Page 17 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

He was loath to admit it, but her boldness and confidence did interesting things to the area below his waist. It hardly mattered because he planned to have a chaste marriage with her. It wouldn’t make sense to burden such a young lady with the weight of the demons that tormented him.

As he stared out the window of the carriage, he admitted to himself that he was not sure what the marriage would look like, and he was too exhausted to ponder on it. That was his last coherent thought before he drifted off to sleep.

Percival woke up to the sound of someone screaming and tapping him on the shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that the hackney was parked on the side of the road andthe driver was standing at the door with a concerned look on his face.

That was when he came to the sickening realization that he had been the one screaming loud and long enough to alarm the driver.

“You seemed to have had a nightmare, guv. Do not worry, it happens to everybody. We are close to the address you gave me,” the driver said, before closing the door and regaining his seat, giving him no chance to reply.

But what was Percival going to say?

He had been suffering from horrible nightmares since he returned from the war. Some were particularly violent. They had been partly the reason why he avoided human interaction and neglected the notion of marriage.

In the last couple of months, he had not had them, so he had assumed that he was cured. It seemed that he wasn’t if he was having night terrors in broad daylight, for goodness sake. At that moment, he was glad that he made the arrangement he had with Louisa.

Hopefully, she would never know about the scars he hid under his clothes or the night terrors that turned him into a vulnerable infant. She would never know because they would never live together. He would make sure of it.

He might not be innocent—he could not be, not after the bloodshed that he had a hand in—but he was going to protect her from the demons that haunted his sleeping and waking hours.

When the hackney stopped in front of his manor, he climbed down, paid the driver, and walked slowly to the front door. Tobias appeared to take his coat, and he continued down the passageway till he opened the door to the basement, where he sparred.

Soon after his return from the war, Percival realized that physical exertion helped push his body to exhaustion, thereby helping him sleep better. His weapon of choice was a leather bag filled with sand that he suspended from the ceiling.

After rolling up the sleeve of his simple tunic, he started punching the bag, taking out his embarrassment, frustration, and pain on the resilient leather. Eventually, he started feeling the strain on the muscles in his shoulders, the soreness of his bare knuckles, the sweat pouring down his face.

He welcomed it, pounding at the bag until his breath came in pants.

Collapsing on the floor, he stared up at the ceiling. An uneasy feeling bloomed in his chest, telling him that things were changing drastically and he had little control of it. And somehow, he knew that a certain blonde-haired lady stood in the middle of that change.

He woke up the next morning with an aching body courtesy of the punishing activities of the previous night. He might have had better sleep, but his inner turmoil returned in full force the moment he opened his eyes.

He rang the bell to summon Tobias and requested hot water. In about half an hour, Tobias, along with two footmen, had filled the tub with steaming hot water. The heat of it caused perspiration to drip down Percival’s brow.

He then shooed them out of his room so he could bathe in solitude. He never wanted anyone to see the extent of his scars.

He quickly undressed, eager to step into the welcoming heat of the water. It felt like heaven to his aching muscles when he lowered himself into the water and dropped his head back, relaxing fully. He was fast on his way to falling asleep when he was startled awake by the sound of the bedroom door opening.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. It seems you have a letter?” one of the young footmen from earlier said.

“Who is it from?” Percival asked, lowering himself further into the water.

“It seems to be from your fiancée, Your Grace. Miss Louisa Gouldsmith.”

Percival motioned for the footman to drop it on a stool far from him and waved him away.

It seemed that his fiancée had a fondness for writing letters. He wondered if the note she had sent him was as sweet as the first one she had written and smiled to himself.

But then he caught himself and frowned.

In just two days, she had made him break character more often than anyone who had ever tried. Any longer and she might turn him into someone he didn’t recognize. It seemed there were some ground rules he had forgotten to set when he made his proposal. It was time to remedy that.

He rose from the bath to read her note, and frowned. She was inviting him on an outing with her family, and he wondered if she was truly expecting him to come.

Did she think that with just one visit to her family home, he was suddenly ready to re-enter Society?

He would go if only to warn her never to repeat that mistake.

Chapter Six

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