Page 18 of The Earl’s Scarred Bride (Taming the Gillets #2)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

London

T he crystal decanter clinked against Cecil's glass for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Shadows lengthened across his London townhouse's study, but he hadn't bothered to light more than a single lamp. The dimness suited his mood.

"Perhaps you've had enough," Laurence suggested from his position by the window, his stern profile outlined against the fading daylight.

Cecil let out a harsh laugh. "I haven't even started." He raised the glass to his lips, ignoring how his hand trembled slightly. When had he last eaten? The days had begun to blur together since he'd left Stonefield. Since he'd left her.

"You look terrible," Percival observed bluntly, settling into one of the leather chairs across from Cecil's desk. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I sleep," Cecil muttered, though the dark circles under his eyes betrayed the lie.

"In a bed? Or here at your desk?" Laurence turned from the window, his usually cold demeanor showing hints of concern. "This isn't like you, cousin."

Cecil's jaw tightened. No, it wasn't like him at all. The great Earl of Stonefield, reduced to a sleepless, lovesick fool. He'd spent the past week drowning himself in work during the day and whiskey at night, trying to forget the look in Elizabeth's eyes when he'd told her their time was up.

"Your butler mentioned you haven't been taking meals regularly either," Percival added, exchanging a worried glance with Laurence. "This has to stop, Cecil."

"What would you have me do?" Cecil demanded, slamming his glass down hard enough that amber liquid sloshed over the rim. "Return home? Pretend everything is fine?"

"Yes, actually," Percival said. "Return to your wife. Apologize for whatever foolish thing you've done this time. God knows I've had to do it often enough with Madeleine."

Cecil's fingers tightened around his glass. "This is different."

"How?" Laurence's deep voice carried across the room. "You're clearly miserable without her. And from what Emily tells me, your wife is equally devastated."

"I can't." The words came out rougher than Cecil intended. "I won't become him. I won't let myself—" He cut himself off, reaching for the decanter again.

"Become who?" Percival leaned forward, his expression intent. "Your father?"

Cecil's hand froze halfway to the decanter. "I trusted her," he said quietly. "I told her things I've never told anyone. Made myself vulnerable, just as my father did with my mother. And look what that led to."

"Your wife is not your mother," Percival said firmly. "And you are not your father. The only one destroying himself here is you."

"You don't understand," Cecil growled, pushing away from his desk with enough force to make the decanter wobble. "I've seen what love can do to a man. I watched my father waste away after learning of my mother's betrayal. He was strong once, respected. And in the end..." He swallowed hard, pacing the length of the study. "In the end, he died of a broken heart."

"So instead, you break your own heart?" Laurence's tone dripped with sarcasm. "A brilliant strategy, cousin."

Percival shot Laurence a warning look before turning back to Cecil. "You're not thinking clearly. When was the last time you were at Stonefield? Your real home, not this..." He gestured at the dark, oppressive study of the London townhouse. "This self-imposed exile?"

"A week." Cecil's voice was barely audible. "Seven days, thirteen hours, and—" He caught himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair. When had he become the type of man who counted the hours since he'd last seen his wife?

"And in that time, have you once considered that perhaps you're punishing Elizabeth for crimes she hasn't committed?" Percival pressed. "Madeleine tells me your wife is different from any woman she's ever met. That she challenges you, matches your wit, makes you laugh?—"

"Enough!" Cecil's voice cracked like a whip through the room. "I made my decision. I won't risk?—"

"Risk what?" Laurence interrupted, pushing away from the window. "Risk being happy? Risk having a real marriage instead of the cold, empty thing you've condemned yourself to?"

Cecil turned to face his cousin, his eyes blazing. "Risk loving her more than I already do!"

The words echoed in the sudden silence of the study. Percival and Laurence exchanged glances, and for the first time that evening, a hint of hope crossed Percival's features.

"Well," he said quietly, "at least you've finally admitted it."

Cecil sank back into his chair, suddenly feeling every hour of sleep he'd missed this past week. "It doesn't matter," he muttered. "What's done is done."

"It matters entirely," Percival countered, leaning forward. "You love her. And from what I observed at dinner last month, she loves you too. Only a fool would throw that away."

"Then I'm a fool." Cecil reached for his glass again, but Laurence moved faster, snatching it away.

"Enough drowning your sorrows," his cousin said firmly. "You're the Earl of Stonefield. Start acting like it."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted whatever retort Cecil had been about to make. Harrison, entered with the precise efficiency that had served the household for twenty years.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," Harrison said, his face carefully neutral, "but you have a visitor."

