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

CHAPTER TWO

D awn had barely touched the London sky when Elizabeth heard the telltale creak of floorboards outside her chamber. Her heart tightened as she rose from her vanity, where she'd been staring unseeing at her reflection for the past hour. The soft knock that followed confirmed her fears.

"Come in, Harriet," she called softly, smoothing her hands over her morning dress.

Her sister slipped inside, still in her nightrail with a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. In the grey morning light, Harriet's usual vibrant beauty seemed diminished, her face pale and drawn. Elizabeth's chest constricted at the sight of unshed tears in her sister's eyes.

"I can't do it, Elizabeth," Harriet whispered, her voice cracking. "I cannot marry him."

Elizabeth crossed the room swiftly, gathering her trembling sister into her arms. "What is troubling you so? You've barely said two words since Father announced the match."

"I..." Harriet pulled back, wringing her hands. "There's something I must tell you, but you'll think me terribly foolish."

"Never," Elizabeth assured her, leading Harriet to sit beside her on the bed. "Tell me what burdens your heart so."

Harriet's fingers twisted in her shawl. "I'm in love with another."

The words hung in the air between them as Elizabeth processed their implications. "What do you mean? Who?—"

"His name is James Crawford," Harriet rushed out, as if afraid she'd lose her courage. "He's the nephew of Viscount Pembrooke. We met at Lady Morrison's ball three months ago, and he's everything I've ever dreamed of, Elizabeth. Kind and gentle and—" Her voice caught on a sob.

"The masquerade," Elizabeth breathed, understanding dawning. "The man in the raven mask. That was him, wasn't it?"

Harriet nodded miserably. "He'll inherit his uncle's title eventually, but for now, he has no fortune of his own. When he heard Father would never agree, he…” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "He suggested we run away to Gretna Green."

"Harriet!" Elizabeth gasped, gripping her sister's hands. "You cannot be serious. An elopement would ruin you completely."

"What choice do I have?" Harriet pulled away to pace the room, her movements frantic. "Father would never allow me to marry James, even if we waited. The earl is one of the wealthiest peers in England—that's all Father cares about."

Elizabeth watched her sister's agitated movements, her mind racing. The enormity of what Harriet was considering sent chills down her spine. "When were you planning to leave?"

"Tonight," Harriet whispered, stopping by the window. "James has arranged everything. A carriage will be waiting behind the baker's shop on Bond Street."

"Tonight?" Elizabeth stood, her heart pounding. "But the wedding?—"

"Will never take place," Harriet finished, turning to face her with desperate determination. "I know it's scandalous, but I cannot bear the thought of marrying the earl. You've heard the rumors about him, Elizabeth. Four broken engagements in one season! And the way he looks at people, like they're pieces on a chessboard..."

Elizabeth moved to grasp her sister's shoulders. "Listen to me carefully. Running away to Gretna Green is not the answer. The scandal would destroy any chance of a respectable future."

"But—"

"There's another way," Elizabeth said, an idea forming even as she spoke. "Aunt Margaret has been begging us to visit her estate in Derbyshire. Go to her instead."

Harriet's eyes widened. "What?"

"Think about it," Elizabeth pressed. "The countryside is far enough from London and Father's reach. You can stay there while I handle things here. If James truly loves you, he can wait until circumstances are more favorable."

"But Father will be furious," Harriet protested weakly, though Elizabeth could see her considering the alternative. "And the earl—what about his reaction?"

"Let me worry about that," Elizabeth said firmly, though her stomach churned at the thought of Cecil Gillet's infamous temper. "At least this way, you'll be safe with family instead of ruined by scandal."

Harriet bit her lip, hesitating. "But what if..." She looked at Elizabeth with sudden fear. "What if Father makes you marry him instead?"

Elizabeth forced a laugh, though the suggestion sent an unexpected flutter through her chest. "Don't be ridiculous. The earl would never accept a scarred spinster when he could have his pick of any beauty in London."

"You undervalue yourself," Harriet said softly, reaching up to touch Elizabeth's scar. "This doesn't define you, Elizabeth."

"Stop it. This isn't about me," Elizabeth cut her off gently, stepping back. "We need to focus on getting you safely away. There's not much time before the household wakes."

She moved to her writing desk, pulling out paper and ink. "I'll write to Aunt Margaret immediately. We can have Thomas drive you to the morning coach?—"

"Thomas?" Harriet's voice quavered. "But he's Father's groom. Surely he'll tell?—"

"Thomas has a soft spot for you since you nursed his daughter through the fever last winter," Elizabeth reminded her, already writing swiftly. "Besides, he owes me a favor."

The scratch of her quill filled the silence as Harriet wrestled with the decision. Finally, her sister spoke in a small voice: "You truly think this is better than going with James?"

Elizabeth paused in her writing, choosing her words carefully. "I think that if James truly loves you, he'll still be there when the time is right. Running away to Gretna Green speaks of desperation, not devotion."

"But what if—" Harriet's words were cut off by the distant sound of movement in the house. The servants would be starting their morning duties.

"We haven't much time," Elizabeth said, quickly folding and sealing her letter. "Pack only what you absolutely need. Nothing that will be immediately missed."

