Red Roses Mean Love Read online

  Red Roses Mean Love

  Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Yellow for friendship.

  Pink for passion. But…

  Red Roses Mean Love.

  She dreamed of roses…

  Orphaned and abandoned by her fiancé, Hayley Albright is determined to care for her younger siblings even if it means having to give up her own dreams. She doesn't expect to ever find love or get married… until one moonlit night when she saves the life of a mysterious stranger.

  … And he wants only to make her dreams come true…

  Lord Stephen Barrett woke up gazing at the face of an angel. He was alive. And safe, for now, from the killer stalking his every move. Allowing Hayley to believe he is just a tutor of modest means, Stephen stays on for reasons of his own, never anticipating the passions Hayley would stir in his cold, wary heart. Her innocence is pure seduction. Her touch is sweet temptation. And suddenly the man who has everything is willing to risk it all-for a woman who has nothing to give… but all her heart…

  Jacquie D’Alessandro

  Red Roses Mean Love

  © 1999

  Chapter 1

  London Outskirts, 1820

  Someone was following him.

  Dread curled down Stephen's back and settled like a brick in his gut. He reined Pericles to an abrupt halt and scanned the area around him, straining to pick up any sound or movement.

  It was so dark, he could barely discern the outline of the forest surrounding him on both sides of the deserted road. A pine-scented breeze cooled the July air. A chorus of crickets hummed nearby. Nothing seemed amiss.

  But he was in danger.

  He knew it.

  An icy chill of foreboding shivered through his body. Someone was there. Watching him. Waiting for him.

  How the hell did they find me out here? I was certain I slipped out of London unnoticed. His lips twisted. So much for spending a few peaceful days at his private lodge. Stephen's thoughts were halted by the rustle of dry leaves. Whispered voices reached his ears. A flash of white broke the enveloping darkness. The loud report of a pistol cut the air.

  Searing agony tore into his upper arm. He groaned and dug in his heels, making Pericles shoot into the forest. They raced between the trees, their pursuers close behind. In spite of Stephen's best efforts, the thrashing sounds grew ever closer.

  He clenched his teeth against the pain spearing his shoulder and pushed Pericles harder. Damn it, I am not going to die here. Whoever these bastards are, they will not win. They have tried before and failed. They will not succeed tonight.

  Racing through the forest, Stephen thanked God he had refused Justin's offer to accompany him on this trip. Stephen had needed solitude, and his small lodge was private and unstaffed. A rustic haven free of duties, people, and responsibilities. He prayed he would get there. Alive. But if he did not, at least his best friend would not die also.

  "There 'e is! Just ahead!"

  The rough voice came from directly behind him. A slick film of perspiration broke out over Stephen's body. The metallic stench of blood-his blood-filled his nostrils and his stomach turned over. It flowed, warm and sticky, soaking his shirt and jacket. He felt himself growing light-headed and gritted his teeth against the weakness.

  God damn it! I refuse to die like this!

  But even as he made the mental vow, Stephen realized his grave peril. He was miles from help. No one, save Justin, knew where he was, and Justin would not expect to hear from him for at least a week. How long before anyone realized he was dead? A fortnight? A month? Longer? Would he ever be found here in the forest? No. My only hope is to lose these bastards.

  But the bastards were nearly upon him.

  Another shot rang out. The stinging impact jolted Stephen from the saddle. He cried out and fell heavily to the ground, rolling over and over down a steep incline. Jagged rocks tore at his skin. Thorny bushes scraped him unmercifully.

  Images flashed in his mind. His father's frigid, unforgiving gaze; his mother's vapid laugh; his drunken brother, Gregory-who would now inherit the title, and Gregory's timid, mousy wife, Melissa; his sister Victoria's radiant smile when she married Justin. So many regrets. So many wounds unhealed.

  His downward plunge ended with a bone-jarring splash when he landed in a stream of icy water. White-hot pain sizzled through him. Blackness engulfed him. Cannot move. Hurts so much. Jesus. What a bloody, stupid way to die.

