Free The Scarlet Bride by Cheryl Ann Smith

she was meant for a better life.”
    Not once had Simon considered the reason why Laura became a courtesan. He assumed she sold herself for the same reasons most women did: money, sex, or desperation. Obviously, he’d been wrong. There was much more to his courtesan than he’d seen thus far.
    His curiosity rose. “I fear I have mistaken her situation.Still, my intentions are not dishonorable.” What were his intentions? That was a question he couldn’t answer. “In some cultures, when you save a life, you are responsible for that person forever.” He smiled. “I suppose you can consider me her champion.”
    “Hmm.” Her scowl faded but her suspicion stayed put. “Laura grows stronger every day. She needs no one to fight her battles, Simon. But you may see her, if only to ease your mind. Then perhaps you’ll never again darken this stoop.”
    L aura should have been surprised when Miss Noelle announced that she had a visitor, and who it was, but she wasn’t. For some unfathomable reason, Mister Harrington had decided his presence was needed in her life. And unfortunately, her frequent dismissals were not enough to dissuade him from that notion.
    The courtesans whispered among themselves, a flock of hens anticipating the arrival of a fox. They’d been curious about her rescuer since the night she’d arrived, and his visits did nothing to quell their interest.
    Laura ignored their whispers, brushed bits of flour off her dress, and walked to the parlor. She was hot from the kitchen and did not want to make frivolous conversation with an unwelcome guest. He had to be sent away.
    Forever.
    He was examining a painting over the fireplace, his back to the door. She noticed immediately how much he imposed on the feminine space. “Mister Harrington.”
    He turned. “Miss Laura.” His smile warmed the room.
    She ignored his charm. “I believe I have made myself very clear, Mister Harrington,” she said sharply. “I no longer need your assistance or companionship. And yet here you are again. Were my wishes unclear?”
    “Indeed they were not.” He shrugged. “My family calls me stubborn. Sadly, it’s an incurable trait.”
    A lock of damp hair fell over her right eye. The strands were too short to stay tied in the ribbon at her nape. Shetried to brush it back, but the hair was persistent. Frustrated, she dropped her hand.
    “Stubbornness is no excuse for ignoring my wants,” she countered. “You must stay away.”
    Mister Harrington took a few steps forward. She forced herself to remain still under his regard.
    “I felt compelled to come,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I had to make certain you suffered no ill-effects of our argument.”
    Fatigue from the morning’s work took some of the starch out of Laura. It was baking day and the smell of fresh bread filled the town house. She found the coolness of the parlor refreshing after hours in the kitchen. It was Mister Harrington who kept her from completely enjoying this brief respite.
    She scanned his handsome face, and her heart beat a little faster. It was impossible not to notice how well he fit the cut of his clothing. This observation added to her aggravation. Next to his polished perfection, she was a wet cat.
    Sticky dough clung to her fingernails. She frowned and hid her hands behind her. “As you can see, I am quite well. Truly, there is no more need for you to concern yourself about my welfare.”
    Light twinkled in his eyes. “I can see you are a step up from the bedraggled young woman who clung so valiantly to the back of my horse.”
    Reluctantly, she followed the downward path of his eyes. There was a damp patch in the center of her dress, marred by flour and a trio of red strawberry-filling finger marks.
    Though she’d assured him she was well, she looked a fright. No wonder the man had his concerns. It appeared as though she’d been under attack by a tray of strawberry tarts.
    Somewhere deep within her, laughter began to well.