Page 5 of The Earl’s Scarred Bride (Taming the Gillets #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

The Gentleman's Club

T he rich aroma of aged brandy and Cuban cigars filled the private room at White's, where Cecil found himself seeking refuge from the mounting tension at home. He lounged in one of the deep leather chairs, watching the amber liquid in his glass catch the lamplight as his mind wandered traitorously to Elizabeth.

God, but she was beautiful—not in the conventional way of society's pampered debutantes, but in a way that haunted him. Her eyes were a striking emerald green, large and expressive, framed by thick dark lashes that cast shadows on her high cheekbones when she looked down at her ledgers. Her lips, full and naturally pink, had a tendency to quirk up at one corner when she was trying not to smile at his provocations. And her hair—a rich mahogany that caught red highlights in the sunlight—was always trying to escape its pins in wayward curls that made his fingers itch to free them completely.

Then there was her scar—the very feature society deemed a flaw but which he found inexplicably alluring. It traced a delicate path from just below her left ear down the elegant column of her throat, disappearing beneath her neckline in a way that made him desperate to discover its end.

Her figure was fuller than fashion dictated, with curves that his hands ached to trace. He'd caught himself staring at the swell of her breasts above her neckline, imagining how they would feel filling his palms. The way her waist nipped in, emphasized by her well-fitted gowns, led to generous hips that swayed ever so slightly when she walked—a subtle movement that had him gritting his teeth with want.

He wondered if her breasts would be as full and responsive as they looked, if her nipples would pucker tight when he...

"I must say, Stonefield," the Duke of Greyhall remarked from his position by the fireplace, "you seem rather preoccupied for a newly married man." Percival Hardy, Cecil's closest friend since boyhood and now his brother-in-law through his marriage to Madeleine, wore a knowing smile that held a hint of amusement. "Your new bride proving more challenging than anticipated?”

Cecil's jaw tightened. "Challenging is hardly the word I'd use. The woman is absolutely infuriating."

"Which woman?" The frigid question came from Laurence Gillet, Duke of Westrow, as he entered the room. Cecil's cousin had only recently returned from his self-imposed exile in Scotland, and his imposing presence—made all the more severe by years of isolation—drew the immediate attention of the few other gentlemen present. Though they shared blood, there was nothing warm in his voice as he asked, "The bride you intended to marry, or the one you actually did?"

"The latter," Cecil muttered, taking another sip of his brandy. "Miss Elizabeth Cooper—now the Countess of Stonefield—has proved to be far more...infuriating than anticipated."

"Challenging?" Percival's eyebrows rose. "Do tell.”

"She questions everything. Challenges my authority in my own home. And has an utterly maddening habit of appearing exactly where she shouldn't be." Cecil ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his frustration. "Just yesterday, I found her in a room I specifically told her was forbidden."

"Perhaps she's simply curious about her new home," Percival suggested diplomatically.

"Curiosity has no place in a marriage of convenience," Laurence stated flatly, accepting a glass from the hovering servant. His perpetual frown deepened as he settled into a chair. "Though I still fail to understand why you required such an arrangement in the first place."

Cecil shot his cousin a warning look. "The reasons are my own."

"And I suppose those reasons have to do with why you didn't want your sisters present at the ceremony?" Laurence pressed, his cold eyes studying Cecil's reaction. "Percival here went to considerable trouble to keep them away."

"For which I remain grateful," Cecil nodded to his friend. "The less speculation about the...unusual circumstances of my marriage, the better."

"Unusual?" Percival chuckled. "Is that what we're calling it when one sister runs away and you marry the other instead?"

The glass in Cecil's hand creaked dangerously. "I would appreciate it if we could discuss something else."

"Come now," Percival leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "We've known each other since we were boys. Something about this marriage troubles you beyond mere irritation with your wife's spirit."

Cecil stared into the depths of his glass, weighing his words carefully. "She's...different from what I expected. When I first arranged the match with her sister, I thought everything would proceed according to plan. A suitable bride, an heir, a simple transaction. But Elizabeth..."

