The Sinner's Marriage Redemption. Annie West
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and a lavish reception. I can see you in white, with a long train and—’
‘No!’ She tensed, a flake of arctic frost drifting down her spine, chilling her.
‘Ava? What is it?’
She shook her head, trying to clear the shreds of dismay. ‘No big wedding. No white dress.’
‘But you’d look lovely.’
Flynn’s voice was warm as syrup but it failed to dispel the cold creeping into her bones.
‘No.’ She met his questioning stare. ‘Not white.’
Memory flashed an image of the long white evening gown she’d worn for that last winter ball at Frayne Hall. When she’d opened the couturier’s box she’d thought it pretty, almost virginal. But it had clung like a glove, displaying her to hungry eyes. As it had been designed to do, she’d discovered later.
She shuddered.
‘Not white, then.’
Flynn looked puzzled, but Ava wasn’t about to enlighten him. She’d rather shove the past back where it belonged—in the past—and get on with her life.
‘If I marry...’ She paused, making sure he heard her conditions. ‘I don’t want lots of bridesmaids or fuss. No big wedding.’
‘Surely you’ll want all your friends and family to celebrate with you?’
Ava shook her head. She had a couple of good friends. She’d learned years ago to discern between those few genuinely interested in her and those attracted by her family’s status and money. When the money bled away so did they. As for family, there was only Rupert and he was in America. Her parents were dead.
‘No. If I marry I’d rather elope. Just a quiet, simple wedding.’
‘There was I, thinking you’d revel in lace and roses. I thought you a romantic.’ His tone was light but his expression was serious, as if he’d read her tension.
She shrugged. ‘I love lace and roses. I just don’t like a public fuss over something private.’
‘So you’ll marry me?’ He tilted up her face.
Black velvet eyes caressed her and Ava’s body softened. A sigh funnelled up from her lungs and she wanted to lean into him, surrender to passion, trust him totally.
But marriage...
‘I need time to think about it.’
Even as she said it a voice cried inside that she was a fool. She loved Flynn. She wanted him. She had to learn to trust some time, didn’t she?
His smile was endearing, his stroking fingers along her cheek infinitely tender.
‘Then it’s a good thing I’m an expert at persuasion.’
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