Red Roses Mean Love Page 23

  Then her gaze happened to stray to the French windows. Her smile froze when she noticed Stephen slipping out the door leading to the gardens. Seconds later, after casting a quick, surreptitious look around the room, Lorelei slipped out the same door.

  "That does it," Hayley muttered under her breath. So angry she could barely speak, and so heartbroken she could barely breathe, she made her way across the room to where Pamela and Marshall stood.

  "Marshall, would you be so kind as to escort Pamela home this evening? I'm feeling unwell and wish to leave."

  A look of concern immediately crossed Marshall's face. "You're a bit pale," he agreed. "Is it your stomach? Would you like me to mix you a draught?"

  Hayley shook her head, desperate to get away. "No, actually it's my head." Or rather it's my heart. "I can make a draught myself when I get home. I just need to know that you'll safely see Pamela home."

  "I'll come with you," Pamela said quickly, her concern evident.

  Hayley turned to Pamela and took her hands. "Please stay," she implored. "I truly want you to enjoy the party. But I must go." Her voice dropped to an agonized whisper. "I must go." Now. Immediately. Before I cry and make a fool of myself.

  "I'll walk you to the door," Pamela said, taking Hayley's arm. They walked to the foyer, where they waited for the footman to bring around the gig.

  "I know what is bothering you, Hayley. I see how she's throwing herself at Mr. Barrettson. But that doesn't mean he's-"

  "They're out on the terrace together," Hayley said in a broken whisper.

  "Oh, Hayley." Pamela gathered her into her arms and hugged her fiercely. Hayley almost smiled when she heard Pamela breathe a Winston-like obscenity.

  "Enjoy your evening with Marshall," Hayley said, pulling back from Pamela's embrace. "I want to hear all about it in the morning."

  The footman announced the gig, and Hayley walked swiftly outside. She climbed onto the seat, took the reins, and set Samson off at a brisk trot. She didn't allow the tears to fall until she was well away from Lorelei Smythe's house.

  * * *

  "Where's Hayley?" Stephen asked Pamela nearly half an hour later.

  He'd stepped outside to smoke a cheroot and almost immediately found himself in Lorelei's company. Stephen had stifled a curse. The woman was not only bothersome, she was tenacious as well. She reminded him of the women of the ton he abhorred. He'd tolerated her company for most of the evening, but he'd had enough. He smoked his cheroot, ignoring her idle chitchat, and left her in a very abrupt manner, his cigar not even halfway finished.

  When he reentered the drawing room, his eyes had searched for Hayley, but he was unable to find her. He spotted Jeremy across the room, but Hayley was nowhere in sight. He finally approached Pamela, who stood alone by the window.

  "I find it amazing that you'd ask about Hayley's whereabouts, Mr. Barrettson," Pamela responded in a frigid voice.

  Stephen stared at her, unable to mask his surprise at her frosty tone. "Why would you find it amazing?"

  She shot him a look of utter disgust. "Perhaps because you've seen fit to ignore her for the entire evening up to this point."

  "She hardly lacked for company," Stephen said mildly.

  "You humiliated her in front of that hateful woman," Pamela said, her eyes spitting blue fury. "Hayley has shown you nothing but kindness. How could you be so cruel to her?"

  Guilt swept over him. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd only tried to do what was best for her. Stay away and let another man-a man who wasn't leaving-pay attention to her.

  "I assure you, it was never my intention to hurt her."

  "But you have. You've hurt her terribly."

  "Tell me where she is, and I'll apologize."

  "She's left."

  Stephen stared at Pamela. "I beg your pardon?"

  "She's gone home. I suppose you didn't notice her departure because you were too busy out on the terrace with Mrs. Smythe." She looked Stephen up and down once, her expression clearly registering dislike. "Quite frankly, Mr. Barrettson, I'm surprised at you. Up until this evening I believed you were a kind, thoughtful man. A man worthy of Hayley's admiration. Obviously I was mistaken." She turned to leave, but Stephen caught her arm.

