Beauty Remastered Ch 02

Dear reader...ah, I'm so embarrassed. I promised myself I'd write this faithfully, but that promise was broken. I'm so sorry if you read the first chapter forever ago. Lots of happenings since then, but that's hardly an excuse.

So, here is chapter 2. Chapter 3 coming as soon as humanly possible, I hope. Let me know what you think, dears. Thank you sooo much! Kisses!

***

Scarlet stayed away from the big house as long as she could. Brushing down her horse, Cupid, took much longer than usual, on account of both her sore body, and she was stalling. Then she showered in the stable, and changed into clothes that didn't smell of horse. If she was lucky, she wouldn't get into too much trouble, although she wasn't even supposed to be out of bed today, let alone away from home.

She had no such luck. Her mother met her at the door as soon as she eased it open. Michelle Lennox was tall, with short copper hair and crystalline blue eyes. Some people couldn't believe Scarlet was her daughter, but when they saw her father, they understood. The man had been shorter than his wife, with a balding head of brunette and cowed brown eyes. The only attribute Scarlet got from her mother was the dark smattering of freckles that spread adorably across her nose and cheeks.

"Where have you been?" Michelle glowered at her daughter.

"I went riding." It was better to just admit the truth. "I had to see Joseph."

"Annabelle..." Her mother was the only one to call her by her first name.

'Annabelle Scarlet Lennox', Scarlet thought, wrinkling her nose as she started up the stairs to her room. 'I hate my name.'

"Where are you going?" Her mother followed her. "I'm lying down, if that's okay with you?" Scarlet pulled her jeans off and climbed under her covers in her panties and t-shirt. "What do you want?"

"Don't be mad at me. This is for your own good."

"Right."

Michelle Lennox paced the room. She wasn't a bad mother—compared to some of the women in her social circle, she was actually very nice. But she had to keep her daughter safe, and now that her father was dead, she was certain that Scarlet's protection needed to be amped up. And she, a sick woman, wouldn't be able to do much. Besides, Scarlet was a good age to be married. Eighteen wasn't too young—she herself had taken the plunge at seventeen.

"Mother—" Scarlet was cut off by the door opening, and several maids came in, lugging suitcases. "What the hell is this?" The women only faltered slightly, casting nervous glances her way. "I'm not leaving for days. I don't need my things packed already." The guilty look on her mom's face made her heart sink. "Before the end of the week?"

"You leave tomorrow."

A scream tore itself from Scarlet's throat before she could stop it. "This isn't fair!"

"I'm doing this for you, daughter." Michelle sat on the edge of the bed cautiously. "You need someone to take care of you. Donovan Alford is a good man—"

"Have you met him?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then you couldn't possibly know that!"

"It was what your father wanted. Believe me, Scarlet, if I had my way, I wouldn't do this, but...your father changed his will. Not long before the accident. If you don't marry Donovan, you and I will be destitute. In the hospital, before he passed, he said it had to happen within the week. Since you were in the hospital, the judge granted a stay, until you were well enough."

She sat up. "Why would he do that?"

Her mother looked away. "I don't know. I am sorry."

"Mom..." Scarlet hugged her. She knew her mom wasn't so bad, she was actually very wonderful, despite her irritating old fashioned-ness. Some of it, Scarlet didn't actually mind, but certain things...they had to go. She supposed that was one of the few things about her impending marriage that was almost beneficial to her. "Fine. Can you go away, for now? I need to think."

"Of course."

Scarlet flopped onto her back, ignoring the maids who were still packing her things. Stupid Father. She'd never really liked him much, anyway. He was too...too skittish. Too scared of something. Paranoid. Always looking over his shoulder as if he thought someone was going to come after him.

And, she supposed, someone probably eventually would. They'd gone from riches to rags, to riches in the space of her short lifetime, everything gained and lost dishonestly. When she was six, he'd come home and told them to pack up, and not an hour later, they were gone, never to return. Apparently, he'd lost everything they owned, and there were men coming for him. Over the years, she'd learned not to get too comfortable anywhere, because every few months, it'd be the same thing.

When she was thirteen, he came home again, and told them to pack. She'd been terrified, but he brought them to a brand new home, a huge mansion. It took her three years to get comfortable enough to stop living out of her suitcase. He never told them what he did to get it all back, but from then on, they were grounded, stuck in one place.