  * * *

  Hayley Albright drove her gig at a steady pace and tried her best to ignore her growing discomfort. Squashed between her two servants on a seat intended for only two, she could barely draw a breath into her compressed lungs. Tired and cramped, she longed for a hot bath and a soft bed. Instead I have a long, bumpy ride and a hard seat.

  She tried to move her shoulders, but they remained firmly wedged between Winston and Grimsley. A resigned sigh escaped her. They were hours late getting home. Everyone must be terribly worried about them. And if Winston and Grimsley didn't stop arguing, she'd have to strangle them with her bare hands-if she could manage to pry her arms loose. As it was, she had to drive the gig in order to separate them.

  A flash of white in the darkness caught Hayley's attention, turning her thoughts from murder and mayhem. She peered ahead but saw nothing.

  Except a large shadow lurking near a copse of trees.

  Her mouth dried up with fear. She pulled back on Samson's reins, grinding the gig to a squeaking halt, then pointed a shaky finger and whispered, "What is that?"

  Grimsley squinted into the darkness. "Heh? I don't see a thing, Miss Hayley."

  "That's because yer blasted spectacles are perched on yer bald head instead of yer long nose," Winston muttered, his gravelly voice filled with disgust. "Put 'em where they belong and you'll see fine, ya scurvy old coot."

  Grimsley drew himself up as straight as his creaking bones would allow. "Who are you calling an old coot?"

  "You. And I called ya a scurvy old coot. Must be a scurvy deaf old coot."

  "Well, a body can hardly be expected to hear above the cacophony from that wheel you supposedly fixed," Grimsley replied with a haughty sniff.

  "At least I fixed it," Winston shot back. "And a damned bloody good job I did, too. Didn't I, Miz Hayley?"

  Hayley bit the inside of her cheek. For the three years her father's first mate had lived with the Albrights, Hayley had attempted to clean up the former sailor's salty tongue-though not always successfully.

  "Your repair job was excellent, Winston, but look over there." She pointed again to the shadow moving near the trees. A shiver of fear rippled down her spine. "What is that? Dear God, I pray we're not about to be set upon by thieves!"

  She surreptitiously patted her skirt to ensure her reticule was securely fastened and hidden in the folds of material. Good heavens! When I think of the risks I've taken-the lies I've told to get this money, I have no intention of handing it over to highwaymen.

  A wave of guilt washed over her. No one, including Grimsley and Winston, had any idea of the true nature of today's excursion to London, and she intended to keep it that way. As much as she hated lying, secrets led to falsehoods. Her family needed this money and she was solely responsible for their security.

  Fighting to calm her mounting fear, Hayley looked around. Nothing seemed amiss. The warm summer breeze played with her hair, and she impatiently pushed back several unruly curls. The pungent scent of pine tickled her nose. Crickets chirped their throaty song. She inhaled a calming breath, and nearly choked. The large shadow detached itself from the copse of trees and moved toward them.

  Hayley froze. Her mind whispered do not panic, but her body refused to obey. Dear God, what would become of her family if she died on this dark,
lonely road? Aunt Olivia could barely take care of herself, let alone four children. Callie was only six! And Nathan and Andrew needed her. Pamela, too.

  The shadow moved closer and her entire body went liquid with relief. A horse, she realized. It was merely a horse.

  Winston laid a callused hand on her shoulder. "Don't you worry none, Miz Hayley. If there's somethin' evil afoot here, I'll not let any harm come to ya. I promised yer Pa, God rest his soul, that I'd protect ya and protect ya I will." He puffed out his massive chest. "If there's a bandit about, I'll break his scrawny neck. I'll yank out his gizzards with me bare hands and tie the blighter up with his own innards. I'll-"

  Hayley cut off the grisly diatribe with a dry cough. "Thank you, Winston, but I don't think that will be necessary. In fact, it appears our 'bandit' is nothing more than a riderless horse."

  Grimsley scratched the top of his head and discovered his glasses perched on his bald pate. Adjusting the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he peered once again into the darkness.

  "Why look at that. A horse. Standing in the middle of the road. Imagine that."

  "Miz Hayley just said that, ya cretin," Winston grumbled. "Although I'm surprised ya managed to see the beast before it bit yer bony arse."