"Has proven to be more than a simple transaction?" Laurence supplied, his usually stern features showing a flicker of interest.

"She treats the staff with respect, yet maintains proper authority. She's already identified improvements needed in the estate's management that my steward overlooked. And when she speaks..." Cecil trailed off, remembering their heated exchange in his study. "She has a way of making me want to provoke her, just to see the fire in her eyes."

Percival's knowing smile widened. "Ah, so that's it. You find yourself attracted to your own wife. How inconvenient for a man who claimed he wanted a marriage in name only."

"It's not attraction," Cecil protested, perhaps too quickly. "It's...vexation. The woman drives me mad." He paused, swirling the brandy in his glass. "When I told her I intended to be faithful during our arrangement, she acted as if she hadn't expected such behavior from me. As if I were incapable of honoring my marriage vows."

"And yet that offends you?" Laurence raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. "You've never been one to break marriage vows, notorious reputation aside."

"Of course I wouldn't," Cecil snapped, then caught himself. "But her assumption that I would..." He trailed off, jaw tightening. "She looks at me as if I'm no better than a common scoundrel."

"My friend," Percival laughed softly, "I believe you're in more trouble than you realize. The infamous Earl of Stonefield, bothered by his wife's opinion of his character? Perhaps you should be more concerned with why her good opinion matters so much to you.”

"She challenged me," Cecil admitted, recalling the defiant tilt of Elizabeth's chin, the way her pulse had jumped beneath his fingers when he'd touched her scar. "Said she wouldn't believe I could maintain such fidelity. So naturally..."

"You couldn't resist proving her wrong," Laurence finished, shaking his head. "Your pride will be your downfall, cousin."

"Pride has nothing to do with it," Cecil retorted, though something in his expression suggested otherwise. "I simply want to prove that her assumptions about my character are mistaken."

"What are you planning, then?" Percival's tone was knowing. At Cecil's sharp look, he shrugged. "You've never been one to back down from a challenge, my friend."

A dangerous smile played at Cecil's lips. "She thinks she knows what kind of man I am. Thinks she can anticipate my every move because of my reputation." His voice dropped lower. "She'll learn the folly of provoking a rake. I will punish her."

"Nothing involving the Earl of Stonefield remains predictable for long," Laurence observed dryly. "Particularly when it involves such an...unconventional marriage. The gossips are having quite a feast with this one."

"Let them gossip," Cecil said, but his grip on his glass tightened. "It changes nothing.”

"Doesn't it?" Percival pressed. "You arranged a marriage with one sister, ended up with another, and now find yourself making unprecedented vows of fidelity to a woman you claim merely irritates you. One might think?—"

"One might think very carefully before finishing that sentence," Cecil warned, his voice dropping dangerously.

Percival held up his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes danced with amusement. "I merely observe that for a man who planned a simple transaction, you seem remarkably invested in proving something to your new countess."

"The only thing I'm invested in is maintaining my sanity for the next three months," Cecil muttered. "Do you know what she did yesterday? Rearranged my entire study because she claimed it was 'inefficient.' The woman has no concept of boundaries."

"And yet you allowed it?" Laurence's question cut straight to the heart of the matter.

Cecil's silence spoke volumes.

"I'm beginning to think," Percival said carefully, "that your wife isn't the only one who finds themselves challenged by this arrangement."

Cecil stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, London's fashionable streets bustled with evening traffic, but he saw none of it. Instead, he kept seeing Elizabeth's face when she'd discovered a more efficient way to organize his correspondence —that flash of triumph in her green eyes, the slight curve of her lips that made him want to...

"She's not what I expected," he admitted finally, his voice low. "When I made the original arrangement with Baron Trowbridge, I thought to secure a biddable bride. Someone who would fulfill her duties without...complications."

"And instead you got a woman who matches you wit for wit," Percival observed. "How terribly inconvenient."

"It's more than that." Cecil turned back to his friends, frustration evident in every line of his body. "She sees too much. Questions too much. The other night, when I found her in that forbidden room..."

