Authors: Sylvia McDaniel
When they completed their coupling, the woman got dressed and left. But Gordy was not satisfied. He then turned his attentions to me, and since I had defied him earlier, he deemed it necessary to punish me for my lack of enthusiasm. While I was still tied to the chair, he
forced ...
The blood drained from Connor's face, his body rooted to the spot. She had not gone into such intimate details in
Hester's Revenge
, but had merely intimated such things.
The details made his blood pound with murderous rage at Gordon.
Revulsion swept through him at the thought of his wife having to endure such atrocities. What other things were written in this book? He thumbed through the chapters, reading bits and pieces, disgust numbing him at the perversity of Gordon Thurston and the ordeal his wife had suffered at the other man's hands.
A door slammed somewhere in the house, and he dropped the page guiltily back onto the desk.
Betsy, the maid, came into the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"I'm
sorry,
Mrs. Manning does not wish to see you today."
The exhilaration that had propelled Connor along suddenly seemed to deflate. "Is she ill?" Connor asked.
"No, sir."
He glanced around the room, trying to think of a way to force the issue, while the maid simply stared at the floor. Damn!
Finally, he sighed and grabbed his hat. "Thank you, Betsy. I'll see myself to the door."
"Good day, sir," the young girl said. She turned and left him in the room alone.
Connor started to leave. The book caught his attention again. But... this was her story and it was none of his business. When he got to the door, he turned around and glanced back at the beckoning pages.
He knew it was wrong. He'd done so much to her already, but the compulsion to read the manuscript gripped him. He had to know what else she had endured.
He strode back across the room, picked up
The Banker's Perfidy
, stuck it under his arm, and left.
Connor closed the manuscript. It was two in the morning, but he sat staring at the gold lace curtains that floated with the breeze from his open window. He was numb with shock and filled with rage at the things he had read in
The Banker's Perfidy
. Gordon had delighted in showing Alexandra just how depraved he could be. She had witnessed things Connor could not even imagine, and then been betrayed by her husband to a life no woman should have to endure.
Alexandra had lost everything—social position, reputation, money—and been disgraced when Gordon had simply tossed her aside and remarried. She had lost everything that was important to a woman in today's society.
But worst of all, Connor now realized how much he had hurt his wife with his own betrayal. Like the other men in her life, he had selfishly used her to his advantage. By agreeing to the deal with her father, he had violated her trust like Gordon and her father for his own thoughtless gain.
Alexandra had every right to hate him, and that pained him.
Connor squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want her to despise him. He wanted her by his side. But how could he ever undo the damage he had wreaked upon them with his foolish bargains?
Had he ever considered Alexandra's feelings even once while he'd made the bet with William or helped arrange her life to suit her father's whims?
No.
Her accusation that he would sell their child had hurt. She thought him a cruel, sadistic monster if she believed he could do such a dastardly deed. Then again, what other examples did she have by which to judge men's behavior?
He would never have agreed to forfeit their child to her father. The notion had never even entered his mind.
But now, after reading her book, and seeing his own actions through her eyes, could he blame her for leaving him and raising their child alone?
She had no notion that he loved his life with her. No notion how she had made him a better man with her quiet dignity and passionate but determined ways. The man who had made the bet to get her into bed no longer existed. The cad who had thoughtlessly agreed to her father's proposal had received more than he ever bargained for and been forever changed for the better.
He loved Alexandra, had probably loved her for months, but had been unable to face the realities of his feelings. How could such a tiny word leave him feeling so completely helpless and needy? For he was just beginning to realize he needed the love of his wife the way he needed food and water, the way the soil needed sun and rain.
Without Alexandra's love, River Bend would be a dark, meaningless place. A place he wouldn't care to own. Life would be insignificant if all he had was the land.
Connor went to the window, glancing out at the dark shadows of the night. Like the inky blackness from outside, loneliness welled up inside him, threatening to overflow. He closed his eyes, fighting despair. Gladly, he would hand over all of River Bend to the county if only Alexandra would fill this void. Fill this emptiness with her love. Fill the hollow left barren by her departure.
Yes, he would be the Manning who lost the family home, who was forced to leave and start anew. And in the end, he had no one to blame but himself. Somehow it was fitting punishment for his misdeeds.
He had to go to Summerwood, see his wife, and return
The Banker's Perfidy
to her. True, he had been wrong to take her manuscript, but reading her deepest, darkest secrets had made him realize how much he had hurt Alexandra, and how much he didn't deserve her.
Even if she never returned as his wife, he had to explain his actions, make her understand how very sorry he was.
***
Alexandra held the letter from her publisher in her hand. Someone had to have brought it from town.
Connor?
He had been conspicuously absent these last three days, and then mysteriously the envelope had appeared with her breakfast tray this morning.
She opened the envelope and a bank draft fell from the envelope onto the floor. The advance funds for
The Banker's Perfidy
. Her heart sped up as she realized that with the acceptance of this money, her publisher would be expecting the manuscript.
This money was one more step toward independence from her father and husband. With the acceptance of this draft, she could support herself and her coming child. The manuscript had been completed and ready for more than a week, but something had held her back from sending it to New York.
