chest. "I won't do it."
"You will, sweet lady. You'll right the wrongs done to Mara, or I'll hunt you down like a fox in a meadow and see that you never enjoy a moment of peace again." His hand brushed down her hair, belying the harshness of his words.
She spent her remaining tears and finally looked up at him, her eyes accusatory. He met her glare and lowered his gaze, a spark flaring in his eyes when he found what he'd been searching for. Her mind filling with dread, she looked down and saw what had captured his attention. Mara's chaste pink robe had proved otherwise. In her struggles it had parted, revealing not only a lush portion of one breast but the rose-colored edge of one nipple. "You promised an annulment. An annulment, " she whispered harshly, betrayal written upon her every feature.
A small pulse throbbed at his temple. His jaw clenched, outlining every strong muscle. At that moment she seemed to be asking something that he wanted to refuse. But slowly, regretfully, reason seemed to take hold of him again. He nodded, his arms fell away from her, and she stumbled back, clutching at her bodice.
"I'll keep you informed of the wedding plans. I'll send word to Washington Square." His gaze again flickered to her chest where the valley between her breasts was lush and deep. He continued. "Your uncle's behavior last night is knowledge only you and I possess. Therefore, you'll return to your home this evening unsullied by past events. Since this is to both our advantages, I suggest you behave for the rest of the week in your usual lady-like manner. Saturday we'll wed, and then you may embark upon your new career as my wife."
"I'll find a way out of this, Mr. Sheridan. I swear I will spend the entire week scheming to be free of you."
He walked to a green bonheur dujour and took a newspaper off a tray that had been brought while she slept. He handed it to her, letting her read the New York Chronicle's shocking evening headlines:
WEDDING OF THE CENTURY!!!
THE MRS. ASTOR SWOONS IN NEWPORT!
KNICKERBOCKER TO WED FENIAN SATURDAY!
Seeing her shocked face, Sheridan smiled. "Try" was all he said.
The next day, a pale and drawn Alana received callers in her parlor. They came in droves after reading the headlines announcing the upcoming nuptials. Alana expected them. After the announcement of her marriage in the Chronicle, her only surprise was that her "friends" had waited long enough for breakfast to be over before showing up at her door.
Didier was not among them. He had yet to show his face at Washington Square, and Alana had heard from the servants that he'd been forced to lower his living standards from the Fifth Avenue Hotel and move to lesser quarters. Yet Didier's whereabouts interested her little. There were far too many other worries, the first the incessant flow of gossipy well-wishers who rushed to leave their calling cards. If Sheridan thought she might try to flee, his fears could be put to rest; she'd never get through the line of carriages that had formed in front of her house.
Ostensibly, her visitors were arriving to pay their respects to the bride-to-be. Yet in the fifteen minutes allotted for a formal call, they tried tactfully to pry all sorts of information out of her about her hasty engagement to the Irish financier. One matron was even so bold as to ask if her corset had changed sizes recently.
Feeling as if she were fighting a war, Alana dodged their questions and innuendos as if they were bullets. She didn't confide in any of them since she didn't trust them, so she spent all of Wednesday in the parlor fending them off, her only weapons wit and evasion. But on Thursday morning, when the Astor carriage stopped at number 38, Alana almost admitted defeat. All night she'd tossed and turned trying to think of a way out of the financial catacombs in which the Irishman had put her. She was exhausted and running out of ideas, and she was now going to have to defend her situation to the very woman
"You will, sweet lady. You'll right the wrongs done to Mara, or I'll hunt you down like a fox in a meadow and see that you never enjoy a moment of peace again." His hand brushed down her hair, belying the harshness of his words.
She spent her remaining tears and finally looked up at him, her eyes accusatory. He met her glare and lowered his gaze, a spark flaring in his eyes when he found what he'd been searching for. Her mind filling with dread, she looked down and saw what had captured his attention. Mara's chaste pink robe had proved otherwise. In her struggles it had parted, revealing not only a lush portion of one breast but the rose-colored edge of one nipple. "You promised an annulment. An annulment, " she whispered harshly, betrayal written upon her every feature.
A small pulse throbbed at his temple. His jaw clenched, outlining every strong muscle. At that moment she seemed to be asking something that he wanted to refuse. But slowly, regretfully, reason seemed to take hold of him again. He nodded, his arms fell away from her, and she stumbled back, clutching at her bodice.
"I'll keep you informed of the wedding plans. I'll send word to Washington Square." His gaze again flickered to her chest where the valley between her breasts was lush and deep. He continued. "Your uncle's behavior last night is knowledge only you and I possess. Therefore, you'll return to your home this evening unsullied by past events. Since this is to both our advantages, I suggest you behave for the rest of the week in your usual lady-like manner. Saturday we'll wed, and then you may embark upon your new career as my wife."
"I'll find a way out of this, Mr. Sheridan. I swear I will spend the entire week scheming to be free of you."
He walked to a green bonheur dujour and took a newspaper off a tray that had been brought while she slept. He handed it to her, letting her read the New York Chronicle's shocking evening headlines:
WEDDING OF THE CENTURY!!!
THE MRS. ASTOR SWOONS IN NEWPORT!
KNICKERBOCKER TO WED FENIAN SATURDAY!
Seeing her shocked face, Sheridan smiled. "Try" was all he said.
The next day, a pale and drawn Alana received callers in her parlor. They came in droves after reading the headlines announcing the upcoming nuptials. Alana expected them. After the announcement of her marriage in the Chronicle, her only surprise was that her "friends" had waited long enough for breakfast to be over before showing up at her door.
Didier was not among them. He had yet to show his face at Washington Square, and Alana had heard from the servants that he'd been forced to lower his living standards from the Fifth Avenue Hotel and move to lesser quarters. Yet Didier's whereabouts interested her little. There were far too many other worries, the first the incessant flow of gossipy well-wishers who rushed to leave their calling cards. If Sheridan thought she might try to flee, his fears could be put to rest; she'd never get through the line of carriages that had formed in front of her house.
Ostensibly, her visitors were arriving to pay their respects to the bride-to-be. Yet in the fifteen minutes allotted for a formal call, they tried tactfully to pry all sorts of information out of her about her hasty engagement to the Irish financier. One matron was even so bold as to ask if her corset had changed sizes recently.
Feeling as if she were fighting a war, Alana dodged their questions and innuendos as if they were bullets. She didn't confide in any of them since she didn't trust them, so she spent all of Wednesday in the parlor fending them off, her only weapons wit and evasion. But on Thursday morning, when the Astor carriage stopped at number 38, Alana almost admitted defeat. All night she'd tossed and turned trying to think of a way out of the financial catacombs in which the Irishman had put her. She was exhausted and running out of ideas, and she was now going to have to defend her situation to the very woman
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