  Almost giddy with relief, Hayley smothered a chuckle and chose to ignore Winston's language. Before either servant could assist her, she jumped down from her seat and approached the animal with caution. He was huge, but she had yet to meet the horse she couldn't charm. When she reached his side, she grabbed the reins trailing over his saddle.

  "How beautiful you are," she crooned, reaching out to stroke the stallion's velvety nose. "The finest horse I've ever seen, and I've seen and cared for many. Why are you out here all alone? Who do you belong to?"

  The animal nuzzled her palm and nickered. She stroked the magnificent beast's glossy black mane, allowing him to get used to her scent.

  When the horse's breathing slowed, she called softly, "Grimsley, bring a lantern, if you please. And Winston, hold the reins while I look the animal over."

  "Look here," she said moments later, crouching down. "His right foreleg is bleeding." Hayley touched the injury, with gentle fingers. The stallion jerked his head up and down and tried to step away, but Winston held him fast.

  "Is it bad?" Grimsley asked, peeking over Hayley's shoulder.

  "No, thank goodness. He needs treatment, but his leg is not broken." She straightened and took the lantern from Grimsley. A series of scratches ran along the horse's left flank, and his tail was full of leaves and twigs.

  "It looks as if he ran pell-mell through a thicket," Hayley mused. "He's a beautiful animal, and obviously well cared for. These scratches are fresh and he is saddled, but there are no homes for miles around. His rider must have been thrown." She turned toward the woods. Peering into the inky darkness, she pressed a hand to her knotted stomach and forced back her apprehension. "We must search for this fellow. He could be seriously injured."

  Grimsley's eyes widened behind his spectacles. He swallowed audibly. "A search? Here? Now?"

  "No, ya moldy old coot," Winston said with a snort. "Next week."

  Grimsley ignored him. "But it's so dark, Miss Hayley, and we're already hours late getting home because we had to fix the gig's wheel. Everyone's probably worried-"

  "So another quarter hour will not matter," Hayley broke in, her tone crisp. God knew she wanted nothing more than to get home, but how could she leave, knowing someone may need aid? She couldn't. Her conscience would eat her alive.

  Filled with resolve, she asked, "How can we possibly leave without checking? The fact that such a fine animal is wandering about, scratched and bleeding and riderless, is a sure indication that something is amiss. Someone may be in desperate need of help."

  "But what if the horse belongs to a murderer or robber?" Grimsley asked in a weak, quivering voice.

  Hayley patted the old man's hand. "I doubt it, Grimsley. Murderers and robbers rarely possess such fine horses. And who would they hope to murder or rob on this deserted stretch of road?"

  Grimsley cleared his throat. "Us?"

  "Well, if he is hurt, he cannot do much damage, and if he is unharmed, we shall simply return his horse to him and be on our merry way." She leveled a meaningful, penetrating look on her companions. "Besides, after what happened to Mama and Papa, you two know better than anyone that I could never forgive myself if I left someone who is sick or injured."

  Winston and Grimsley both fell silent and nodded. Turning her attention back to the stallion, Hayley ran her hand down the animal's sweating neck.

  "Is your rider here? Is he hurt?" she asked softly. The stallion pawed the ground and whinnied, his nostrils flaring. She glanced at Winston and Grimsley. "Horses have very good homing instincts. Let's see if he leads us anywhere."

  Before either man could stop her, Hayley hitched up her skirt, placed her booted foot into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle. It was a good thing she was taller than most men as the horse was the largest she'd ever encountered.

  "Please fetch the supply bag from the gig, Winston. We need to be prepared. Grimsley, you carry the lantern."

  With the ease of an accomplished rider, Hayley touched her heels to the horse's flanks. The animal seemed to have a definite destination in mind and showed no hesitancy. They traveled parallel to the road for approximately half a mile, then turned and moved deeper into the dark woods. Holding the reins loosely, Hayley surveyed the area with sharp eyes while Winston and Grimsley followed behind, arguing all the while.

  "Fling me on the poop deck and strip me to my skivvies," Winston growled. "Step up the pace, ya old bag o' bones. I won't be stoppin' to haul yer wheezin' arse along. I'll be leavin' ya here to rot."

