Red Roses Mean Love (26 page)

He might as well have slapped her. Hot embarrassment suffused her, only to be pushed aside by a flush of anger. What on earth had she done to merit such dismissive behavior on his part? Good heavens, the man was utterly impossible. One minute he kissed her as if he never wanted to stop, and the next he avoided her as if she carried a deadly disease. He gave her expensive gifts, only to turn around and ignore her the next day. Was it because she was H. Tripp? He'd assured her that their conversation on that subject was forgotten. Had he lied?

The more Hayley thought about it, the angrier and more offended she became. She'd been hurt by a man once before, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. By the time the meal was finished, she was in a fine rage, her blood all but boiling. How on earth could she have imagined herself in love with such a man? Kind one minute, cold the next. He clearly couldn't make up his mind about anything.

"Are you going to sit there all day?"

Stephen's amused voice broke through her reverie. Glancing around, she noticed everyone had left the dining room.

"You've been sitting there for quite some time, staring off into space with a ferocious frown on your face," he remarked from the doorway.

Settling a glare on him, she arose with as much dignity as she could muster. "I cannot see what difference it makes to you whether I sit there all day or not."

Stephen's brows rose. He walked toward her, stopping when only a foot separated them, blocking her exit from the room.

"Kindly move yourself," she said stiffly, trying to ma
neuver around him.

He sidestepped and blocked her exit. "You're upset. Why?"

She prodded him in the chest and he grunted. "Ouch."

"Why would you care if I'm upset or not? It was clear during our meal you had nothing to say to me. Why this sudden show of concern?"

Stephen's gaze roamed her face, and a guilty flush crept over him. He
had
ignored her during lunch. Not with the intention of angering her or hurting her feelings, but for reasons of self-preservation. In his attempt to avoid temptation, he'd clearly hurt
and
angered her. A pang of remorse hit him squarely in the gut.

Cupping her face between his palms, he ran his thumbs over her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

He watched the anger ebb from her eyes, only to be replaced by a look of utter hurt confusion. "I thought we were getting along so well. What did I do wrong? Is it because of
…
who I am?"

Stephen laid a single finger over her lips. "No, Hayley. You did nothing wrong. I was simply trying to avoid temptation."

"Temptation?"

"You tempt me beyond all endurance, I'm afraid. I thought if I ignored you, I wouldn't be tempted by you." A sheepish smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "Not only was my plan a miserable failure, but I hurt you in the process." Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry. You deserve better."
So much better than I can give you.
He pulled away and studied her face. That rush of warm feeling she frequently inspired squeezed his heart. "Can you forgive me?"

She studied him for several seconds then smiled. "Of course."

Damn. Just another facet of her to admire. She grants forgiveness without a scene or coyness.
He rubbed the sore spot on his chest where she'd jabbed him. "This is the second time I've seen you angry. To avoid further injury to my person, perhaps
you should tell me what upsets
you."

"You mean besides pigheaded men who are warm and kind one minute and cold and forbidding the next?"

"Yes. And I am
not
pigheaded."

"That is a matter of opinion," she said, her dimples winking.

"Perhaps. What else makes you angry?"

She pursed her lips and pondered the question for a moment. "Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies," she finally answered, her tone serious.

Her words washed over him, filling him with shame.
Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies.
He was guilty of everyone of those things. Especially lies, where she was concerned.

Forcing a light note into his voice, he said, "I shall endeavor not to engage in any of those activities."
Too late, Stephen,
his inner voice shouted.

"I have no fear you'd ever act unkindly, selfishly, or in a cruel or deceitful manner," she said softly, looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

Another wave of guilt swamped him, lying so heavily on his chest, he had to struggle to draw a breath. A frown formed between his brows.
Tell her. Tell her now.

"Hayley. I'm not the paragon you seem to think I am. In fact, I…"
His words died when she reached out and touched his hand.

"Yes, you are, Stephen." She raised shining eyes to his. "Yes, you are."

Groaning, he gathered her into his arms, clutching her to his pounding heart. He buried his face in her fragrant hair and closed his eyes against the shame eating at him. She'd just looked at him the same way Callie had the night before, with admiration shining from her wide aqua eyes. Admiration that made him feel, for the first time in his life, that maybe he wasn't such a bastard after all. And by God, he liked the feeling.

He liked it a great deal.

But he didn't deserve it.

Step away from her. Tell her you're leaving tomorrow.

Instead he held her close. He clasped her tight and tried to absorb some of her goodness into himself, knowing that tomorrow, after he was gone, the look of admiration would fade from her eyes. A sense of profound loss swept through him, and he hugged her closer, enjoying her sweetness for another fleeting moment.

After tomorrow it would all be gone.

* * *

"You look lovely, Miss Albright," Stephen said that evening to Pamela when she entered the drawing room. His gaze swept her from head to foot, taking in her pastel green gown and becoming chignon. "You're certain to turn every male head at the party."