As Harriet hurried to her chamber, Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window. Outside, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to paint the London sky in shades of pink and gold. In a few hours, those same rays would illuminate an empty church, a furious earl, and an absent bride.

Please God, she prayed silently, let me be doing the right thing.

The morning sun streamed through St. George's stained glass windows, casting rainbow shadows across the assembled guests.

Elizabeth sat rigid in the family pew, acutely aware of the mounting tension as minutes stretched into quarters of hours with no sign of the bride.

Her father shifted restlessly beside her, his face growing redder with each passing moment. The whispers had started about ten minutes ago—first just a gentle murmur, but now growing into a steady undercurrent of speculation that even the vicar's pointed coughs couldn't quite suppress.

But it was the earl himself who drew Elizabeth's unwilling attention.

Cecil Gillet stood at the altar, his broad shoulders straight and proud in his perfectly tailored black coat. Though his expression remained carefully neutral, there was something in the set of his jaw that spoke of barely contained fury.

He's even more handsome than I thought , Elizabeth thought traitorously, then immediately chastised herself for the observation. This was hardly the time to notice how his dark blue eyes seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, or how his fingers, elegant but strong, tapped an ominous rhythm against his thigh.

A movement at the church entrance caught her attention. Harrison, Cecil's butler, approached his master with swift, purposeful steps. The earl bent his head to receive whatever message was delivered, and Elizabeth's heart nearly stopped as those penetrating eyes suddenly fixed on her father.

"My lord," Baron Cooper rose hastily, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "I'm certain there's a perfectly reasonable explanation?—"

"Is there?" Cecil's voice cut through the church like a blade, silencing all whispers. "Then perhaps you'd care to share it with your assembled guests? Some of whom, I might add, have waited nearly an hour for this ceremony to begin."

Elizabeth watched her father flinch at the earl's tone. She had never seen the baron so discomposed—not even when she'd accidentally spilled wine on the Turkish carpet last Christmas.

"I'll send someone to check on her immediately," Luke stammered, but Cecil's cold laugh stopped him.

"Don't bother." The earl's eyes swept the church, lingering for a moment on Elizabeth in a way that made her skin prickle. "I believe we all know your younger daughter won't be joining us today."

Elizabeth's fingers twisted in her lap as whispers erupted through the church once more. Cecil's words had confirmed what many had likely suspected—the bride had fled. She could feel curious glances darting her way, no doubt wondering if she'd had a hand in her sister's disappearance.

"My lord," her father tried again, his voice strained. "If you'll allow me to send searchers?—"

"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 hanging on 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.

"Four minutes now," Cecil announced pleasantly, though his eyes remained hard as steel. "Tick tock, baron. What shall it be? Your reputation?" His gaze slid meaningfully to Elizabeth. "Or your eldest daughter?"

"This is madness," Elizabeth found herself saying, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "You cannot seriously intend?—"

"Can I not?" Cecil's attention fixed on her fully now, his gaze so intense she had to fight the urge to step back. "Tell me, Miss Cooper, what makes you think you understand my intentions at all?"

Something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. This was not the charming rake she'd observed at the masquerade. This man was dangerous—a predator waiting to strike.

"Three minutes," he continued softly. "Though I suppose we could skip the waiting entirely if you'd care to make the decision yourself, Miss Cooper."

Elizabeth felt trapped in his gaze, like a bird before a snake. "I?—"

"Elizabeth." Her father's urgent whisper cut through her confusion. "A word. Now."

She allowed Luke to pull her slightly aside, though she could feel Cecil's eyes following their every movement.

"Listen to me carefully," Luke hissed, his face ashen. "You must do this. You must marry him."

"What?" Elizabeth stared at her father in disbelief. "Have you gone mad? He's barely met me, he can't possibly?—"

"He can and he will," Luke cut in, his fingers digging into her arm. "You don't understand. The earl...he holds certain papers. Certain promises I made. If he were to call in those debts?—"

"Debts?" Elizabeth's eyes widened. "What debts? What have you done?"

"Two minutes," Cecil's voice rang out, making them both jump.

"Father?" Elizabeth pressed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What aren't you telling me?"

Luke's eyes darted frantically between her and the earl. "There's no time to explain. Just know that if you don't do this, we'll be ruined. Not just socially—completely ruined. We'll lose everything."

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face as understanding dawned. Her father had gambled away their future, and now the earl held their fate in his elegant, ruthless hands.

"One minute," Cecil announced, sounding almost bored. But when Elizabeth glanced his way, she caught a flash of something else in his expression—a keen intelligence that suggested he was playing a game whose rules only he fully understood.

"He can't truly want this," she protested weakly. "A scarred spinster instead of?—"

"What I want," Cecil interrupted, having apparently heard her whispered words, "is irrelevant. What matters is what I will have." His eyes locked with hers. "Thirty seconds, Miss Cooper. Make your choice."

The church seemed to hold its collective breath. Elizabeth could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she looked between her father's desperate face and Cecil's calculated calm.

"Time's up," Cecil said softly. "Well, baron? Shall I make public exactly how much you?—"

"I'll do it." The words escaped Elizabeth's lips before she could stop them.

Cecil's predatory smile returned. "I beg your pardon?"

Elizabeth lifted her chin, gathering what remained of her dignity. "I said, I'll do it. I'll marry you."