Authors: Sylvia McDaniel
"Alexandra," she heard Connor call.
Her tears came in big bulky sobs as she cried away the last of her hopes and dreams. Would she ever learn not to trust a man and his lies?
"I want nothing more to do with you!" she cried back over her shoulder as she ran back to her room.
***
Shoulders slumped, Connor made his way up the stairs. Two weeks had passed since Alexandra had overheard him and William in the parlor. Since then the house had taken on the atmosphere of a tomb.
A mausoleum that echoed with silence, the air chilly despite the warm autumn weather.
Where once meals had been the three of them gathered around the table, sharing information, enjoying each other's company, now Connor avoided the table. Alexandra had not come downstairs for any of her meals. Suzanne sat stonily silent across from her brother when he did eat in the dining room. At first, she had questioned him about Alexandra's withdrawal, but now, like the fickle woman she was becoming, Suzanne had abandoned him and sided with Alexandra.
Alexandra must have told her what had transpired that morning, because Suzanne now called him a stupid male brute. It pained him deeply that Suzanne would take Alexandra's side. Yes, he'd been wrong, but she was his sister and no one had ever come between them before. But at seventeen, she was more woman than child, and it was obvious she was turning into an unpredictable creature just like the rest of her sex.
He strode into the sitting area that joined Alexandra's bedroom with his, and he wondered if she ever came out of her room anymore.
Two weeks were past time for someone to sulk, regardless of the fact that she had obviously been wronged. He had admitted his actions were inappropriate. What else was he supposed to do?
God, he missed her smile, her laugh, her quiet, gentle ways. He wanted the happy family atmosphere she had created in his home restored. He wanted her back in his arms. The situation was his own doing, but hadn't he suffered enough?
He'd given Alexandra plenty of brooding time while his own life had been utter hell.
Handpicked flowers sent to her room every day had been quietly set in different rooms, until the house looked as if someone had died. Suzanne had returned the jewelry he'd sent to Alexandra's room with a disgusted snort. Boxes of candy were given to the servants, who avoided Connor.
The charm he had depended on most of his life was failing when he needed it more than ever. The war had to end. Peace had to be declared, and he was willing to surrender, if only Alexandra would come out of her room and be a part of his life once again.
How much worse would it be if she found out about the arrangement he'd made with her father? If she reacted this strongly about a bet, what would her response be to the knowledge that he had married her for her father's money?
God, he must make sure the truth about their marriage remained hidden away forever. Because forever would not come quickly enough if she learned he was being paid to get her with child.
Connor stood outside her room, his hand poised to knock, feeling like a fool. Regret had been his only companion of late. He missed his wife's cheery laugh and teasing nature. He missed their verbal
sparing
. He missed Alexandra and wanted her back now.
He banged his fist on her door. "Alexandra, I'd like to talk to you."
"Go away."
"No. We must talk."
"We have nothing to say to one another."
He turned the knob and the door opened. She sat at the
cherrywood
desk that she had moved into her room. Glaring at him, she shuffled papers.
"I didn't give you leave to enter."
"I didn't ask."
She stood and moved toward him. "Go. I have no wish to talk to you."
"I'll leave as soon as you hear me out."
Her brows
raised
up haughtily. "Why should I listen?"
"Because I want to apologize," he
said,
his voice low.
He paused for dramatic effect and waited to see a softening of her expression. There was none. God, she was a stubborn woman. "I want to ask for your forgiveness."
Before Alexandra came into his life, he had never apologized to a woman. Now, he didn't think a week went by when he didn't say he was sorry for something. But he didn't care. He wanted his wife back and he'd do whatever it took to receive her absolution.
Lifting her head, she glanced at him, her eyes distant and cold. "Forgiveness is easy to give. Forgetting is much harder. And somehow, the one always seems to override the other."
"All I'm asking for is forgiveness. I don't expect you to forget what I've done. But I want you to remember our night
together,
how we both enjoyed the pleasure our bodies gave one another."
Connor watched as her chest rose, her lungs expanding as she sucked in air, her eyes widening. Somehow he got the feeling he'd said the wrong thing.
"You're absolutely right," she said. "Our bodies did give each other pleasure, pleasure you have spent years learning how to give women only to eventually toss them aside, regardless of their emotions."
She clenched her fists together. "I am not some whore that you can enjoy yourself with and then discard. I will not be used that way by you or any other man."
"I would never use you like a whore. You're different from any woman I've ever met. You've completely unraveled my life." He took a deep breath to ease the tension that gripped him as he tried to tell her of his feelings, confused as they were. "I never meant for you to be hurt by this damn bet that has turned my entire household against me."
She looked at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"
"I came here today wanting forgiveness, wanting there to be peace between the two of us.
Wanting to end this hostility that seems to be pervading my home.
The servants are barely civil to me. My own sister is angry with me. I want some peace in my household."
She walked to the window and gazed out at the countryside. "Peace you can have, forgiveness you will have to earn, but forgetting will take a lifetime." She whirled to face him. "I don't care how much our bodies enjoyed one another."
"You wanted me just as badly as I wanted you." His words were spoken softly from his heart, yet as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he should never have spoken them.