  In truth, he was stunned by her little speech. It seemed he was destined to receive severe trimmings from the Albright women. But his surprise was overshadowed by the acute sense of loss he felt. It bothered him no end that Pamela was looking at him as if he were horse dung in the road. She must be very angry indeed, for such a display of temper.

  And the thought of Hayley hurting because of him, of her no longer holding him in high esteem, constricted his chest with regret. It truly pained him to think that either of these women felt badly toward him. Especially Hayley.

  "You were not mistaken," he said softly. "I assure you I hold your sister in the highest regard and I would never intentionally hurt her."

  Pamela's gaze did not soften a bit. "Then why did you-"

  "I don't know." A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "I'm an ass."

  Pamela regarded him steadily, her eyes unforgiving. "You won't hear an argument from me," she said with brutal honesty. "But you're telling the wrong Miss Albright." She pulled her arm from Stephen's fingers. "Please, excuse me."

  Stephen watched Pamela walk over to Marshall. The orchestra struck up another tune, and the two headed for the dance floor. Stephen strode into the foyer and quickly left the house.

  * * *

  The forty-five minute walk back to Albright Cottage afforded Stephen a much-needed opportunity to think.

  He knew that for Hayley's sake he'd done the right thing this evening, but he still felt like a bastard. She'd looked so beautiful, her face flushed and shining with happiness, so incredibly lovely in her new gown. He'd wanted so badly to touch her, to kiss her, to sweep her up in his arms and carry her off to a private place where they could be alone.

  But how could he do that when he was leaving in the morning? He was a bastard, but not that much of a bastard.

  The thought of his imminent departure filled him with emptiness, and his heart pinched in his chest. He'd grown very fond of the Albrights in his brief stay with them. All of them.

  But especially fond of Hayley.

  Bloody hell. To say "fond" was an understatement that bordered on the ridiculous. He admired her. Respected her. Genuinely liked her.

  Deeply cared for her.

  He entered the house. Grimsley was not at the door, so Stephen assumed the footman had gone to bed. He looked in the library and study for Hayley, but both were empty so he assumed she'd retired. He'd wait and talk to her before he left in the morning. That way he'd have tonight to find the right words to say, although he doubted they existed.

  Climbing the stairs, he loosened his neckcloth. When he entered his bedchamber, he quickly removed his jacket, tossing it and his cravat on a wing chair next to the fire. He was in the process of unfastening his shirt when he glanced toward the bed. His fingers stilled, and he stared.

  The gown he'd given Hayley lay across the coverlet.

  As if in a trance, he approached the bed. The beautiful gown was carefully spread out, a single sheet of paper on top of the material. In a neat pile next to the garment lay the chemise, stockings, and slippers. Reaching out, he picked up the note.

  Mr. Barrettson,

  Thank you very much for the lovely gown and accessories, but upon second consideration, it would be improper for me to accept such an elaborate and personal gift.

  I must travel to a neighboring village tomorrow to visit with a friend of the family who is ailing, and I will be gone overnight. As your injuries appear quite healed, I believe it would be best if you left before I return the day after tomorrow.

  It was my and my family's pleasure to care for you, and we are happy for your recovery. Please accept my felicitations on your good health, and my most heartfelt wishes that you remain so.

  Sincerely,

  Hayley A
lbright

  Stephen read the note again, the pressure in his chest increasing until it felt as if a pianoforte lay on top of him. She was dismissing him. She had given him back his gift and wanted him gone before she returned from her visit to another village.

  His head knew she was doing the wise thing. It was better this way. When she returned from her journey, he'd be gone. No painful goodbye. No admitting his lies.

  His heart, however, knew he couldn't leave like this.

  Without knowing what he was going to say to her, Stephen scooped up the gown and accessories, left his bedchamber, and closed the door softly behind him.

  SHAPE * MERGEFORMAT

  Chapter 21

  He heard the weeping as soon as he neared her bedchamber. Stephen knocked softly, but when his knock went unanswered, he gently turned the knob. The door was unlocked. He let himself into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Hayley stood by the window, her back to him, her face buried in her hands.

