeing the war of desire and restraint in his eyes. "I'm not some fragile creature to be protected," she whispered, her fingers trailing along his jaw. "I know exactly what I want."

For a moment, something dangerous flickered between them—a shared understanding that went far beyond the physical moment. Cecil's grip on her wrist softened, becoming a caress that spoke of something deeper than mere passion.

"Are you certain?" he asked, and the question held the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Her answer was a simple, breathless "Yes" that changed everything.

Cecil gathered her closer, his lips exploring new paths across her skin. Each touch held reverence, as if he was mapping territory both familiar and thrillingly new. When his mouth found the sensitive hollow of her throat, Elizabeth's fingers tightened in his hair.

"You're a miracle," he whispered against her skin. "Every time I touch you, it feels like the first time all over again." His hands traced patterns down her sides, finding new places that made her gasp and tremble.

Elizabeth arched into his touch, overcome by the tenderness in his exploration. This wasn't like their earlier passionate encounters—this was slower, deeper somehow. Each caress felt like a confession, each kiss a promise.

"Cecil," she breathed, her voice catching as his hands found particularly sensitive spots. Her body remembered his touch, yet somehow each new caress felt like a revelation.

"I know, my love," he murmured, his own voice rough with emotion. "Let me worship you properly. Let me show you exactly how precious you are to me."

His hands, having lingered at her waist, began to explore higher, brushing the sides of her breasts through her shift. Elizabeth's breath hitched at the novel sensation. She'd never been touched like this—with such reverence and care.

"You're exquisite," Cecil whispered against her skin, his fingers tracing patterns that made her shiver. "Every inch of you deserves to be worshipped."

His mouth followed the path of his hands, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone before moving lower. Through the thin fabric of her shift, she felt the heat of his breath against her breast, making her gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

Cecil's lips brushed against her ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Shall I show you exactly how much pleasure your body is capable of feeling?"

She inhaled sharply, her breath catching. "You're insufferable," she managed, even as her body betrayed her growing desire.

"Insufferable? Or simply honest? I could make you cry out my name before you even realize what's happening."

Elizabeth's cheeks burned. "You talk far too much."

"Would you prefer I demonstrate instead?" His smile was pure sin. "Because I assure you, I'm very good at proving my point.""Don't stop," Elizabeth breathed, her fingers threading through his dark hair. The sensation of his mouth through her shift was exquisite torture, making her arch into his touch.

Cecil's eyes darkened. "Gladly."

Cecil's hands slid lower, bunching her shift around her thighs. His touch was reverent as he explored the newly exposed skin, making Elizabeth tremble with anticipation. When his fingers brushed her inner thigh, she gasped, her body jerking at the intimate contact.

"Now, spread those pretty thighs and let me make you feel good," he whispered against her skin, his other hand still tracing soothing patterns along her hip. "Let me show you how to come undone."

Elizabeth nodded shakily, overwhelmed by sensation but trusting him completely. She felt his smile against her skin before his fingers slid higher, finding her most intimate place.

The first touch made her gasp, her back arching off the bed. . Cecil's mouth returned to her neck, alternating between kisses and gentle nips as his fingers explored with maddening slowness.

"That's it," he murmured encouragingly as she writhed beneath his touch. "Let go for me, love. Let me see you come undone."

His skilled fingers found a particularly sensitive spot that made Elizabeth cry out, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Cecil caught her wrist gently, pulling it away.

"No," he said softly. "I want to hear you. Every gasp, every moan. You're beautiful like this, lost in pleasure."

Cecil's lips traced a gentle path along Elizabeth's scar, his touch filled with reverence rather than revulsion. The tenderness of his gesture brought tears to her eyes - here was a man who saw her marks as beautiful rather than flawed.

"I should have told you sooner," he murmured against her skin. "How brave you are. How strong. Every mark, every imperfection only makes you more precious to me."

Elizabeth's heart swelled at his words, her hands coming up to frame his face. "And you," she whispered, "are far braver than you know.”

His eyes met hers, vulnerability warring with something deeper. She saw the scared boy who'd discovered his mother's betrayal, the young man who'd sacrificed his own happiness to shield his family from pain.

"Elizabeth," he breathed her name like a prayer. "You make me want to be worthy of your trust. Of your heart."

"You already are," she assured him, pulling him down for a tender kiss. His hands cradled her face as if she were something infinitely precious.

When they finally parted, both breathing heavily, Elizabeth saw raw emotion in his gaze. Tonight had changed something between them—broken down walls they'd both built around their hearts.

The intensity in Cecil's gaze made Elizabeth's breath catch. Without breaking eye contact, his hand resumed its intimate exploration, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that made her gasp. His skilled fingers moved in slow circles, building her pleasure with deliberate care.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, watching her reactions with rapt attention. "So responsive to my touch. Tell me what you feel, love."

Elizabeth could barely form words through the haze of sensation. "I want...I want it so badly," she managed, her voice breathy and uneven. "I feel like I'm on fire, Cecil."

He growled against her neck, increasing the pressure of his touch. "That's right, love. Let yourself feel it. No one can see you here but me. And I love watching you come."

The combination of his words and touches pushed Elizabeth closer to the edge. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, needing something to anchor her as waves of pleasure threatened to overwhelm her.

"Cecil," she gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. "I...I don't know if I can?—"

"You can," he assured her softly, his free hand stroking her hair. "Trust me, Elizabeth. Let go. I've got you."

His mouth found her breast through her shift just as his fingers pressed more firmly.

Then he carefully positioned his cock against her trembling thighs, letting her feel the length of him but ensuring he wouldn't go any further. Elizabeth moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as their kisses grew more fervent.

"Cecil," she breathed, her voice shaky and full of desire. "I...I want to feel you, too."

"No more than this," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. "Though I know exactly how to please you by now."

He rocked his hips gently against her, the movement creating a delicious friction that made her moan. With careful precision, he kept his cock pressed against her thighs, never letting it slip inside her. His hand continued to work between her legs, his fingers skilled and sure as they brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Elizabeth's body arched beneath him, her head falling back against the pillows. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he could feel the tension building in her muscles. With a final, precise touch, he sent her over the edge, her cry of pleasure vibrating through them both.

Cecil held her tightly as she shuddered and trembled in his arms, her release incredibly sweet and fulfilling. He kissed her gently, feeling her breath slowly steadying.

"That was...incredible," she whispered, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze.

He smiled, his heart full of love and tenderness. "You deserve every bit of pleasure, Elizabeth. And I'm honored to have been the one to give it to you."