A Scarlet Bride Page 2

  Alexandra glanced into blue eyes that shimmered with intensity. His mouth turned up for a slight smile, as if to reassure her she was safe. She bristled.

  "I haven't decided," she replied in a cool tone.

  Colorful ball gowns swirled around them as couples passed by. Satin and jewels sparkled under the gas lamps, twinkling with cold promise. Her hand rested against the taut, strong muscles beneath his black suit coat. A sense of warmth pervaded Alexandra, and she was quick to remind herself that this man was like all men, deceitful. Memories of other men who thought, because of her divorced status, that she was an easy conquest made her itch to wipe the smile from his face. No man would get away with duping her again.

  "I hope you'll stay long enough for the people of Charleston to get to know you," he said, drawing her closer.

  She stiffened her arms, preventing his ploy, and raised a challenging brow. "Why is that, sir?"

  Surprise rippled across his face, quickly subdued by his charming smile. "You're not from around here, and the people of Charleston would like to share our hospitality with you."

  Somehow she didn't think that was all he'd like to share with her.

  "They've certainly been friendly tonight," Alexandra replied, unable to contain her sarcasm.

  Connor chuckled. "I must admit you've caught their attention."

  It would be easy for an innocent to succumb to his easy charm, but Alexandra was no innocent. She'd dealt with his kind before. "If their lives are that boring, then I'm glad I've provided some amusement."

  "You've definitely made this one of the more talked about events of the year." He maneuvered smoothly through the throng of dancers. "What do you like to do, Mrs. Thurston?"

  She wanted to tell him her hobbies were none of his business, but instead she replied, "I like to read, write. I enjoy needlepoint and horses."

  The blue of his eyes warmed as he focused on her lips. "You enjoy a good ride?"

  Alexandra frowned. "Yes, I ride horses."

  "I have a stable full of stallions." Connor smiled and leaned closer. "But I haven't found a good mare as yet."

  "A good mare is hard to find. Many come from weak bloodlines. Are you wanting an Arabian or a Thoroughbred?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation on safe ground. Somehow she thought their discourse was more about twolegged creatures than four.

  Connor raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed. You are indeed a fine horsewoman to know the difference."

  "My mother loved horses and was quite knowledgeable. She passed it on to me." Though he held her at arm's length, she felt enveloped by his presence. The cologne he wore teased her mercilessly with its spicy, masculine strength. His eyes seemed to reach inside her and touch the part of her she'd locked away after the divorce.

  "I'm looking for a Thoroughbred," he said, "but would be interested to hear what you consider the good qualities of a mare."

  "Good height, deep girth, open elbows with a good front," she said, refusing to acknowledge he meant anything besides horses.

  He smiled. "You know exactly what a man is looking for in a good mare. So far, I've had little luck. Recently, I thought I'd found a good one, but the length of rein was much too short."

  "I've seen men fall head over heels when a horse was short in front. It's definitely something to watch out for," she replied coolly. The man was an artist at innuendo.

  "I'm a very careful man," Connor advised, his voice low and sultry. "I never fall."

  His cockiness was almost enough to send her fleeing from the dance floor. Was that what he wanted? To humiliate her in front of all of Charleston society? The devil take him, but she would outlast him.

  "Pride goes before the fall, does it not?" she couldn't refrain from asking.

  "Sometimes," he admitted as he twirled her, but she managed to stay in step and keep him at the proper distance.

  "How should one break a horse, Mrs. Thurston? By being hard with the whip and tight with the bit, or by coaxing them into allowing one to mount?"

  He was definitely referring to something more than horses. The man was entirely too brazen. Much too sensual. "I leave that to the trainers," she replied. "To experienced men."

  At that, Connor caught her unprepared and reeled her in closer. Alexandra felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, leaving her sweltering.

  "I enjoy the challenge of training horses myself," he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "I start them out slow and gentle, feeding them bits of sugar when they accomplish a small goal, until they trust me to mount them."

  This man was as subtle as a snowstorm in July. The urge to slap that arrogant smile off his face was strong, but she resisted. She didn't want or need the attention a slap would surely draw.

  She ought to lead him on, then give him the cold shoulder just to teach the rake a lesson. But she didn't have time for such games. She had a game of her own to play that certainly didn't include another man breaking her heart.

  The music ended and Alexandra came to a halt. "I do believe I've danced quite enough, Mr. Manning."

  "Would you care to take a stroll outdoors?" he asked.

  "No, thank you." She noticed a host of sidelong glances falling in their direction. "It seems I've created enough of a stir without a saunter in the garden with you."

  Connor laughed. "Let them talk. It's something I've come to expect."

  "Perhaps, but as you well know, it's different for a woman." Experience was sometimes an unkind teacher, as Alexandra had been the center of gossip before and very likely would again. But not tonight, and not to ease this man's curiosity.

  They reached her aunt's side, and Alexandra turned to Connor. "Thank you for the dance."

  He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. Alexandra stiffened as he kissed the back of her hand.

  "My pleasure, Mrs. Thurston. Don't fill up your dance card. I will be back."