Cecil's heart leaped traitorously in his chest. Could it be...? "Who is it?"

"Lady Harriet Cooper, my lord."

The hope that had flared in Cecil's chest died as quickly as it had kindled. Not Elizabeth then. Of course not. Why would she come after the way he'd left things?

Percival stood, straightening his waistcoat. "Perhaps that's our cue to leave."

"Indeed," Laurence agreed, setting Cecil's untouched glass on the desk. "Try not to do anything foolish, cousin."

Cecil barely registered their departure, his mind racing. Why would Harriet come to see him? Had something happened to Elizabeth? Was she unwell?

"Show her in," he ordered Harrison, forcing himself to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look more presentable, acutely aware of his rumpled appearance and the heavy scent of whiskey in the air.

Harrison bowed and withdrew, returning moments later with Harriet. Cecil's sister-in-law stood in the doorway, her face set in lines of determination that reminded him painfully of Elizabeth.

"Lady Harriet," he managed, attempting to summon some semblance of his usual composure. "This is...unexpected."

"Not as unexpected as your abandonment of my sister," Harriet replied, her voice sharp as ice. She remained standing, ignoring Cecil's gesture toward a chair.

The accusation hit him like a physical blow. "I didn't?—"

"Didn't what? Didn't abandon her? Didn't break her heart?" Harriet's eyes flashed with anger. "I've spent the past week watching my sister pretend she isn't falling apart, Lord Stonefield. She barely eats. Barely sleeps. Though from the look of you, perhaps you're familiar with that particular affliction."

Cecil gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. "Why are you here, Lady Harriet?"

"Elizabeth didn't want to come herself." Harriet lifted her chin, looking every inch the nobleman's daughter she was. "She didn't want to see you at all, actually. But something needs to be done."

A cold dread settled in Cecil's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"She wants a divorce."

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Divorce? His Elizabeth wanted to...to end their marriage?

"No," he said hoarsely, before he could stop himself.

"No?" Harriet arched an eyebrow. "I don't believe you have a choice in the matter, my lord. You abandoned her. That's grounds enough."

"I didn't abandon her," Cecil protested, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "I just needed time to?—"

"To what? To break her spirit completely? To make her believe she truly is unmarriageable, as our father always claimed?" Harriet's voice trembled with barely contained fury. "She trusted you. She believed in you. And you proved to be just like every other man who's ever looked at her scar and found her wanting."

"That's not—" Cecil ran a hand over his face. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me," Harriet challenged. "Explain why you left my sister without so much as a proper goodbye. Explain why you made her fall in love with you only to cast her aside."

The words "fall in love" hit Cecil like a physical blow. He staggered back, bracing himself against his desk. "She...loves me?"

"Of course she does, you fool!" Harriet threw up her hands in exasperation. "How could you not see it? The way she lights up when you enter a room, how she defends you even now to our father, how she—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "But it doesn't matter anymore. She wants to end this farce of a marriage, and I'm here to make sure you comply."

"I can't," Cecil whispered.

"You can't?" Harriet's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You seemed perfectly capable of walking away from her a week ago. Why is this different?"

Cecil pushed away from his desk, his movements agitated. "Because I love her too!" The words burst from him with unexpected force. "Because every moment I've been away from her has been torture. Because I've spent every night this week staring at the ceiling, wondering if she's sleeping, if she's eating, if she's..." He broke off, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Then why did you leave?" Harriet demanded, though some of the fire had gone out of her voice.

"Because I'm terrified!" The admission echoed in the quiet study. "I watched my father die of a broken heart after discovering my mother's infidelity. I saw what love did to him, how it destroyed him piece by piece. And with Elizabeth..." He swallowed hard. "With Elizabeth, I feel more than I ever thought possible. It terrifies me."

"So you chose to leave?" Harriet's voice was careful, measured, though her disapproval was clear. "Without even attempting to face these fears?"

Cecil flinched. "I thought...I thought if I left now, before I fell any deeper, I could protect both of us."

"How noble of you," Harriet said dryly. "And did it work? Are you protected now, my lord? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man who's doing an excellent job of destroying himself without any help from my sister."

"Lady Harriet?—"

"My sister has suffered enough," she said quietly, her voice firm but controlled. "I cannot bear to see her hurt again."

She pulled a folded document from her reticule and placed it on his desk with deliberate care. "These are the divorce papers from Elizabeth. Have your solicitor review them and send them to Trowbridge Manor when they're signed.”

Cecil stared at the papers as if they might bite him.