  Her quiet sobs shattered his heart. "Hayley."

  With a startled sound she turned around, her drenched eyes widening with shock. She wiped away her tears, with shaking fingers. "What are you doing here?"

  "I came to return your gift."

  She stared at the clothes for a moment, then her face hardened and she turned her back. "I told you I cannot accept your gift. Now, please leave."

  He placed the bundle on a chair. "You've already accepted it."

  "That was before," she said in a tight voice.

  "Yes," Stephen agreed, coming to stand directly behind her. "That was before I behaved like an ass. Before I ignored you. Before I hurt you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She resisted him at first, but he applied firm pressure until she finally turned. Although she faced him, she continued to stare at the floor.

  "Look at me, Hayley." Placing his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face. Tears had left silver tracks down her creamy cheeks, and her eyes were awash with a fresh supply.

  His throat tightened as a single tear traveled down her face. "I behaved badly this evening. Please forgive me. I swear I never meant to hurt you."

  She took a deep breath and swallowed. "I don't understand," she whispered in a shaking voice. "Why did you go to her?" A broken sob escaped her throat. "I wore a proper gown. I dressed my hair, behaved in a proper manner. Yet I still wasn't good enough. What is wrong with me?"

  A tortured sigh escaped him and he gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her soft, rose-scented hair.

  "Hayley… Hayley," he whispered against her ear. "God. There is nothing wrong with you. You're the most extraordinary woman I've ever known. You're sweet and kind and generous…"He pulled back and cradled her face between his hands, gently brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "You're an angel. I swear to God, you're an angel."

  "Then why-"

  "I was thinking of you, of your happiness. I didn't want to spoil your chances with Popplepuss."

  "Popplemore."

  "Indeed." His gaze probed hers and he forced himself to say the words he knew would hurt her. "We both know I have to leave here. Soon." Dear God. If you only knew how soon.

  "I know," she whispered.

  "I didn't want to spoil your chances with another man. Trust me when I say the effort nearly killed me. I wanted to be with you, Hayley. I swear it. Lorelei Smythe cannot hold a candle to you." He shook his head. "The first time in my life I acted in a noble manner and I made a royal mess of things."

  "Did you… kiss her?"

  "No. I had absolutely no desire to kiss her." Relief swept through him when some of the pain faded from her eyes.

  "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wanted to be with me, but you wished to behave nobly by stepping aside and allowing Jeremy to pay attention to me because you're leaving Halstead soon and you didn't want to interfere with my chance for happiness with another man." She looked at him, her brows raised questioningly. "Is that correct?"

  "That just about sums it up, yes."

  She shook her head. "Good heavens, what a convoluted plan. How did you ever concoct such a ridiculous scheme?"

  "It seemed like a capital idea at the time," Stephen murmured. "In fact, it might very well have worked, except for one thing."

  "What is that?"

  He took her hands and raised them to his lips, tasting the salty tears clinging to her fingertips. "Every time Popplepart touched you, every time he looked at you, spoke to you, I wanted to throttle the bastard."

  "Popplemore."

  "Indeed. It was all I could do not to cross the room, pick him up by his scrawny throat and fling him into the punch bowl."

  Her eyes grew round. "Truly?"

  Stephen nodded solemnly. "Truly." Knowing he was playing with fire but unable to stop himself, he kissed her fingers and touched his tongue to her rose-scented skin. Stop it! Tell her you're leaving. Tell her now and get out of her bedchamber. Before it's too late. Before you do something you'll both regret.

  "Then would you … would you consider staying?"

  He slowly raised his gaze to hers. Her cheeks burned with color, and her eyes, still damp with tears, were huge aqua pools reflecting a heartbreaking combination of uncertainty and hope. "What?"

