Page 53 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

“Well,” Percival began after a pause, shifting uncomfortably under his half-brother’s knowing gaze. “She did ask that I visit her bed, and I refused.”

“Well,” Eli said, chuckling, “I think that is a good enough reason to be annoyed. But why are you avoiding her bed so keenly, if I might ask? I know several men in England who would beg for the attention of their wives.”

“You know why,” Percival replied bluntly.

“I do not believe I do,” Eli countered, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “I heard your wife is scarred—perhaps you find her too ugly to bed her?”

“You would do well to watch your tongue,” Percival warned, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Do not talk about my Duchess that way. I do not take kindly to it.”

“My apologies, Percy,” Eli offered, raising his hand in surrender. “Curse my curious tongue. I just wanted to help you get to the root of your marital woes. I apologize if I have angered you.”

“Apology accepted, Gillingham,” Percy said sullenly. “Thank you for listening to my complaints.”

“I am happy to be of assistance,” Eli returned with a happy smile. “Though I firmly believe that the answer to your woes lies within you and the feelings you harbor for your fair wife.”

Chapter Sixteen

Louisa woke up annoyed and sad. Having come to terms with the fact that her husband probably did not find her attractive, she had resolved to live the rest of her life ignoring him. But it seemed that was easier said than done, for the moment he sat down to rest from the day’s activities, she had been immediately overwhelmed by a melancholy so acute that she had burst into tears.

She had committed the worst crime a lady stuck in a marriage of convenience could ever make—she had fallen in love with her husband when he did not feel the same.

She did not know how much and how long she could bear his rejection. Already she could feel resentment building in her heart. She loved him, but she did not think he was worth losing her sanity.

She was dragged out of her reverie by the sound of her husband knocking on her door. The sound filled her with equal partsanger and embarrassment. There was no way she was going to allow him to see her in her disheveled state, so she had kept quiet, wishing that he would go away and allow her to pull herself together.

When she heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, instead of the profound relief she had hoped to feel, a curious blend of disappointment and loneliness welled up inside her, tightening her chest.

She had taken dinner in her room, and afterward, she had stayed up for most of the night, waiting for her husband to return while her mind conjured images of him engaging in salacious activities with someone other than her.

She wondered if he had gone to visit a mistress in town. It was widely known that most noblemen kept mistresses to spare their wives’ ‘sensibilities’. It was definitely not out of place if Percival had one, especially since he had made a habit of avoiding her bed. But Louisa was not comfortable with it. Not at all.

The thought of him in some other woman’s arms made her blood boil with jealousy. He had promised her fidelity, and he was going to keep his vow. She would make sure to remind him of it. She could never share her husband with anyone, no matter the circumstance. He was hers. He belonged to her just as she belonged to him.

Getting out of bed, she caught a splash of colour out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a large box on the only sofa in her room.

She picked up the box and unwrapped it to find a glittering masterpiece of a ball gown. It was sapphire-blue with an empire waist and a v-shaped neckline, and it came with arm-length gloves.

It was absolutely beautiful.

The box also contained a note that told her that the beautiful creation was a gift from her husband for their first ball together as a married couple.

Just like that, her anger vanished into thin air, a hopeful anticipation taking its place. Wherever Percival had gone the night before might have brought about some change in him, but she was hesitant to trust its durability.

She was unwilling to take any risk with her heart should he decide to change his mind, like he often did. But her heart, the foolish organ, was already beating an excited tattoo in her chest. She truly hoped, for both their sakes, that this was a sign of vulnerability on her husband’s part because she did not think her heart could take another cruel rejection.

After folding the dress back into the box, she prepared for the day ahead, performing her morning ablutions, bathing, and dressing with the help of Anne, who seemed more excited than she was about the new dress. Louisa couldn’t blame her; the dress was indeed a fashion enthusiast’s envy.

In no time she was standing in front of her husband’s study. She knocked once, and when his unusually soft voice bade her entry, she stepped inside.

His strong back was turned to her. He appeared to be intently gazing at something beyond the windows. She was contemplating stepping closer to see what it was when he turned to her, his grey eyes twinkling with a familiar light as they settled on her face.

“Good morning, Duchess,” he greeted, a rueful smile curving his lips. “I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“I wouldn’t say it was good,” she replied honestly, walking towards the nearest shelf to peruse its contents. “I can only say it was sufficient. Thank you for your concern.”

“You are welcome,” he replied from somewhere behind her, his rumbling voice making goosebumps spread across the tender skin of her neck.

Turning abruptly, she forced herself to look into the blazing brilliance of his eyes. “I came to thank you for the dress—it is absolutely beautiful. Thank you.”

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