Page 19 of The Earl’s Scarred Bride (Taming the Gillets #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows of Trowbridge Manor, but Elizabeth barely noticed the fading light. She had spent another day wandering the halls of her childhood home like a ghost, touching the familiar wallpaper and avoiding her father's study. Though Luke Cooper had taken to spending his days away from the estate—a small mercy she hadn't expected—every corner of this house held memories that threatened to suffocate her.

Still, it was better than returning to Stonefield. There, Cecil's presence lingered everywhere: in the library where he'd first kissed her, in the painting room where he'd opened his heart to her, in their bed where she'd foolishly believed they'd found something real. Her chest tightened at the thought of him, as it had every day since he'd walked away.

The sound of raised voices from the entrance hall pulled her from her melancholy. Elizabeth recognized her sister's sharp tone immediately, but the deeper voice that answered made her heart stutter in her chest. Impossible. She hurried toward the commotion, her skirts rustling as she moved through the corridor.

"You have no right to be here!" Harriet was saying, her small frame blocking the doorway with surprising effectiveness. "After what you did to my sister?—"

"I must speak with her." Cecil's voice was rough, desperate in a way Elizabeth had never heard before. He towered over Harriet, but made no move to force his way past her. "Please."

Elizabeth gripped the doorframe, steadying herself. He looked terrible—magnificent still, curse him, but terrible. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate cravat was slightly askew. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration she knew well.

"Leave now," Harriet demanded, "or I shall call for?—"

"Harriet." Elizabeth's voice was barely more than a whisper, but both of them turned to her immediately. Cecil's eyes found hers, and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. "Let him in."

"Elizabeth, no!" Harriet protested, moving toward her sister protectively. "He abandoned you without a word. He doesn't deserve?—"

"Please." Elizabeth touched her sister's arm gently. "I need to speak with him."

Harriet's face softened with concern. "Are you certain?"

No, Elizabeth wanted to say. She wasn't certain of anything anymore. But she nodded anyway, because the alternative—sending him away without knowing why he was here—would haunt her far longer than any memories.

"The drawing room," she said, proud of how steady her voice remained. "We can speak there."

Cecil inclined his head slightly, a ghost of his usual courtly manners. As he stepped past Harriet, Elizabeth caught the scent of him—sandalwood and leather—and her traitorous heart quickened. She led the way to the drawing room, painfully aware of his presence behind her, of every step that brought them closer to being alone together again.

Once inside, she moved to stand near the window, needing the distance between them. The late afternoon light caught the crystals of the chandelier, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. She focused on them, anything to avoid looking directly at him.

"Why are you here?" she asked, hating how her voice trembled slightly. When he didn't immediately answer, she forced herself to turn and face him. "After what you did—after walking away without a word—what right do you have to come here now?"

"Elizabeth." Her name on his lips was like a physical touch. He took a step toward her, then stopped himself, his hands clenching at his sides. "I..."

"You knew," she continued, weeks of pain and anger finally spilling out. "You knew I had fallen in love with you, and still you left. Without an explanation, without—" Her voice broke, and she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry in front of him.

Cecil moved suddenly, striding across the room until he was mere feet from her. "I am a selfish devil," he said, his voice rough. "A coward who ran from the best thing that ever happened to him. But I cannot—" He broke off, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I cannot sign those papers."

Elizabeth stared at him, confusion momentarily overtaking her anger. "What papers?"

"The divorce papers." His blue eyes were stormy as they met hers. "I know I have no right to refuse, that I forfeited any claim to you when I left, but I cannot—will not—let you go."

"Divorce papers?" Elizabeth repeated, her mind spinning. "What divorce papers?"

Something flickered across Cecil's face—confusion, then dawning comprehension. "Your sister came to me," he said slowly. "She said you wanted nothing more to do with me. That you demanded a divorce."

Understanding crashed over Elizabeth like a wave. "Harriet," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. Of course her sister would try to protect her, even if it meant?—

"You didn't send her?"

The hope in his voice made her heart ache. She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, as if trying to read the truth in her face. "No," she said softly. "I did not send her."

Cecil exhaled sharply, taking another step toward her. "Elizabeth?—"

"That doesn't change what you did," she cut in, raising her chin. The afternoon sun streaming through the window caught the scar on her neck, and she resisted the urge to turn away. "You left me. Without a word of explanation, without?—"

"Because I am a fool who does not deserve you," he interrupted, his voice raw. "Because I looked at you that morning, sleeping beside me, and I realized I had done the one thing I swore I never would."

"And what was that?" Elizabeth demanded, her hands trembling at her sides.

"I fell in love." The words seemed torn from him. "Completely, irrevocably in love. And it terrified me."

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to remain still, though every fiber of her being yearned to go to him. "So you ran?"

