Free A Scarlet Bride by Sylvia McDaniel Page B

his lapel pin came to be near the lace of your bodice," Aunt Clara said.
    Color flooded Alexandra's face at the memory of Connor kissing the swells of her breasts when they became entangled. "Well—"
    "Connor Manning has quite a reputation with the ladies, and you are not the first woman he's been caught with in a delicate position. But you are the first one he has offered to marry."
    Alexandra paused for a moment. To say the least, that was surprising news. But why would he offer for her? "That we know of," she added.
    "True."
    "Besides, I've been married. I don't want to be trapped again!"
    "Dear, you are missing the point. This man is known as a rake, yet he's offering to save what's left of your reputation."
    "I don't care, Aunt Clara. The man would charm his grandmother if it would get him what he wanted."
    Aunt Clara chuckled. "He probably did."
    She rose from her chair and went to stand beside Alexandra, putting her hand on her niece's shoulders in a comforting gesture. "The truth is, with your history, if you don't marry Connor you will never withstand the social disgrace. And while I know you're willing to live with that implication, I'm not sure you really understand how lonely your life will be."
    A tear made its way down Alexandra's cheek. She reached up and swiped it away with the back of her hand. "But why? I meant no harm. Yes, I was foolish, but why such a drastic cure?"
    "Because everyone believes something scandalous happened on the Sloanes ' verandah. And unless you marry Connor, it will be as if you are no longer among the living."
    Alexandra couldn't help but think about Hester's Revenge . Though the book was written anonymously and supposedly fictional, eventually people would realize it was her tale. Why would anyone believe her story when she'd been caught in a shameful act again? Even if she wed Connor, there would be people who would remember last night's event and question her tale. But her chances for success were much higher if she married.
    Life wasn't fair. If she wanted her revenge on Gordon, then she must marry Connor.
    "It's said reformed rakes make the best husbands," Aunt Clara said cheerfully."It was true with your uncle."
    "But no one speaks of how to reform them. Is there a special school that trains men into becoming good husbands? Or should a woman hope that one night they fall asleep and wake up changed?"
    Aunt Clara laughed. "Nothing quite so hard. A man like Connor needs a strongwilled woman. And I think you fill that bill quite nicely."
    Alexandra sighed. She'd never planned on marrying again. She'd failed once at being a wife. Could she do any better the second time around?
    "All right, Aunt Clara, send for Connor. I want to speak with him."
    ***
    Connor sat anxiously in the parlor of the LaRoux home. It had taken Alexandra twentyfour hours to send for him. He didn't know what her answer would be, but the odds were high she would accept. After all, she had little recourse.
    At the sound of rustling skirts, he turned and stood as she entered the parlor. Her eyes were darker than a tropical forest as she gazed at him, yet they blazed with an inner fire that just might scorch him. He felt awkward standing before her, hat in hand.
    "Good morning, Alexandra. You look lovely."
    That was an understatement. The green flowers on her morning dress beckoned him to reach out and pick them. To pick up where he had left off two nights ago.
    "Please be seated. I've asked that we be given a few moments alone," she said, motioning to the chair he had previously occupied. She sat across from him on a love seat, her hands folded demurely in her lap. But there was an edge to her that previously had been missing, a stiffness he had not encountered since they first met.
    They sat for a few moments in awkward silence. Finally, Connor said, "Look, Alexandra, I'm sorry about ripping your dress night before last, but I'm not sorry about kissing you."
    She glared at him.
    "I asked your father for your hand