Page 41 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

Now, standing on the landing of the treacherous stairs, another thought occurred to her—while she might have succeeded in climbing up that deathtrap, she was unsure now how to go back down.

She suppressed the feeling of concern and fear that she could feel bubbling up to the surface. For now, she was going to focus on the matter at hand, which was to find her husband and make sure that he was all right before scolding him for causing her such distress so late at night.

She spun on her heels, her back facing the ruined staircase, and walked down the hallway towards the room the sound came from.

As she marched down the hallway, she noted that several of the rooms were in a terrible state. The ceilings in some of them hung so low that it was almost as if they wanted to collapse on the floor. In other rooms, the doors were barely hanging on their hinges, and some other rooms did not even have doors. The flooring here was even more precarious, and she had to be careful, relying heavily on her instinct more than her sight atthis point. She could see a glimmer of light at the end of the hallway, which gave her hope that she had not taken such risks unnecessarily.

Soon, she got to the end of the hallway and was struck by the difference between the room there and the other rooms that occupied the same floor.

This room was much bigger than the others, and to a large extent, the ceiling and floor there remained in slightly better condition than in the other rooms. The ceiling boasted steel rings that supported a giant leather bag that she guessed was filled with sand.

Apart from the solitary leather bag, there were no other furnishings in the room except for a solitary stool that had a single shirt thrown over it. Percival stood in the middle of this room, throwing brutal punches at his leathery enemy with so much anger that he might as well be back on the battlefield.

He was shirtless, and the only stitch of clothing he had on was his trousers. One of the best pairs she had seen him wearing. In the absence of his shirt, Louisa had the chance to drink in the sight of his naked back. She had always known that he was attractive and potent, but as she watched him now with an increasing desire, she agreed that she had underestimated his magnetism and beauty. Her mouth went dry.

His skin glistened with sweat, shimmering in the candlelight. His shoulders—God, his shoulders were so broad and strongthat she imagined he could throw her over one of those shoulders, and suddenly she wanted him to do that.

The thought caused nervous excitement to rise in her belly.

As he swung his hand to land a particularly vicious blow to the leather, she watched, mesmerized by the flexing muscles of his back. His back was strong and toned, peppered with several scars that were most likely souvenirs from his time in the army.

His body was one of a soldier who had fought so hard to protect his country even if it left him with memories that haunted him. While she stared at his back, the scars on his skin and his flexing muscles, she thought that those scars on his back did not even scratch the surface of the scars deep inside of him, and somehow she knew that it was those innermost scars that were responsible for him being awake this night, viciously punching the leather bag.

She longed to soothe him somehow, but he was not ready to open up to her. Something about his movements told her that he was not really present in the moment, and she would do less harm by leaving him to his devices. By letting him let out his frustration in a healthy way without an unwanted intruder.

She made to leave but was halted in her tracks when his voice came.

“I believe I warned you not to come to this part of the manor for your own safety,” he said, his tone dangerous, a vein of anger lacing it.

“Well, you are here, the very place that you labeled unsafe. So you value your life so little?” she retorted, her annoyance taking over as well.

“It is different for me. This is my house, and you would adhere to my rules, dammit,” he insisted, his voice rising an octave.

Percival had always made efforts to avoid swearing in front of her simply because he saw her as a lady, her ears too innocent for coarse language.

The fact that he was now using those words in front of her spoke volumes about his state of mind.

Spinning on her heels to tell him off, she yelped when she felt herself sink into a hole in the floor. She let out a scream and scrambled for purchase, getting more agitated by the moment.

Quick as light, Percival caught her and dragged her to safety. As she leaned against him, panting, he hissed in her ear, “I told you to be careful, wife. You shouldn’t be here.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Itold you to be careful, wife. You shouldn’t be here.”

Louisa knew she should reply, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath and enjoying the feel of his body against hers to answer. He was so hard and so warm, his body heat seeping through the light layers of her nightgown and robe, disarming her of all logical thought.

He smelled like sweat and something distinctly male that had her inhaling deeper. It made her heady, and she wanted to get even closer to him just to breathe in his delicious scent.

“Louisa.”

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she scrambled to get out of his arms, finally remembering that she was scantily dressed and that he had no doubt heard her sniffing him.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

His eyes roamed over her body, and the heat in them made her tingle in her most intimate places. An all too recently familiar liquid heat pooled between her legs, and her nipples hardened as she saw his eyes darken.

It was obvious that he was attracted to her, but the damned man would not act on it. Her eyes roamed down his body, and true enough, she saw the evidence of his desire straining against his breeches, causing her eyes to widen. She reddened as he caught her staring at him.

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