Some inner voice had whispered, "Not just yet." What she was waiting for, she didn't know.
While she was writing this book, the idea of exposing the whole truth about Gordon had begun to leave a distinctly sour taste in her mouth. This story had not given her the satisfaction that penning
Hester's Revenge
had.
The Banker's Perfidy
was beginning to leave her with a feeling of revulsion, causing her to doubt her willingness to let the world know of the humiliation she had suffered at Gordon's hands. Certainly, the scandalous revelations would linger in people's minds and loiter on their tongues.
With these disclosures, not only she, but everyone she loved, would be the topic of many a parlor room chat. The thought of causing Suzanne, Connor, and even Aunt Clara pain left her feeling nauseous. Society would latch onto this book, and her name, as well as Gordon's, would be bandied about for years to come. Everyone would know the most intimate details of her life.
Even her child would be tainted by the knowledge written in this volume. That bothered her as much as hurting the others. Could she purposely harm the people she loved for her own satisfaction? Just to get her vengeance? When would she feel that she had hurt Gordon enough?
What had happened to that fire of revenge that had burned so brightly in her chest? Right now, there wasn't even an ember of a coal she could ignite and bring to light against Gordon.
Had she forgiven him for what he had done to her, or had it simply ceased to matter?
Though this second book revealed Gordon for the man he was, it was meant to convince the world of his deceit and her own innocence. Lately, she couldn't help wonder if anything she wrote would persuade society of her lack of sin. And part of her couldn't help but wonder if it really mattered anymore.
After all, the people who loved her—who really knew her—realized she was guiltless of Gordon's accusations.
She glanced down at the bank draft and a distasteful sensation filled her. No, the money was not worth the humiliation and pain the people she loved would experience as a result of this book. Her family was much more important than punishing a man who would never change.
Even Connor.
How could she humiliate him with the knowledge in this volume? No matter how insensitive he could be, she was not interested in hurting him. She couldn't convince her wayward heart to hate him, regardless of what he'd done.
The manuscript lay downstairs in the parlor. She would destroy the venomous work as soon as possible and return the advance money. Her child deserved a chance in this world, and though her son or daughter would not live as a pampered darling of society, the meager inheritance she had received from her Aunt Matilda would have to sustain them.
Somehow she would survive. Somehow she would survive the loss of her relationship with Connor.
Though their time together had been rocky, there had been moments of sheer happiness, times when she had realized this was the way life was supposed to be.
Though he had told her some lies, his innate goodness had allowed their marriage to be the best relationship of her life. Connor had attended to the things that were important to her. It was ironic that he had been with her as a husband and lover while betraying her more powerfully than anyone else.
She sighed. She couldn't live with him, but she didn't want to live without him. Nor was she ready to forgive him either. So, how could she still love him after everything he'd done?
***
Connor rode into the yard of Summerwood and pulled his black stallion to a halt in front of the house. Throwing his leg over the saddle, he dismounted, anxious butterflies filling his stomach. He tucked the manuscript under his arm.
The auction of River Bend was only two days away, and he felt the need to get his life in order, to somehow apologize for what he'd done.
To clear his slate once and for all of the negatives.
Yet after their last meeting, he was nervous about stepping into the
LaRoux
parlor. The bruises of that encounter were just beginning to fade. It wasn't the physical bruises he feared, but that she would reject his sincere attempt at an apology.
He entered the side gate of the terrace, hoping to find a rose to take to his wife, when the sight of her sitting on a chair on the patio nearly took his breath away.
She wore a morning gown of light blue gingham. The color reminded him of a clear morning sky. How he'd missed her the last few weeks.
Missed her sunny smile, gentle touch, and quiet sense of humor.
He didn't deserve her. But how was he going to live without her?
"Hello," he said nervously, stepping out onto the cobblestone patio. A parasol shielded her delicate skin from the late morning sun as she held a book in one hand.
Startled, she glanced up.
"Good morning," she said faintly, her voice reserved, as she lowered the tome to her lap, her eyes wide in surprise.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
She gazed at him, her eyes the color of a
frosttinged
blade of grass. "I'm fine."
Connor noted the way the sun's warm rays burnished her hair with a
goldenred
light. "Have you been resting?"
Alexandra returned her attention to the book in her lap. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she replied, "Yes."
"How is your aunt?"
Flipping through the pages, she quietly replied, "Well, considering her loss."
She appeared to be trying her best to pretend he wasn't there, and the conversation was going nowhere. This was not working out as he'd planned.
"I guess you're wondering why I came by today," he said as he paced the patio.
"No," she said without a glance in his direction. Her lips moved silently as if she were reading.
Stopping in front of her, he cleared his throat nervously. "I owe you an apology." The next words stuck in his throat. "I took
The Banker's Perfidy
with me the other day when I came to see you. I read it."
With a gasp, the book she had been reading slid from her lap. "You took my manuscript and read it?"
Alexandra jumped to her feet, snapping her parasol closed. Slipping behind the chair, she faced him, consternation on her face.
"Yes." He paused and glanced down before meeting her gaze once more. "I know everything."