"I told myself it was better this way," he said, beginning to pace. "That I would only hurt you in the end, as my father was hurt. That I would become him—a shell of a man, destroyed by loving someone too much." He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. "But I was wrong. I became him anyway, Elizabeth. These past weeks without you?—"

"Don't," she whispered, but he continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"I cannot sleep. Cannot eat. Cannot think of anything but you. The way you smile when you best me at cards. The sound of your laugh when you're truly amused. The feel of your skin beneath my hands." His voice dropped lower, making her shiver. "I thought leaving would protect us both, but all I did was destroy everything good between us."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together. "And now? What do you want now?"

He moved closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached for her but stopped just short of touching her.

"I want you," he said simply. "In whatever way you'll have me. If you tell me to go, I will go. If you truly want that divorce, I will sign the papers, though it will kill me to do so. But if there is any chance—any at all—that you might forgive me..."

"Stop," Elizabeth said, pressing her fingers to her temples. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, made worse by his proximity. "You cannot simply appear here, say these things, and expect?—"

"I expect nothing," Cecil interrupted softly. "I deserve nothing. But I had to tell you the truth, even if you send me away afterward."

"The truth?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Which truth would that be? That you love me, yet left without a word? That you trust me, yet ran at the first sign of vulnerability?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she saw him flinch.

"Elizabeth—"

"No," she cut in, stepping away from him. She needed distance to think clearly. "You asked me that morning if having your heir would make you stay. When I said yes, you told me you weren't interested anymore. Was that a lie too?"

Cecil's expression tightened with pain. "I couldn't bear the thought of you doing something you didn't want, simply to keep me. You spoke so passionately about never wanting children, about your fears?—"

"And you never thought to ask if my feelings had changed?" Elizabeth demanded. "Never considered that perhaps, after seeing what kind of man you truly were, I might want something different?"

He stared at her, hope and disbelief warring in his eyes. "Had they? Changed?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" She turned toward the window, watching as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. "You made that decision for both of us."

"Elizabeth." His voice was closer now, though he still didn't touch her. "Please look at me."

She closed her eyes instead, fighting back tears. "Why should I?"

"Because I need you to see the truth in my eyes when I tell you that leaving you was the greatest mistake of my life." His voice was raw, stripped of all its usual polish. "Because I have spent every moment since then hating myself for hurting you. Because the thought of you wanting my child makes me want to fall to my knees and beg your forgiveness."

Despite herself, Elizabeth turned to face him. He stood so close now that she could see the stubble on his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

"I told myself I was protecting you," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers. "That I was saving us both from the pain my parents' marriage caused. But I was wrong, Elizabeth. So terribly wrong. I wasn't protecting anyone—I was simply a coward, running from the best thing that ever happened to me."

"And what happens the next time you're frightened?" she whispered. "The next time your past threatens to overwhelm you?"

Cecil's hands clenched at his sides, as if physically restraining himself from reaching for her. "I cannot promise I will never be afraid again," he said honestly. "But I can promise that I will never run from you again. That I will trust you with every part of me, even the darkest parts. That I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of your love, if you'll let me."

A single tear slipped down Elizabeth's cheek. "Pretty words," she said softly. "But how can I trust them?"

"Because I am not offering you just words," Cecil said, his voice hoarse. "I am offering you everything I am. My heart, my soul, my life—they are yours to do with as you wish." He took a shuddering breath. "You may break them, cast them aside, or cherish them. But they are yours, Elizabeth. They have been since the moment you challenged me over those paintings of my mother."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her throat, fingers brushing against her scar—a gesture he had come to recognize as a sign of her distress. "You cannot say such things," she whispered.

"I must. Even if you send me away, I must tell you this." He moved closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "Do you know what these weeks without you have taught me?"

She shook her head mutely.

"That I would rather face every demon from my past, every fear that haunts me, than spend another day without you." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "That I would rather risk having my heart shattered like my father's than never feel your touch again. That I?—"

"Stop," Elizabeth breathed, pressing her hands against his chest. Whether to push him away or hold him closer, she wasn't certain. "You cannot simply appear here and say these things as if—as if?—"

"As if what?" His hands came up to cover hers where they rested against his chest. "As if I love you? As if I have been half-mad without you? As if every moment we're apart feels like slow torture?"

"Cecil—"

"Tell me you don't still love me," he challenged, his grip on her hands tightening slightly. "Tell me you don't want me here, and I will go. Tell me you truly wish to divorce me, and I will sign whatever papers necessary, though it will destroy me to do so."

Elizabeth could feel his heart pounding beneath her palms, its rapid beat matching her own. "I—I cannot tell you that," she admitted.

Hope flared in his eyes. "Then tell me what you want, my love. Anything—anything at all—and it's yours."

"I want..." She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "I want to trust you again. I want to believe that you won't run the next time something frightens you. I want—" Her voice broke slightly. "I want my husband back."

Cecil made a sound deep in his throat, something between a groan and a sob. "Elizabeth." His forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm on her face. "My brave, beautiful Elizabeth. I swear to you, I will spend every day proving myself worthy of that trust. I will never leave you again. Never doubt you again. Never?—"

"If you do," she interrupted, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, "if you ever try to leave me again, I will hunt you down myself."