  "I can keep up just fine," Grimsley puffed. "I am simply minding my new footwear."

  "Don't want no scratches on yer prissy shoes, do ya?" Winston sneered. "God save me from fussy old butlers. Worse than bleedin' babies."

  "I was Captain Albright's personal valet-"

  "Yeah, yeah. And I was 'is right hand, God rest 'is soul. You tell me which is more important."

  "A valet, of course." He sniffed loudly. "And at least I don't smell."

  A chuckle escaped Winston. "You do now, old Grimmy. Best mind yer shoes a bit better when yer walkin' behind a horse!"

  Their voices droned on, but Hayley ignored them and concentrated on her surroundings. The forest was darker than the inside of a cloak. Leaves crunched beneath the horse's hooves. An owl hooted nearby, nearly stopping her heart. Surely she must be mad to have embarked on this excursion. But what choice did she have? She closed her eyes and imagined Nathan or Andrew, hurt and alone. God knows she'd want someone to aid her brothers. She couldn't leave until she knew if anyone needed her help-even if the effort scared her witless.

  Several minutes later the horse stopped. Nickering softly, he pawed the ground and laid his ears back. Hayley dismounted, took the lamp from Grimsley and held it aloft, bathing the surrounding area with a soft, golden glow. They stood on some sort of precipice. She walked to the edge and peered down, her gaze traveling the length of a steep rocky slope. The gentle gurgle of a stream rose from below.

  Grimsley peered over her shoulder and gingerly wiped his shoe on a patch of grass. "Do you see anything, Miss Hayley?"

  "No. There's a steep bank and I hear a stream…" Her voice trailed off as a low groan drifted up to them.

  "Wh-what was that?" Grimsley whispered in a shaky voice.

  "It's just the wind, ya crusty old coot," Winston said, his voice laced with disgust.

  Hayley pressed her hand to her stomach and shook her head. "No. Listen."

  Another groan, barely audible but still unmistakable, floated up from the darkness below.

  "There's someone down there," Hayley said, her voice grim. Without a thought for herself, she started down the steep slope. Halfway down she lifted the lantern, arcing a beam of light toward the stream.

  And
she saw him.

  Lying facedown, the lower half of his body submerged in the water, was a man. A cry of alarm escaped her. Hayley half ran, half slid down the slope, ignoring the sharp rocks and twigs tearing at her clothing and skin.

  "Miss Hayley! Are you all right?" Grimsley's frightened voice drifted down.

  "Yes, I am fine. But there is an injured man down here."

  She reached him seconds later. Unmindful of the icy creek water and her now ruined shoes, she dropped to her knees and gently turned him over.

  His face was filthy and covered with scratches. Blood oozed from a nasty gash on his forehead. Mud, leaves, and grass clung to his torn clothing. His dark jacket was flung open, revealing a bloodstained shirt.

  Hayley pressed her fingers to the side of his neck. To her profound relief she felt a pulse-a weak, thready pulse, but at least he was alive.

  "Is 'e dead?" Winston's voice called out of the darkness.

  "No, but he's badly injured. Quick! Bring down the supply bag." She ran light, probing fingers over the man's head, searching for additional wounds. When she touched an egg-sized lump on the back of his skull, he groaned slightly.

  The sickly sweet odor of blood filled Hayley's nostrils and she fought back the urge to panic. She needed to clean his wounds and dared not waste the precious minutes it would take Winston and Grimsley to reach her. So instead she yanked down her petticoat, tore off a long strip, and dampened the fabric in the cold stream.

  With gentle strokes she bathed the mud and blood from the man's face. In spite of the poor light and the filth covering him, she could see he was striking. He certainly didn't look like a robber.

  "Can you hear me, sir?" she asked, rewetting the material. He remained completely motionless, deathly pale under the grime.

  "How is 'e?" Winston asked when he and Grimsley arrived with the supply bag.

  "His head is bleeding. So is his upper arm. Badly." She leaned down and sniffed at his torn jacket. "Gunpowder. He must have been shot."