  "If that's truly the way you feel, then don't leave Halstead. You can seek a position in the village, or somewhere nearby as a tutor. If all else fails, I'll hire you to tutor the boys and Callie." A hesitant smile trembled on her lips. "The children are all very fond of you, and Aunt Olivia thinks the sun rises and sets on you alone. You've even managed to charm Pierre, not an easy feat, let me assure you. We all want you to stay." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I want you to stay."

  Stephen stared at her, robbed of speech. Why hadn't he anticipated that she'd ask him to stay? As far as she knew, he could work anywhere, so why not Halstead? Jesus, what a mess he'd made of things. He had to tell her immediately that there was no chance he could do what she asked.

  "Hayley, I-"

  "I love you, Stephen."

  The softly spoken sentiment rammed into Stephen, cutting off his words, all his thoughts entirely, eliminating his ability to breathe. Completely. Irrevocably. He looked at her, and clearly saw the words reflected in her gaze.

  She loved him.

  This wonderful, unselfish, beautiful angel loved him. He felt like a royal bastard. What was he going to do now?

  "Hayley, I must tell you-"

  She placed a single fingertip over his lips, cutting off his words. "I didn't tell you so you'd feel obligated to say it back. I told you because I simply couldn't hold it in any longer. And I wanted you to know, to absolutely know without a doubt, that I want you to stay. And if you do stay, you will always be a welcome part of our family."

  A huge lump lodged itself smack in the middle of Stephen's throat. He tried to clear it away, but it remained firmly in place, like a lump of dry breadcrumbs. He closed his eyes and fought to control the battle raging inside him between his noble intentions and his desires. If he didn't get away from her quickly, he knew which one would claim victory. But it was impassible to think with her words echoing through him. I love you, Stephen. I love you, Stephen.

  He didn't deserve her love. Jesus, she didn't even know who he really was. She was in love with Stephen Barrettson, gentleman tutor. She'd turn away from him in disgust if she knew he'd lied to her all this time-that he was really a dissolute nobleman with a string of paramours, a superficial excuse for a family, and a killer after him. The thought of her ever looking at him with disgust in her eyes, the trust and love fading from her gaze to be replaced with dislike, made Stephen ache with a hurt that sliced him in two.

  He had to do what was best for her. No matter how much it cost him.

  Drawing a deep breath, he resolutely took her by the shoulders. Looking into her eyes, he prayed she would see the depth of his regret. "Hayley. I have nothing to offer you. I can't give you the things you deserve. The thi
ngs I want for you. As much as I want to, I cannot."

  His words drained the shimmers of fragile hope from her eyes, extinguishing the gentle longing, leaving emptiness where want had trembled only moments ago. Her hurt sawed at his insides like a dull blade.

  Pulling away from him, she walked to the window and stared out into the black night. He stared at her straight back, and it took every last ounce of strength he possessed not to go to her, to take her in his arms. Make her his own.

  When she finally turned to face him, her fingers were knitted together and her gaze remained steadfastly downcast. "I understand. Please forgive my shocking forwardness. Obviously you do not want…"Her voice trailed off and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  The sight of her, crushed and humiliated, destroyed him, shattering him from the inside out. He closed the space between them in two long strides and gripped her shoulders. "Do not want? Do not want?" He drew a ragged breath and a mirthless laugh escaped his throat. "God Almighty, Hayley, I want you so badly, I'm shaking. I want you so much I can't sleep at night. I ache for you all the time."

  He captured her hand and dragged it to the front of his breeches, pressing her palm against the hard ridge of flesh there. "That is how much I want you. Constantly. Whatever else you think, don't ever think I don't want you."

  Hayley froze, the heat of Stephen's manhood pulsing against her palm. Emotions battered her from all sides, like a ship caught in a hurricane's fury. He wanted her. Not in the same way she wanted him, but the evidence of his desire for her was real and unmistakable. And so very compelling.

  Her mind rebelled against her yearnings, screaming that she had so much to lose, so much to risk. Her reputation, her family's respect. What if she became pregnant?

  Yet her heart simply would not be denied. She was six and twenty years old. In all those years she'd been many things. A sister, daughter, friend, nurse, caregiver.

  But she'd never been a woman.