Still, she never forgave him for that first hurried move away from her life.

"Miss Scarlet," One of the maids approached the bed cautiously, and she sat up slowly, biting back a moan. "This came for you..."

Scarlet took the envelope curiously. Her name and address graced the front, but there was no sender listed. A folded paper fell into her lap as she pulled it open. On top was a small typed note. Miss Annabelle Lennox,

The following are a list of rules you are expected to follow while living at Alford Manor.

Any disobedience will result in thorough punishment as I see fit. I expect you promptly at eight o'clock, tomorrow evening.

Donovan Alford

Scarlet's eyes widened. 'Rules? He's giving me rules to be his wife? Who the fuck does he think he is?'

The list wasn't long, but it was still enough to make her mad.

1: No automobiles.

2: No music, unless self-generated.

3: No electric or technological items.

4: You must wear a dress at all times; no 'jeans' or trousers.

5: Cell phones are strictly prohibited.

6: There are few servants, so you shall be self-sufficient and clean up after yourself.

7: Stay in your quarters, or rooms I shall designate for you. There is to be no wandering about.

8: You shall obey me.

9: Do not bother me; any contact between us, I shall decide and request.

10: No visitors.

She didn't mind a few of them. Several, though, grated on her nerves. Most of the technology she could do without. She wasn't a pampered princess, so she could take care of herself. The commands, though...those she knew she'd have trouble with

She never wore dresses, if she could help it. She wasn't rebellious, but being told to obey a man she'd never met wasn't something she could even consider doing. The thought of being at his beck and call was almost enough to cry. And no visitors? That would be broken time and time again, even if it was just Joey or Danny.

Frustrated, she balled up the paper and threw it into the unlit fireplace. Fuck him!

***

Donovan Alford paced the entry hall of his large, cold home. They were so close to being late. Tardiness was not something he'd stand for, and every passing second just drove his irritation higher.

Actually, it wasn't just the close call that was grating on his nerves. He had been irritated nonstop since his father's lawyer came to him, not one week ago, and informed him of his impending nuptials. He'd been shocked, even more so he found out who it was. Annabelle Lennox. He'd seen her, once. It was years ago, but he still remembered it, remembered her face. She had been only fourteen or fifteen, and he had been nearly twenty, but he still thought she was the cutest little thing he'd ever seen. She was out with her mother, a tall, willowy woman. The stores they had gone into were expensive, and as their paths crossed several times that day, he noticed she looked nervous every time they'd entered one, and she had less than half the bags her mother had. She looked terrified when a short man who looked so much like her that he could only be her father joined them.

He also remembered, only once did she smile, and that was when a little boy bumped into her, spilling his chocolate ice cream down her simple blue jeans. She'd laughed, and he couldn't help chuckling silently with her, from a distance, when she took the sad little boy's hand and bought him a brand new cone. After she rejoined her parents, that scared look took over again.

After that, he'd learned everything he could about that strange little girl. Years ago, her family had been well off, but somehow they managed to lose everything, and dropped off the face of the earth. Then, a year or so before he'd seen her, they were back, with fresh money and a new home. Her mother had once been one of the most famous, well-known supermodels to grace the newsstands since Twiggy Lawson, but she gave it up to raise her daughter, like a dutiful mother.

Her father, from what he could gather, was their downfall and uprising, the one who lost it all and gained it back. Donovan knew it hadn't been through honest means.

Annabelle, on the other hand, remained a mystery. She'd been too young to cause much of a stir before their disappearance, and when she came back, she didn't seem willing to be the socialite that was expected of her. There was nothing he could learn about the little woman who'd somehow bewitched him without even knowing it. After his accident, though, he hadn't seen the point in keeping tabs on her, and his mild obsession waned.

At least, until his lawyer reminded him.

He was stirred from his increasingly morose thoughts by the sound of wheels and horses outside his door. He pulled it open, and was greeted by quiet muttering and bangs as his future wife and her maids collected her baggage. Abner, his butler, slid by him cautiously and helped the women gather Annabelle's belongings. Behind him, the grandfather clock struck eight.

Just in time.

