A Scarlet Bride

  A Scarlett Bride

  By

  Sylvia McDaniel

  Copyright 2012 Sylvia McDaniel

  Edition

  Edition, License Notes

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  First Printing February 2000 by Kensington Publishing Corp

  All Rights Returned to the Author

  2012 Edition

  Virtual Bookseller, LLC

  Cover by Joleene Naylor.

  Chapter One

  Charleston, South Carolina 1895

  The sound of excited whispers enticed Connor Manning's gaze to the top of the staircase. He watched in amusement as Charleston County's most prominent socialites turned and stared at the latest arrival at the Rutherfords' ball.

  His gaze slid over the tall brunette, lingering on her almond shaped eyes, smoldering in her delicately shaped face. His blood quickened, his interest renewed in the opposite sex once again.

  There before him stood a woman well worth losing the last redeeming qualities of his otherwise tarnished reputation. A woman who, from all appearances, seemed to be causing a stir unlike anything he'd seen before. A stir he hoped would give the old biddies someone other than himself to prattle about. Though several years had passed since he'd made an ass of himself over Georgiana, society had yet to forget.

  The buzz of voices from the elegantly dressed men and women around Connor grew louder, reminding him of angry bees swarming the hive. Who could the lady be, to cause such a stir?

  "William, who is that stunning creature?" he asked, nudging his closest friend in the shoulder.

  William Cunningham turned, glanced up the stairs, and choked on his brandy.

  Connor reached over and slapped a hand against the back of William's coat.

  Gasping for breath, William replied softly, "That's Alexandra Halsted Thurston, Gordon Thurston's ex wife."

  The bodice of her satin brocade green and gold evening dress molded to her feminine curves, pushing up the swells of her breasts, which were accentuated by three delicate roses in the vee of her bosom. Connor had never felt the urge to pick roses until this moment. But now he wanted to pluck the thorny stems with little care for their stinging prick.

  As he glanced around the room, it seemed every male eye was centered on the woman.

  "Don't tell me," Connor said with a chuckle. "She divorced him because he went mad with desire for her."

  William smiled. "No. Actually, he divorced her."

  Connor glanced at his friend, brow raised in speculation. There was only one reason a man could divorce his wife.

  "Adultery." The word echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls as guests bandied it about.

  If the woman noticed the stir, she seemed to pay no heed as she floated down the marble stairs, head held high, her walk regal and courtly.

  "Who was the lucky man?" Connor asked, his gaze following her as she glided through the room. An older couple he recognized as his neighbors trailed close behind her.

  "Don't you recall the scandal that shook the New York banking society four or five years ago?"

  "It's best not to heed gossip when your name is often the center of such scuttlebutt."

  "No, I guess you wouldn't." William shook his head. "Her father is James Halsted III. She often visited here as a child."

  "The Halsted family? Of Colonial Bank, New York?"

  "That's the one."

  "Why have I never met her?"

  William cleared his throat. "Her father kept close watch over his only child."

  Connor raised his brows. "Isn't James Halsted as wealthy as the Vanderbilts?"

  "That brandy must be clearing the fog from your brain after all," William said, swirling his drink.

  "You're a fine one to talk. Tell me more," Connor urged.

  "Her father married her off to Gordon Thurston just as she finished Miss Bloomfield's School for Ladies. The marriage joined New York's two most prominent banking families, but only lasted a year before Thurston filed for divorce, accusing her of adultery. Last I heard, she'd fled to London."

  Connor released a mock sigh. "How unfortunate."

  "I heard she was in the English countryside caring for an elderly relative," William said, sipping his drink.

  "Right." Connor looked skeptical. "How could a woman who looks like her hide away for years?"

  "It would seem unlikely," William replied, staring at Alexandra.

  "Divorced. Beautiful. Sounds like a combination fitting to my tastes. Similar to ruined, lonely, and available."

  William glanced at Connor as if he'd lost his mind. "Didn't you just rid yourself of one soiled little bird?"

  Connor laughed. "Yes, and I'd daresay the fair widow is at this moment looking for someone else she'd like to lead down the aisle. I'm simply looking at the menu, deciding which dish to enjoy next."

  "The problem with you, Connor, is that you always skip the entree and start with dessert."

  "Why waste time? I go after what I want. Can I help it if I have a sweet tooth?"

  William scowled. "It's a wonder your teeth aren't rotting."

  "You worry too much, my friend." Connor sipped his drink, letting the liquid sooth his parched throat.

  "You don't worry nearly enough," William chastised. "When are you going to quit retaliating and punishing women for Georgiana's seduction and settle down with a decent woman?"

  Connor shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, even though every time he heard his first love's name, he tensed. "That's not my purpose. I only approach women who know the rules of the game. Nothing permanent, nothing lasting."

  William shook his head. "One day, my friend, some woman is going to teach you a lesson in love. I hope I'm around to watch."

  Connor raised his glass to his friend and asked, "So how do you know so much about Mrs. Thurston?"

  "My sister was her roommate at Miss Bloomfield's. They still correspond occasionally."