It was as if he'd touched every nerve as she bristled, her eyes glaring at him. "That was before I found out how much of a rake you really are. That was before I knew how despicable you could be. That was when I thought there was chance you could be a decent husband."
Connor sighed. He felt more discouraged than ever before. "I'm leaving.
Though we're not finished with this.
I never meant to hurt you. I never thought I'd marry you. But I did, and now I think we could be happy together."
She drew herself erect, her shoulders pulled back and her chest flared with indignation. "Let's make a bet. I bet five hundred dollars that you'll seek out another woman before you find your way into my bed again."
Connor closed the distance between them and grabbed her arms. She was using
his own
words against him and it hurt. It hurt like hell, and made him feel even worse for what he'd done.
Her eyes widened with fright. But the feel of her flesh beneath his hands, the smell of lilacs took the edge off his blind burst of temper.
"Damn you, Alexandra." Connor ground out between clenched teeth. "Damn you for making me want you like no other woman before you. Damn you and your stubborn pride."
Alexandra sat across from Connor at the breakfast table, distant and aloof. She had returned to eating with the family, had gone back to her etiquette lessons with Suzanne. Though she was still terribly hurt and angry with Connor, life went on. She had promised to teach Suzanne to be a lady and she truly wanted to help the young woman. Maybe, if someone like herself had been around when she was Suzanne's age, her own life would have been different. She would not have trusted her father in the matter of marriage and would have listened to her own instincts concerning Gordon.
But Alexandra's life stretched before her, a lonely, barren existence, while Suzanne was young and still had opportunities awaiting her. Alexandra was there to help launch Suzanne into society, to teach the girl to depend on herself, and no one else. Once that job was done and Alexandra had received her first royalty payment, she would be free to leave Connor.
"The paper says the
Rutherfords
are sponsoring the opera this year along with the
McGuilfords
of New York," Connor said, his voice muffled by the newspaper he held in front of his face.
"How lovely," Alexandra said, her voice polite, yet distant.
There was nothing but silence. Alexandra watched as Connor turned the newspaper page. She caught a glimpse of his face. A crease marred his forehead. He seemed completely absorbed by whatever he was reading.
"What a strange article," Connor murmured as he laid down his paper, a troubled expression on his face.
"What?" Suzanne asked curiously.
"A story about a new book that's just come out.
The stores cannot keep it in stock. It's a fictional account of two banking families in New York City, joined together by the marriage of their children."
Connor's voice trailed off as he turned in his seat. Alexandra looked up from her eggs and found his eyes questioning.
"What's the name of the book?" Suzanne asked innocently.
Alexandra knew before he said the words aloud.
"
Hester's Revenge
."
"What an odd name," Alexandra replied. She was trying to appear calm, but inside she trembled with excitement. Her book! Her book was written up in the paper. It was all she could do to keep from snatching the paper from Connor's hands.
"The editor told the newspaper the name comes from the novel
The Scarlet Letter
. Hester was the main character in that book."
"Who would have written such a book?" Suzanne asked.
Connor gazed at Alexandra. "Someone named John Smith."
"Never heard of the man," Alexandra replied as she felt her body growing stiffer with nerves by the moment.
"The editor admitted that the name was fictional, that the author wishes to remain anonymous. Yet they confessed the story has striking similarities to two of New York's finest families."
Why had George informed the press that the author's name was fictional?
"Who?"
Suzanne asked.
Alexandra felt her eggs swell in her throat. She should have told Connor about
Hester's Revenge
. She raised her eyes to glance at him. His gaze was fixed on her.
"The
Thurstons
and the
Halsteds
."
Alexandra
swallowed,
her throat tight. God help her. Was Connor's anger as fierce as Gordon's? She had kept secret that she was the author. Would Connor realize she had written this book?
Suzanne's mouth dropped open. "But that's Alexandra's family."
Alexandra watched the myriad of emotions that crossed Connor's face. "Yes, it is," he said.
"Excuse me." Alexandra slid her chair away from the table, the wooden legs scraping on the hardwood floor in her eagerness to escape. She couldn't sit there any longer and pretend she knew nothing. She couldn't tell her husband she'd written a
tellall
novel about her
exhusband
.
***
As soon as Connor left, Alexandra snuck downstairs, grabbed the paper, and hurried to her room. She sat quietly reading the article, feeling a sense of accomplishment, elation, and fright. How would Gordon and her father react when they realized she could be the only one who had written this book? How would Connor respond?
Shortly after noon, Leona knocked on her door.
"Mrs. Manning, your Aunt Clara is here to see you."
Alexandra loved Aunt Clara dearly and had expected her since breakfast. She didn't know how her aunt would receive the news that she had written
Hester's Revenge
.
"I'll be right down," Alexandra called through the door.
She put away the pages she had written this morning.
Hurrying downstairs, she went into the morning room that looked out over the garden. It was her favorite room in the house, not as stuffy as the parlor. Sunlight poured through the large windows, bathing the room in bright morning sunshine. A breeze lifted the white gauzy curtains, the wind tinkling an angel wind chime, the music soothing and dreamy.
Aunt Clara stood when she entered the room.
"Hello, dear.
You're looking lovely, as always."
She kissed Aunt Clara on the cheek and together they sat on the settee. "Thanks, Aunt Clara. How's Uncle Sydney?"