A startled laugh escaped him. "Will you?"

"Yes." She met his gaze steadily. "And you will not enjoy the consequences."

"There's my fierce wife," Cecil murmured, a hint of his old smirk playing at his lips. "I have missed her terribly."

"Have you?" Elizabeth tried to keep her voice stern, but she could feel her resolve weakening. The familiar warmth of his touch, the scent of him surrounding her—it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why she was supposed to be angry.

"More than you know." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. "I missed everything about you. Your smile when you best me at cards. Your fierce protectiveness of those you love. Even your stubbornness when you believe you're right—which is almost always."

Despite herself, Elizabeth felt her lips twitch. "Almost?"

"Well," he said, his eyes twinkling with familiar mischief, "you were wrong about one thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You thought I wouldn't want you because of this." His free hand came up to trace her scar gently, from her cheek down to where it disappeared beneath her collar. "When in truth, it was one of the first things that made me fall in love with you."

"Cecil," she whispered, her eyes stinging with tears.

"It shows your strength," he continued, his fingers still trailing along the mark. "Your resilience. How you've faced every challenge life has thrown at you and emerged stronger. More beautiful." His voice dropped lower. "More precious to me than you could possibly imagine."

Elizabeth's heart thundered in her chest. "You cannot say such things."

"Why not?"

"Because—" She struggled to find the words. "Because I am still angry with you."

"As you should be." His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "I deserve your anger. Your fury. Whatever punishment you deem fitting."

"Do you truly mean that?"

"Every word." His eyes held hers, serious now. "Name your price for forgiveness, Elizabeth. Whatever it is, I will pay it gladly."

She studied his face—the earnestness in his expression, the vulnerability he no longer tried to hide from her. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "we could start with you explaining exactly what you meant earlier about wanting children."

Cecil's breath caught audibly. "Are you saying?—"

"I'm saying that people can change their minds," she interrupted, her cheeks flushing. "That perhaps, after seeing what kind of father you might be, after watching how you are with your sisters..." She trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

"Elizabeth." His voice was rough with emotion. "Are you telling me you want?—"

"I'm telling you that I'm not opposed to the idea anymore," she said quickly. "That I might be willing to consider—oh!"

Cecil had pulled her fully into his arms, crushing her against his chest. "My love," he breathed into her hair. "My incredible, amazing love."

"You haven't let me finish," Elizabeth protested weakly, though her arms had already wound around his neck of their own accord.

"Then finish," he murmured, but he didn't release her. "Tell me everything you want. Everything you dream of. I want to hear it all."

She drew back just enough to see his face, though she remained in the circle of his arms. "I want us to try again," she said softly. "Properly this time. No more running from our fears. No more hiding from each other."

"Yes," he agreed instantly. "Anything else?"

"I want—" She hesitated, then gathered her courage. "I want to see you smile when you look at those paintings of your mother. Not because you've forgotten the pain she caused, but because you've learned to remember the good parts too. The way your sisters do."

Cecil's arms tightened around her. "Elizabeth..."

"And I want," she continued, her voice growing stronger, "to wake up beside you every morning. To argue with you over cards and dance lessons. To make new memories in every room of our home, until the painful ones fade away."

"Our home," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "Yes. A thousand times yes."

"And perhaps," she added, her cheeks warming, "someday, when we're ready...I want to hear the patter of little feet in those halls. To see you teaching our children how to be as strong and brave as their father."

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped him. "Our children," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "You cannot know what it does to me to hear you say such things."

"I think I have some idea," she said, a hint of her old teasing entering her voice. "You're trembling."

"Because I love you," he said simply. "Because I cannot believe I almost threw this away. Because—" He broke off, pulling back slightly to look at her. "May I kiss you, Elizabeth? Or am I still being punished?"

She pretended to consider it, though her heart was already racing at the thought. "I suppose," she said slowly, "that would depend on the quality of the kiss."

Cecil's eyes darkened. "Is that a challenge, my love?"

"Perhaps." She tilted her chin up defiantly. "Though I seem to recall you once claiming you could make me beg?—"

His mouth captured hers before she could finish the sentence, and Elizabeth melted into him with a sigh. This wasn't like their previous kisses—desperate or passionate or teasing. This was something deeper, sweeter, full of promises and hope and love.

When they finally broke apart, Cecil kept his forehead pressed to hers, as if he couldn't bear even that small distance between them. "Come home," he whispered. "Come home with me, Elizabeth."

"Yes," she breathed, then remembered something and pulled back slightly. "But first, we need to speak with my sister."

As if summoned by her words, there was a sharp knock at the drawing room door. "Elizabeth?" Harriet's voice called through the wood. "Are you well? Do you need me to fetch someone?"

Cecil chuckled softly. "Your sister is quite the protective little dragon, isn't she?"

"She learned from the best," Elizabeth replied with a small smile. Then, raising her voice, she called, "Come in, Harriet. We need to speak with you."