Page 34 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

What could Eli possibly want with men that he had condemned as snobbish several times?

Well, a man was allowed to have the ambition to raise his social standing.

It was a simple matter to write a letter. After all, the young Duke of Ravenmoor had been a close friend of Percival’s in the years before he had gone to war.

The fact that he had to write such a letter deepened the mystery that surrounded his half-brother even though he had known him for years.

He still felt that he did not truly know him. But then a man was entitled to his own secrets.

Percival’s secrets lay in the fact that he was growing increasingly smitten with the petite minx that was his wife.

He must be a masochist because even though he understood the torture that awaited him, he still looked forward to seeing her at dinner.

Perhaps she would wear one of her more provocative gowns—for his eyes only, of course.

That line of thought was enough to brand him as crazy, but he had never made claims of being sane where Louisa was concerned. He just had to make sure that his innocent, bright wife never discovered how unhinged he truly was underneath his finery.

Chapter Eleven

“Ithink the green is a bit much,” Louisa told Anne, biting her lip.

The maid had pulled out one of her most exquisite evening gowns when she had said she wanted to dress up a bit. She didn’t mind the dress so much and would have chosen it herself, but she wanted to look beautiful without making her effort obvious.

“It is perfect, Your Grace,” Anne argued. “His Grace won’t be able to take his eyes or his hands off you.”

She giggled, causing Louisa to turn bright red as she realized the implications of her words.

Louisa still remembered the scarring lecture her sisters had given her before her wedding, and how she had indeed felt those feelings when he had kissed her so passionately that it had taken hours for her face to cool down. Even now as she thought aboutit, she still squirmed, feeling unfamiliar liquid heat pool in her core.

He had shocked her when he had kissed her so thoroughly, for she had only expected a chaste kiss, and she knew if they had been alone, he might not have stopped—and worse, she wouldn’t have minded.

“Any gown but the green one, Anne,” Louisa said. “What about the burgundy one?”

“Too solemn, Your Grace,” Anne remarked, wrinkling her nose.

“Let us settle on the burnt orange gown, then.”

Anne put away the green gown with a flourish, sighing wistfully, and then pulled the burnt orange gown out of the wardrobe. Her sighs quickly turned to a cry of glee when Louisa was finally dressed.

“You look absolutely marvelous, Your Grace!” she gushed.

Louisa couldn’t help but agree with her maid. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled at the woman staring back at her. The burnt orange gown did wonders for her figure, pushing up her average chest and giving her a voluminous cleavage that had her blushing. Its empire waistline accentuated the curve of her hips and small waist.

She had to agree that she looked so tempting.

“Thank you, Anne.” Then, in a fit of vulnerability, she asked, “Have you known His Grace for very long?”

“Yes,” Anne answered while tidying up the room. “I have known him my whole life.”

Oh?

“Is that so?” Louisa asked. “Can you tell me a bit about him? I know it’s a rather odd request.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Anne assured her, putting back the last of the gowns in her armoire. “Where do I start? I guess my mother had worked for the family since His Grace and his brother were children, and she told me that they grew up like any other boys—mischievous and always getting into trouble with their father.”

Louisa couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to imagine a dark-haired, grey-eyed young boy running around the estate, causing trouble.

“That is hard to imagine,” she admitted. “The Duke is always so stoic and proper.”

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