Page 3 of The Earl’s Scarred Bride (Taming the Gillets #2)
CHAPTER THREE
E verything that followed happened in a blur. Elizabeth felt as though she was watching herself from above as her father led her down the aisle. The few guests present—mostly her father's acquaintances who had come to see Harriet wed—whispered behind their fans, no doubt reveling in the scandal of the scarred sister replacing the beautiful bride.
Cecil stood at the altar, his broad shoulders straight and proud in his perfectly tailored coat. He didn't turn to look at her as she approached, and Elizabeth was grateful for small mercies. She wasn't sure she could maintain her composure if she had to meet those piercing blue eyes.
"Dearly beloved..." The vicar's voice seemed to come from far away.
Elizabeth's fingers trembled as Cecil took her hand. His touch was warm, almost gentle, but she could feel the strength in his grip. A warning, perhaps, or a promise.
"I, Cecil..." His voice was clear and commanding as he repeated his vows, never once hesitating.
When it was her turn, Elizabeth's voice wavered only slightly. "I, Elizabeth..."
This isn't real , she told herself. This cannot be real . Yet the weight of the ring sliding onto her finger was undeniable.
"You may kiss the bride."
For the first time since the ceremony began, Cecil turned to face her fully. His eyes traveled from her scar to her lips, and Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks despite her best efforts to remain impassive. He leaned down, and she braced herself for the contact.
But instead of kissing her lips, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "Well played, my dear."
The words sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, he had already pulled away, turning to accept congratulations from the assembled guests.
Elizabeth stood frozen, her new husband's words echoing in her mind. What game was he playing? And more importantly, what were the rules?
The carriage ride to Cecil's estate passed in complete silence. Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, though she could feel her husband's eyes on her more than once. The sprawling grounds of Stonefield Manor came into view just as the afternoon sun began its descent, bathing everything in golden light.
"Welcome home, my lady," Cecil said, his deep voice breaking the silence as he helped her down from the carriage.
Elizabeth's breath caught at her first proper view of the manor. It was magnificent—three stories of pale stone with tall windows that caught the sunlight like diamonds. Yet there was something almost forbidding about its grandeur.
A line of servants waited to greet them, arranged precisely by rank. The butler, a dignified man with graying hair, stepped forward first.
"My lord, welcome back." He bowed deeply. "And may I present the staff to her ladyship?"
"Proceed, Harrison," Cecil replied, his hand coming to rest at the small of Elizabeth's back. The touch, even through layers of fabric, sent warmth spreading through her body.
"Her ladyship, the Countess of Stonefield," Harrison announced formally, and Elizabeth noticed several of the servants exchange quick glances at the sight of her scar.
The introductions continued, but Elizabeth barely registered the names and faces. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the day, from the title she now bore, from the warmth of Cecil's hand still pressed against her back.
"That will be all," Cecil dismissed the staff once the introductions were complete. "Leave us."
The servants dispersed with practiced efficiency, leaving Elizabeth alone with her new husband in the grand entrance hall. The moment the last footstep faded, Cecil's demeanor changed. The proper aristocrat disappeared, replaced by something darker, more dangerous.
"Now then," he said, circling her slowly, "shall we discuss the terms of our arrangement?"
Elizabeth turned to face him, refusing to be intimidated despite the way his presence seemed to fill the entire hall. "Terms, my lord? I wasn't aware marriage vows had negotiable terms."
A wolfish smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Come now, we both know this is hardly a conventional marriage." His eyes traveled deliberately down her form. "Though I must admit, you make a far more...interesting bride than your sister would have been."
"If you're trying to shock me, my lord?—"
"Cecil," he interrupted, moving closer. "If we're to share a bed, you might as well use my name."
Heat flooded Elizabeth's cheeks. "And who says we'll be sharing a bed?"
He laughed then, a rich sound that seemed to reverberate through her very bones. "That's precisely what we need to discuss." He gestured toward a nearby door. "Shall we?"
Elizabeth preceded him into what appeared to be his study, a masculine room dominated by a massive mahogany desk. The door closed behind them with a decisive click.
"Let me be clear," Cecil said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "I require one thing from this marriage: an heir. Nothing more."
Elizabeth's heart hammered against her ribs. "And after?"