Knowing he would just be in the way, Donovan retreated to his study, where he knew Abner would bring Annabelle after she was settled. He was suddenly nervous as he paced in front of the lit fireplace. He didn't want to marry her in the first place, but there was something in him, the last shred of his former obsessed self, that hoped she liked him, at least a little bit.

He tamped those thoughts down immediately. It didn't matter. He didn't know her, and what they were doing was only out of necessity, which he thought was a stupid reason anyway. He didn't want to be married out of necessity -- he didn't want to be married at all. But what choice did he have? Donovan made up his mind to contact his lawyer first thing in the morning, to make absolutely certain there was no way to get out of this. He'd already asked at least twice a day since discovering his impending nuptials, but the answer never changed. Still, he could always hope.

"Sir?" Abner's voice startled him much sooner than he'd expected and he froze with his back to the door. "Miss Lennox."

He heard someone enter the room, but didn't turn around. The door closed, and the room was silent. For a moment, he wondered if she'd even come in, but a soft sound, like a sniffle, alerted him to her presence. Still, he didn't say anything and didn't turn to her. She seemed to be waiting for him, but he couldn't move. That piece of the old him had almost leaped for joy when she came in the room, and he was still struggling to shove it back where it belonged, at the very back part of his being.

Finally, after almost several minutes, he turned. His back was to the fire, and he knew that otherwise the room was dark, so she wouldn't be able to see him very well. He wanted it that way. "Annabelle..."

"Mr. Alford," Came a quiet, prim voice. So this was what she sounded like? It fit the little girl he remembered: soft, shy.

"Welcome to Alford Manor. I hope your trip was...comfortable." God, what was he saying?

"It was."

"Did you get my letter?"

"Yes." There was a definite edge in her voice.

"Was there a problem with it?"

"Yes. You can't simply expect me to follow those 'rules'."

"Why not?"

"They're barbaric. We don't live in the dark ages, and I will not be at your beck and call."

He stepped forward. "You are going to be my wife, are you not? And as such, you are required to follow my instructions."

"Not if I can help it!" Her voice came closer, dripping with venom. "I don't want to marry you. This is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not submit to it."

"I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, Annabelle." He detected a faint hiss when he said her name. "We will be married tomorrow evening."

"No..." the fire left her voice. "So soon?"

Donovan didn't know why he was fighting with her about this. She obviously wanted this about as much as he did, which was not at all. Even with old Donovan cheering for the wedding and their joining, he knew this was stupid. Arranged marriages were, as she put it, barbaric. But she was going to be his wife, whether she liked it or not. Steeling himself, he glared down at her. "Yes. The minister will be here at six, and Abner will stand for us as a witness. There is a gown in your room that you will wear."

"No wedding?" Now, there was a hint of...sadness?

"No. I saw no reason for one, as I am marrying you simply out of duty." He backed up a step, realizing suddenly how close they were. "Now, I will let you go finish unpacking. I will send Abner up when it is time for supper."

"Wait." She settled her hand on his arm carefully. He startled, making her pull back. "I would at least like to see who I'm marrying." Donovan hesitated, but Scarlet tugged him gently. "Come into the light."

Donovan reluctantly allowed her to turn him. Her hands dropped from his arm almost immediately, a small, almost imperceptible gasp catching in her throat, and he stepped back. A bitter smile curved his lips.

"It wasn't about that." Scarlet protested truthfully. In fact, she hadn't even noticed his eyes until he pulled away. What had made her gasp, instead, was...him. She'd never really been interested in men; but if she'd had a type, he would be it.

Curly chestnut hair brushed past his shoulders, falling in silky waves, one strand just brushing round pink lips. A mildly heavy five o'clock shadow darkened his strong but delicately lined jaw, making his almost androgynous face more masculine. He was broad shouldered, but slender, and so tall, over a foot taller than her. When she looked up at him, he just about took her breath away.

And then there were his eyes. Large and dark, surrounded by long lashes. But they were unfocused and when he closed his eyes, she could see his eyelids crisscrossed by thin scars.

"Oh, wasn't it?" Donovan's voice was bitter when turned away again.

"No. You—you're—" Gorgeous!

"Blind."

"No—yes. Well, you are that, but—" Since when had she ever stammered around men?

"I'll take you to your room." Donovan walked away abruptly, and she ran to follow. He led her upstairs and down a long, dark hallway.