  "I'm sorry." She smiled an innocent curve to her lips. "My dance card is full," she lied sweetly.

  Her dance card was completely empty, which he undoubtedly knew, but she really didn't care. The rake could take his insinuations elsewhere. The only thing she felt he was qualified to train was an ass.

  "Maybe another time." He bowed slightly with his head, turned, and walked away confidently.

  No, men hadn't changed in the five years since Gordon had divorced her. If anything, they were bolder than before. But she was no longer the meek, innocent young girl easily deceived by men's devious ways. She was a grown woman now, too wise to submit herself to a man's whims.

  Especially a man like Connor Manning.

  Chapter Two

  Connor scooped a handful of dirt, bringing the soil to his nose. The pungent odor of earth filled his nostrils and retrieved memories of his father performing this same ritual. After four generations of Mannings, the soil seemed exhausted and lacking in richness. Not unlike the family fortune.

  Nate, his overseer, walked up beside him, his boots sinking into the soft red clay. "What do you want to do, Mr. Manning? Do we let this field go fallow?"

  Pulling his hat from his head, Connor ran his fingers through his hair. Fallow was a costly word, one he couldn't afford right now. "I need every acre productive, Nate."

  "Times are hard, but this land ain't going to produce much cotton. It's tired and worn out, just like me."

  Connor glanced back toward his family home in the distance. Six wooden columns stood tall across the recessed front gallery where chairs invited family and friends to enjoy the evening breeze with a glass of lemonade. The hipped roof had suffered considerable damage in a hurricane two years ago, and six dormer windows had since been replaced.

  The old homestead was full of memories. His mother singing to him as a child, his parents sitting around the fire, his sister's birth and his mother's subsequent death. Birth and renewal, death and dying. For four generations his family had lived and worked on this land. They'd survived the great war, the worst hurricane of the century, and bo
ll weevils, but all had taken their toll.

  Still, he'd be damned if he was going to be the Manning that lost River Bend to the county.

  There had been a time when he had thought he too would raise a family here. A time when he had felt as worthy as his father. Those days were gone, stolen by a woman's traitorous kiss and his own insane moment of weakness.

  Next to him, Nate scratched his grayblack head. "We've planted fifty acres, but we'll be lucky to get a single bale of cotton from each."

  Shoulders slumped, Connor walked toward the house. "It's not enough, Nate."

  Between the workers wanting their share and the bank looking out for its interests, Connor wondered if he'd ever get ahead without selling at least part of River Bend.

  So far he'd been able to hold the creditors off, but this year's crop could not fail or he and his sister would find themselves without a roof over their heads.

  The thunder of hooves brought his head up just as Suzanne, his seventeenyearold sister, and one of his prized stallions jumped the fence and raced toward him across the pasture. Her blond hair streamed wild and free as she laughed and urged the horse to greater speed.

  Nate walked up beside Connor and watched the young woman."My Leona says that girl needs a woman around. When you gonna get married and settle down?"

  Connor glanced at his employee, a frown upon his face.

  "Is that the talk in the fields? When am I going to come to my senses and get married?"

  Nate shuffled his feet. "No, sir. Just us old folks who've watched you grow up. We wonder if we're going to get to see your young'uns."

  Connor shrugged. "Who knows? First I have to have a home to offer a wife."

  But Connor doubted he would ever marry, not since Georgiana had tricked him into betraying his best friend had he wanted a permanent entanglement.

  "Better make it quick," Nate said. "The Lord could call me home any day now."

  Connor grinned. "You'll still be around when I'm ninety."

  "Dear Lord, I hope not."

  Suzanne pulled her chestnut quarter horse to a stop in front of Connor. His sister's golden hair hung loose, curls tangled, her young face flushed from the ride.

  "Hi, Connor," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. Swinging her leg over the horse like a man, she dismounted. With a toss of her curls, she handed the reins to a young man standing nearby, flashing him a brilliant smile.

  "Please take my horse to the stable and have him groomed," she told the boy.

  "With pleasure, Miss Manning," the gangly youth replied.

  Connor watched the young man's chest swell. Dear God, she was already having an effect on men and she was still a child. How was he going to take care of this young girl who was rapidly changing into a woman?

  "I don't like you abusing my horses," he scolded, releasing his frustration on his sister.

  "Jackson loves to run," she explained. "I didn't think you would mind me giving him some exercise."

  "I don't mind you riding the horse. It's the way you ride I find objectionable. You're seventeen and should be making your debut into society. Yet you still act like a child just out of the nursery."

  She raised an eyebrow, reminding him of their mother. "I refuse to act dead, like so many of those society women. Men have the freedom to do as they please. Why shouldn't women?"

  "They just don't. I didn't make the rules and I don't want my only sister to have the reputation of breaking them."

  The standing argument between the siblings always left Connor torn between letting her be as free as the wind and correcting her wild ways. But he knew the path ahead of her. It was past time she learned the social graces expected of a gently bred female. But who would teach her? Unfortunately, he knew everything about seducing a lady and nothing about raising one.

  "Rules were meant to be broken. Otherwise, why would we have them?" she asked, a bored expression on her childish face.