"Ah yes, the mysterious room that's caused such speculation among the staff," Laurence interjected. "Another boundary she's crossed?"

"She didn't just cross it—she's completely mistaken it for something else. And when I confronted her..." Cecil broke off, remembering how she'd stood her ground, chin lifted, eyes flashing. "She demanded to know why it was forbidden in the first place."

"And what did you tell her?" Percival asked softly.

"Nothing of consequence." Cecil ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his frustration. "But the woman has a way of...getting under my skin. Every time she challenges me, every defiant tilt of her chin..." He stopped, aware he'd revealed too much of his growing obsession. With deliberate casualness, he added, "It's irrelevant. In three months, this will all be finished.”

"Will it?" Laurence's cold voice carried an unusual note of skepticism. "Because from where I sit, cousin, it seems you're already in deeper than you intended."

Cecil shot his cousin a dangerous look. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Merely that for a man planning to leave in three months, you seem extraordinarily concerned with your wife's every move." Laurence took a slow sip of his brandy. "When was the last time you visited your usual...entertainments?"

"I made a vow of fidelity," Cecil said stiffly.

"I seem to recall at least three broken engagements where similar vows were made." Laurence countered.

"That was different," Cecil snapped, though he couldn't quite explain why. The thought of betraying Elizabeth's trust made something in his chest constrict painfully.

"Different because this time you actually care what she thinks of you?" Percival suggested mildly.

Cecil's silence was damning.

"You know," Percival continued, swirling his brandy thoughtfully, "my Madeleine was quite impressed when she heard about your marriage. Said it showed remarkable growth in character, choosing a wife for her intelligence rather than her beauty."

"I didn't choose her," Cecil protested. "She was merely...convenient."

"Convenient?" Laurence's sardonic laugh cut through the room. "Cousin, nothing about Elizabeth Cooper appears convenient. A scarred spinster with a sharp tongue and sharper mind, who challenges your authority at every turn? You could have had your pick of docile debutantes. Instead, you married the one woman in London who seems immune to your charm."

"She's not entirely immune," Cecil muttered before he could stop himself, remembering the way Elizabeth had trembled under his touch, the flush that crept up her neck when he stood too close.

Percival's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Do tell."

"There's nothing to tell," Cecil said quickly, but his friends' knowing looks told him he'd already revealed too much. "We have an arrangement, nothing more."

"An arrangement that has you thinking about her reactions, analyzing her every move," Percival pointed out. "When was the last time you spent this much effort understanding a woman's mind rather than just pursuing her body?"

Cecil's jaw clenched. "You make me sound like some lovesick fool."

"Not lovesick," Laurence observed coldly. "But certainly preoccupied. You've barely touched your brandy, and you've adjusted your cravat three times in the last quarter hour—something you only do when thoroughly unsettled."

"The only thing unsettling me is this interrogation," Cecil growled, though he forced his hand away from his cravat. "I came here for a quiet evening among friends, not an inquiry into my marriage."

"Did you?" Percival leaned forward. "Because it seems to me you came here hoping we'd convince you that your growing attachment to your wife is merely temporary madness."

"I am not growing attached," Cecil insisted, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Elizabeth is...she's just..."

"Just what?" Laurence prompted when Cecil fell silent.

Cecil stared into the depths of his glass, seeing instead the way Elizabeth's eyes lit up when she solved a problem, the gentle way she spoke to the staff, the fierce pride with which she carried herself despite the scar that made lesser people turn away.

"She's unexpected," he finally said, his voice rough. "Everything about her is unexpected."

"And that vexes you?" Percival's tone held a hint of amusement.

"She's hardly the convenient match I anticipated," Cecil admitted, standing to pour himself another drink. "Do you know what she said when I mentioned my reputation? That she wasn't some innocent miss who faints at the mention of marital duties."

Percival's laugh echoed through the room. "Your new countess seems determined to keep you on your toes."

"Indeed." Cecil drained his glass and set it down with more force than necessary.