  Searching the crowd, Connor spied the woman in question sitting on one of the couches along the edge of the dance floor, fanning herself with a green and gold fan. The breeze teased wisps of hair about her face and neck.

  The guests carefully avoided her, as if divorce were some contagious disease that might spread through social contact.

  She looked up ... emerald eyes met his stare and narrowed as if to warn him away, but his body responded to a deeper feeling.

  He observed her, unable to break her gaze, until she flicked her fan across her face, covering her eyes. She had the face of an angel and the body of a temptress. Innocent and seductive, a wonderfully dangerous combination, guaranteed to set a man's blood afire. And all he needed was a spark.

  "If she were warming my bed, I'd make certain she wouldn't have any need to look at another man," Connor said, voicing his thoughts aloud.

  William scoffed. "She wouldn't look twice at a man like you."

  Turning to his friend, Connor asked, "And why the hell not?"

  "You're not of the same social level. Her father must own half of Wall Street. Besides, last I heard, she'd turned down every man who had made any attempt at being friendly. Doesn't want any more scandal, I suppose. In less than polite circles, she is referred to as the 'Arctic Princess."

  Connor raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but she hasn't met me." With a decisive jerk, he drained the brandy from his glass in a single gulp an
d handed the snifter to his friend with a grin.

  William took the glass, a worried expression on his face. "Oh, no. I recognize that look. What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to ask Mrs. Thurston for a dance. Then maybe tomorrow, I will ask her out for a picnic at Old Man Middleton's place. And then I'm going to—"

  "You are such a fool." William laughed. "This is one conquest you aren't going to make."

  "I bet she's in my bed within a month," Connor replied flippantly, straightening his cravat.

  William placed their empty glasses on a passing servant's tray. "You're on. Five hundred on the lady giving you frostbite and nothing else."

  Connor had made the offer in jest. Even at their drunkest, he and William had never bet on a woman before. But then, Mrs. Thurston most assuredly knew the rules of the game, having indulged in one liaison during her marriage.

  "Joe has that new colt of his for sale," Connor said. "The money I make from our bet should just about cover his price."

  "You can't afford to lose," William grimly reminded him.

  "I'm not going to lose. Five hundred dollars says she will be mine."

  ***

  Alexandra observed the Rutherfords' ballroom. Two silk and wool tapestries hung from floor to ceiling, depicting a biblical scene with angels floating down from heaven. Alexandra sighed and wished she could borrow their wings, if only for a little while. Just long enough to return her to Aunt Clara's, away from the prying eyes of Charleston society.

  When she'd arrived, the whispering, bejeweled biddies had had the room abuzz. But she'd held her head high, determined not to let them know how much their raised eyebrows and obvious avoidance hurt.

  She would never let them know how she longed for acceptance. Yet she wondered if she would ever belong again. And in her darkest moments, she couldn't help but question whether she truly wanted to let another person close again.

  In the novel The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne had worn a red letter A emblazoned on her dresses. Alexandra felt as if she wore it branded on her forehead. The women avoided her while their men leered at her, most likely scheming how to make her their mistress.

  At least in Europe she'd been able to lead a quiet life, hidden away with revenge occupying her mind. Rather quickly, she'd learned that loneliness was a cold companion on a stormy winter's night, whereas vengeance stoked a fire deep within her breast.

  Her father's command that she return to the States hadn't come at a bad time. The wheels to become financially independent were in motion, and she would have returned of her own accord within the next few months. But instead of returning to New York, she'd come to Charleston, to the sympathetic arms of Aunt Clara and Uncle Sydney. If Father wanted to see her, he'd have to find her. She had no intention of notifying him of her return.

  Lifting her fan, she waved it gently, trying to calm her erratic nerves. Alexandra couldn't help but glance back toward the man she'd caught staring at her earlier. Devilishly handsome, with a smile that dimpled his cheeks. He was gone. She wondered briefly who he was, then remembered she had no interest in men. They were her past.

  "Smile, dear," Aunt Clara scolded. "Try to look like you're enjoying yourself. You're much too beautiful to appear so pensive."

  "If I smile much more, my face will lock into a permanent smirk."

  Aunt Clara turned on the settee and leaned her stylish gray head close to Alexandra. "You're grimacing, dear. Relax. It's time you got back into society and found a man who deserves you."

  "Aunt Clara, you promised me if I came tonight, you wouldn't play matchmaker."

  "You insult me, dear." Her aunt peered over her spectacles at Alexandra. "I'm merely introducing my niece to society. If the eligible men of Charleston are not intelligent enough to see a beautiful, available woman, then the devil take them."

  Alexandra couldn't suppress her giggle. "Aunt Clara, what if Uncle Sydney heard you using such scandalous expressions?"

  "Pooh! Your uncle has gone off to talk horses and drink brandy with the men. I daresay he won't be back until midnight."

  Alexandra glanced up as Robert Thurston, Gordon's cousin, approached. The sight of gossipy Robert stunned her for just a moment. Then she couldn't help but smile. Maybe she was glad she'd come tonight after all. The telegraph wires between Charleston and New York would be sizzling tonight with the news that the previous Mrs. Thurston had returned.