In the dim light, his white shirt was the only thing Scarlet could really see. There were old-fashioned torches placed at intervals, but the spaces between were pitch black. She hurried along behind him, almost afraid of being left alone in the dark.

Donovan turned so suddenly, she almost ran into him. "I thought I said no jeans?"

Scarlet looked down at her lower half. How did he know? He couldn't see her. "I --"

"I think you will find, Annabelle, that my hearing is better than most. And disobedience is not something I will tolerate." He took her arm and pulled her along, his grip punishing. "This once, because it is your first offence, I will let it go."

They entered a room. Vaguely, as she tripped along, Scarlet wondered how he knew it was hers. To her, every darkened doorway in that long hall seemed the same. But it *was* the cold, cheerless bedroom she'd been shown to by the butler.

"But," Donovan continued, leading her to the bed where her suitcases were piled. "If I must remind you of the rules again, you will be punished. I assume you don't have them with you."

"I burned them." She said daringly, tugging ineffectively to escape his grip.

"Stop fighting me." His voice didn't change a bit, but she halted her struggling immediately. There was something about his soft tone that seemed a warning. "Now, I want all of your jeans, pants, trousers and such."

She stared at him for a moment. "No. I will wear whatever the fuck I want. I'm going to be your wife, Donovan, not your slave." His face darkened, causing her heart to leap, but she swallowed the fear and raised her chin defiantly. "Let me tell you something. I don't want to marry you, but I have to out of duty. But that doesn't mean I will submit in any way. So fuck off and get the hell out of my bedroom."

"Annabelle..." He was quiet still. "Do not test me."

She jerked away suddenly. Her arm felt bruised from his grip, but she squared her shoulders. "I said get out."

"So be it." He sat down on the bed and tugged her over his lap too quickly for her to fight. His large hand came down against her jean clad bottom sharply and she yelped, more from surprise than pain. "I'm going to go easy on you, Annabelle. Just this once. Test me again, and you'll receive double. Now, count them off." He swatted her again, but she made no reply. He gripped her chin and tugged her to face him. "I said: Count. Them. Off." This time, the strike elicited a soft gasp of pain.

"One." Scarlet whispered, staring at him still. He nodded and swung again. "Two. Three..." She counted twenty spanks, each one harder than the last, and by the time he released her, her backside was stinging. Anger scorched through her veins. She hadn't been spanked since she was a little girl, and this man, her 'fiancée' had no right at all to do it to her now.

Donovan stood up. "Now, your pants."

Finally, she opened her suitcases and began pulling them out. She threw them at his head, and he somehow managed to catch most of them. That just made her angrier. Hitting him would've made her feel just a little bit better, like she had more control in this.

"And those." He nodded his head at her. She shoved the jeans she was wearing down over slender hips and pushed them into his full arms. "Thank you."

Scarlet followed him to the door, prepared to slam and lock it after he left. "Good night."

He acted like he hadn't heard her. "I will be expecting you for dinner in half an hour."

"I'm not hungry." She closed the door and reached to lock it. A groan escaped her throat; there was no lock. So there was no way she could keep him out. Leaning against the door, she turned to study the room. A big old desk was a few feet away. She could use that as a barricade, she reasoned. It could probably keep out even the most fervent invader.

The desk was even heavier than she'd expected, though that was a double-edged sword. She shoved and pulled it in front of the door, gritting her teeth at the strain. That done, she stepped back to observe her handiwork. If he wanted to come in, it would be by her leave.

Scarlet went back to her suitcases and pulled on a robe. Her room was frigid, especially without her pants. Thankfully, there was a fireplace, already stocked and ready to be lit. She searched the room for matches and lit the wood with a relieved sigh. There was a large pile of extra firewood nearby, but she would have to replenish it tomorrow.

While her room slowly warmed, she continued unpacking. Without her pants, her entire wardrobe seemed to have shrunk by half. She hadn't had time or the patience to go shopping for dresses or skirts earlier. And she really hadn't wanted to. Now, it looked like she'd have to, if she expected to exit her room at all. There were a total of three dresses in her suitcases, and about half a dozen skirts. They were all too formal for everyday use, though. No matter. She would make do with what she had until she got the chance -- or freedom -- to go shopping.