"Three months." He prowled closer, and Elizabeth forced herself not to step back. "I'll stay for three months to ensure the deed is done. After that, you'll be free to live as you please. The estate will be yours to manage, with a generous allowance."
"How...practical of you," Elizabeth managed, hating the slight tremor in her voice.
"I'm nothing if not practical, my dear." His lips curved into that dangerous smile again. "Though I should warn you—I have no intention of maintaining my...other arrangements while we're married."
"How noble of you," Elizabeth said dryly, gathering her courage. "Though I hardly expected fidelity from London's most notorious rake."
His eyes darkened at her words. "You speak quite boldly for someone who's spent her life hiding behind her sister's skirts."
The barb struck home, but Elizabeth lifted her chin defiantly. "And you speak quite confidently for someone who couldn't even keep his intended bride from fleeing."
In two long strides, Cecil closed the distance between them. "Careful, my dear wife," he murmured, his breath fanning against her cheek. "You might find that provoking me has...unexpected consequences."
"Is that a threat, my lord?" Elizabeth asked, proud that her voice remained steady despite their proximity.
"Cecil," he reminded her, one hand coming up to trace the line of her scar with surprising gentleness. "And no, not a threat. A promise."
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat at his touch. No one had ever dared to touch her scar before, let alone with such...curiosity.
"I have conditions of my own," she managed to say, stepping back to clear her head. "If you expect me to fulfill my...duties."
His laugh was low and dangerous cutting her mid sentence. "My darling wife, do you know about wifely duties?"
"I know exactly what my duties are," she retorted, though her pulse quickened at the heat in his gaze.
"Do you?" He moved closer again, backing her against the desk. "Plus And I've voluntarily pledged my fidelity to you . Are you prepared for what that means?"
He leaned closer still, his breath fanning against her ear. The heat of his body seemed to envelope her, and Elizabeth gripped the desk harder. A wolf indeed , she thought, and she was trapped in his lair.
Elizabeth's hands gripped the edge of the desk behind her, but she refused to look away from his intense gaze. "I'm not some innocent miss who faints at the mention of marital duties, my lord."
"Aren't you?" His voice dropped lower as he leaned in, placing his hands on the desk on either side of her, effectively caging her in. "Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever felt desire? Real, consuming desire that makes you ache in places you've never even dared to think about?"
A flush crept up her neck, but she held her ground. "You seem very certain of your own appeal."
"I am." The corner of his mouth lifted in that devastating half-smile. "And I think you feel it too. Your pulse is racing." His eyes dropped to her throat, where her heartbeat betrayed her. "Your breathing has quickened."
His hand came to rest beside hers on the desk, his little finger just brushing against hers. Such a small point of contact, yet it sent sparks racing up her arm.
"That's merely irritation," she lied.
"Is it?" He bent his head, his lips barely brushing her ear. "Then perhaps you need a demonstration of what real desire feels like."
The heat of his breath against her skin sent shivers down her spine. "I didn't agree to be one of your conquests."
"No," he agreed, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "You agreed to be my wife. And while I may be a rake, I take my vows seriously. For the next three months, you'll be the only woman in my bed—or against my desk, if you prefer."
The bold words made her gasp, which only seemed to amuse him further.
"You are absolutely insufferable," Elizabeth breathed, trying to ignore how her body responded to his proximity.
Cecil's eyes darkened with amusement. "And you, my dear, are far more passionate than you pretend to be. I wonder what other surprises you're hiding beneath that proper exterior."
"You'll never find out," she declared, though her voice lacked conviction.
He stepped back suddenly, leaving her feeling oddly bereft of his warmth. "Oh, I will. You see, desire isn't something you can control, Elizabeth." He walked to a cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. "It's a force of nature, like a storm at sea. You can try to resist, but eventually..."
"You seem very sure of yourself."
"I am." He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. "Within a month, you'll be begging for my touch. Within two, you'll be crying out my name in the dark. And by the time our three months are up..." He paused, letting the tension build. "Well, we'll see if you're so eager for me to leave then."
His fingers traced an invisible line down her neck, following the path of her scar, making her shiver despite herself. When she couldn't quite suppress a small gasp, his eyes darkened with satisfaction.
Elizabeth straightened her spine, gathering what remained of her dignity. "You overestimate your charms, my lord. I've spent years resisting the advances of men?—"
"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?