  "Hold your temper, dear. It looks like we're going to be cursed with Robert's presence."

  "It's all right, Aunt Clara," she said, pulling her shoulders back as the man approached. Robert would run to Gordon and her revenge would be set in motion.

  "Alexandra, what a surprise," Robert said. "The last time I saw you was in Judge Martin's court. I didn't know you had returned." His smile was as real as fool's gold and worth about as much.

  "Why, Robert, did you expect me to stay abroad forever? I've come home," Alexandra added, a drawl to her voice. She glanced at the man and smiled. "You're looking ... quaint."

  "I didn't expect to see you here," he responded coolly. "I heard your father called you home. Companion problems?"

  Alexandra smiled. She wouldn't succumb to the urge to throttle the little man in front of all these people.

  "England was wonderful, but it was time to come back to the States. The relative I was caring for succumbed to her broken heart and died." She paused, enjoying the disappointed expression on his face. "How are Gordon and Julia?"

  "Quite well. They have a daughter." He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the switch in conversation. "The bank is doing well."

  "Wonderful. Gordon must be very happy. After all, everything worked out as he planned."

  Robert glanced around, anxious."Yes... well, I should return to my friends. I'll be sure to tell Gordon you're back in the States."

  "Please do. I know our paths will cross soon. Tell him I said maybe we could have tea and catch up on the last five years. He could fill me in on how well my investments are doing since he took them over."

  Robert hurried away, his discomfort obvious. He'd always reminded her of a banty rooster, brave until you challenged him, then eager to dash away.

  Alexandra couldn't help but feel somewhat triumphant. Everything was falling into place so nicely and she'd been back less than a week. Surely this was a portent of things to come. Surely she was meant to take control of her life.

  "You handled that beautifully, child," Aunt Clara said in praise."I'm so glad you went away to England, though I missed you terribly. Time has matured you into a strong woman."

  "I was always strong, though no one realized it," Alexandra murmured to herself. "Not even me."

  Oh, Aunt Clara, if only you knew the truth about my marriage to Gordon. But you will soon ... very soon. And Gordon would have good reason to worry about the return of his exwife.

  "Pick up your dance program, love, and look interested," Aunt Clara said. "One of my neighbors is approaching. An attractive rogue if ever I've met one. Quite the ladies' man."

  The words "ladies' man" grated against her already raw nerves. Another Casanova was not what she wanted or needed at this moment. The evening was beginning to tax her greatly.

  Alexandra turned on the settee and watched as the very man who had stared at her earlier sauntered across the room, his dark blue eyes never wavering from her face. Her heart beat in an irregular rhythm as he approached. He filled out his evening clothes in a way few men in the room could. His broad shoulders, tapered waist, and long legs gave the impression of strength and virility. He walked like a man secure in the knowledge that he was attractive and that nothing would get in his way.

  For the first time in years, Alexandra felt flushed with an inner heat. Her aunt's words echoed in her head. Ladies' man. Everything about the handsome gentleman set off alarm bells.

  "Mrs. LaRoux," he said to Aunt Clara as he reached them. "How nice to see you again." His voice was deep, his words rhythmic and soothing. His eyes met and held
Alexandra's gaze. "I haven't seen Fancy in a while. Did Sydney finally break that mare of jumping the fence to entice my stallions?"

  His eyes lingered over Alexandra, leaving her warm and flushed. Yet his bold words, accompanied by a brash stare, annoyed her. God, how she hated men who were so sure of their attractiveness.

  "Shame on you, Connor Manning," Aunt Clara said, blushing a pretty pink as she waved his words away. "Ladies do not speak of such things."

  He laughed, his deep voice pleasant. "As many times as Sydney came to collect that mare from my paddock, I thought it was common knowledge."

  "Talk to Sydney about that horse. The animal is expecting a foal in the spring, you know."

  "I'm not surprised."

  Aunt Clara flicked her fan at the man."Let me introduce my niece who has just returned from England. Connor Manning, please meet Mrs. Alexandra Thurston."

  He reached for her hand, and Alexandra involuntarily stiffened. His palm engulfed her smallgloved hand, warm and strong.

  "I couldn't help but notice you haven't danced," he said. "The men of Charleston are sometimes shy when it comes to new ladies in town. I wondered if you'd take a turn on the dance floor with me, Mrs. Thurston."

  So, he'd noticed that people avoided her.

  Men usually paid attention to her for one of two reasons: They thought she would be an easy sexual conquest or they believed she had money. Which reason had prompted Mr. Manning?

  She glanced up and grimaced inwardly as her eyes met Robert's watchful gaze. Whatever she did tonight would certainly find its way back to Gordon, and she wanted that cad to think her life had resumed a normal path since their divorce.

  "I would enjoy dancing," Alexandra replied. She wanted to grit her teeth as she laid her hand in Connor's, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

  The strains of a waltz began as he nestled his hand on her waist. Alexandra slowly relaxed in his arms as the years absent from dancing melted away and her feet fell into the familiar rhythm.

  "How long will you be staying with your aunt?" Connor asked.