  Nate chuckled, until Connor shot him a sobering glare that silenced the old servant, though his shoulders still shook.

  "That's one of the reasons I'm searching for another governess," Connor said. "One that won't be afraid of your antics. One that will teach you why it's important not to break the rules."

  "I don't need a governess, nor do I want one. I'm too old."

  "You need a woman's influence. You need a governess's guidance," he insisted.

  "I promise you, she won't stay."

  Connor took a deep breath, trying to squelch the irritation his sister evoked. "Get in the house and practice the piano or something ladies do."

  "Will that make you feel like you're bringing me up properly?" she challenged him.

  The glare he sent her made her scurry toward the house, her young hips swaying.

  God, she knew just how to provoke him. Worry creased Connor's forehead as he watched her saunter away. When had she grown up? When had young men started to notice the soft curves of her body? What was he going to do with her?

  Nate looked at Connor and smiled. "That girl's the spittin' image of your mama. The spunkiness she inherited from your papa, just like you."

  "I know, Nate, and it worries me. How do you turn a rebellious seventeenyearold into a lady some poor boy will want to marry? Men want a wife who is quiet and gentle, one that's seen and not heard."

  The old man walked away shaking his head, mumbling under his breath, "No wonder you ain't married."

  The image of Alexandra Thurston came to mind. Not exactly the kind of woman he had imagined for a wife; then again, someone like her could definitely warm his bed at night.

  Suzanne's offer to forgo the governess was tempting, as the extra money would certainly be welcome. Yet he'd put off her coming out as long as possible, hoping he'd pull the plantation out of its slump.

  Without a debut into society and a dowry, Suzanne's chances of making a good match were slim to none. And he had promised their father she would have the best. But how did a man go about explaining the proper rules between a man and a woman when he'd spent so many years ignoring them?

  Connor sighed, and the memory of Alexandra descending the stairs the night before came once again to mind. She had the refinement of a lady down to an art, even if society ignored that fact.

  ***

  Alexandra sat in Aunt Clara's parlor, listening to her father lecture her on why she should have returned to New York, instead of Charleston. She sighed. James Halsted III had arrived on Aunt Clara's doorstep early this morning, demanding to see his daughter.

  The years of separation had not changed him. His hair was a little grayer, his waist a little thicker, his heart still cold and detached.

  A chasm the width of an ocean still lay between them, and she had no reason to cross that great divide. He would never concern himself with what she wanted or needed, so she would tolerate his lectures until the day she could support herself. The proceeds from the book she'd just sold and the small inheritance she had received from her Aunt Matilda in England would give her a quiet life.

  Through the window, she watched a hummingbird dive at a flower in her aunt's rose garden.

  "Alexandra, are you listening to me?"

  "Yes, Father." She heard the words, the tone of his voice, but refused to acknowledge what he was saying.

  "Five years have passed since your divorce. The law will now permit you to remarry. It's time."

  "What?" Alexandra asked, drawn back from the garden, totally unprepared for his announcement. As far as she was concerned, marriage was no longer an option. There was no reason to ever remarry, to subject herself to a man's dominance again.

  "I'm searching for you a new husband," he informed her. "Though I daresay the task will be difficult with your wicked reputation."

  Resentment sped through her. "I do not wish to marry again."

  Rising to her feet, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly chilled. Why did she let her father upset her and disrupt her life?

  "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "
You are my only child and I want grandchildren, heirs for the bank. You must remarry."

  Memories of her childhood flashed through Alexandra's mind. Her father had always been too busy to spend time with her, except when he wanted to present a front to company. The formal, stiff man only saw her as a commodity.

  "I am quite capable of making my own decisions," she declared. "I do not wish to marry."

  "For God's sake, you are a woman. As your father, it is my responsibility to see you taken care of. You have already shown you are incapable of sound judgment."

  Alexandra took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and hurt her father always evoked. She couldn't refrain from asking, "Have you ever considered that I might have been innocent of Gordon's accusations?"

  Her father looked at her as if her mental capacities were of little value. "You were convicted. Your husband divorced you."

  All the years of rejection seemed to culminate at that moment, pushing her toward the edge. She wanted to tell her father to take the first train back to New York and never return. "The courts could never be wrong, could they, Father?"

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "What does it matter now? It's over and done with. We must concentrate on finding you a new husband. One you can hopefully keep."

  No matter what she said, the old codger would never listen to reason. She had been to hell and back, and his only thoughts were about his bank, himself, and his lack of a male heir.

  One day she would tell him to keep his money. One day she would no longer have to depend on him for her support. One day the publication of Hester's Revenge would sustain her, and that day was only weeks away. After all, Lady Caroline Lamb had done it eighty years ago with Glenarvon, her expose of Lord Byron, and so could she.

  Alexandra smiled at her father. Only recently had her father's stubborn streak surfaced within her, and obviously he was blind to the changes in his daughter. True, he was her parent, but his lack of faith had killed whatever feelings she'd once held.

  "'Do whatever you think you must, Father," she replied, hoping time would work in her favor.