A pink blush suffused her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Barrettson. You look exceptionally dashing yourself."

"Thank you
…
"
Stephen's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hayley standing in the doorway, a vision in the pale aqua gown. The dress exactly matched her luminous eyes. The low scooped bodice hugged her breasts, leaving an enticing amount of creamy flesh bare. Her chestnut tresses were gathered in an artful array of curls on top of her head, with shiny tendrils surrounding her face. A pale aqua ribbon wound through the soft strands.

God!
The air left his lungs in a whoosh. She literally took his breath away. He walked toward her, his gaze fastened on her flushed face. When he reached her, he captured her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her gloved fingers.

"You're exquisite," he said softly. "Utterly exquisite."

Her blush heightened. "The gown is beautiful, Stephen."

"The woman wearing it is beautiful." Unable to stop himself, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

She gasped softly. "You don't think the bodice is a bit scandalous?"

Stephen's eyes drifted downward. The bodice was indeed low-cut, but not unfashionably so. In fact, it was modest when compared to the gowns the women of the
ton
wore. Hayley's creamy skin glowed above the pale aqua muslin, the swell of her breasts captivating his gaze. He longed to brush his fingers over those enticing curves, and only a great deal of determination kept him from touching her.

"It's perfect," he assured her, his voice husky with suppressed desire. "You look like an angel."

"I love the pansies. They're so elegant."

"Yes, well, 'you occupy my thoughts.'"
As you have from the moment we met.

"Are we ready to leave?" Pamela asked from across the room

"Indeed we are," Stephen said, forcing his gaze away from Hayley. He held an elbow out for each woman, and led them out to the waiting gig. Grimsley held the reins while Stephen helped the ladies get seated. He settled himself between them and took the reins. The vehicle was really built for two, and the three of them were squashed together thigh to thigh. He'd never driven such a vehicle, and he hoped his ignorance wouldn't show. Setting the gig in motion, he hoped for the best.

* * *

Hayley entered Lorelei Smythe's elegant manor home, her heart pounding in anticipation. The way Stephen had looked at her—was
still
looking her, his green eyes dark and stormy, his gaze so warm and compelling, made it difficult to breathe.

She'd always dreaded parties. The few she'd attended had resulted in nothing but acute embarrassment. She was too tall, no one asked her to dance, and her clothes always seemed out of fashion.

But not tonight. Tonight she felt like a princess. Her dress was beautiful, and the handsomest, most wonderful man in the world was her escort.

"Hayley and Pamela," Lorelei gushed, extending her hands. "How nice to see you. And Mr. Barrettson. How divine you're here." She graced Pamela with a cursory nod, then her eyes settled on Hayley.

"Goodness! What a lovely gown, Hayley," she said, her sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Hayley's appearance. "I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so nicely attired." Snaking her arm through Stephen's with an unmistakably proprietary air, she continued, "Hayley usually dresses in drab brown and covers herself with lake water. It would be quite scandalous if everyone wasn't used to her
…
eccentricities. Now, you must allow me to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. Barrettson." She turned back to Pamela and Hayley. "Will you please excuse us?" Pressing herself close to Stephen's side, she led him into the house.

"I cannot tolerate the way that woman treats you," Pamela fumed in a hushed tone. "I'd like to smack that supercilious smug look right off her face. How dare she commandeer your Mr. Barrettson like that. Why she—"

"Pamela, he is not
my
Mr. Barrettson," Hayley whispered, trying to tamp down the jealousy flooding her. The sight of Lorelei's hands on Stephen made Hayley want to break something. Perhaps that gaudy porcelain shepherdess on that expensive cherrywood end table.

But she had Pamela to think about, and a scene would never do. Pulling herself together, she said, "Wipe that frown from your face, Pamela.
Marshall
just caught sight of us and is headed this way."

"Miss Hayley, Miss Pamela,"
Marshall
said when he reached them. He bowed to Hayley. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Hayley."

"Thank you,
Marshall
."

Marshall
turned to Pamela and Hayley watched him visibly swallow. "And you, Miss Pamela," he said in a reverent tone, "you look very beautiful." He bowed formally over her hand, then extended his arms to both of them. "May I escort you ladies into the party?"

"Perhaps Hayley would allow me the pleasure?" a deep voice behind them asked.

Hayley turned and found herself face-to-face with Jeremy Popplemore. He smiled in a friendly manner, and Hayley responded in kind. She bore Jeremy no ill feelings. If he wished to be friends, she harbored no objections.

"Good evening, Jeremy. That is very kind, but
Marshall
—"

"Has already escorted your sister into the drawing room, I'm afraid," Jeremy said wryly. He extended his elbow. "May I have the honor?"

Left with little choice, Hayley lightly rested her gloved hand on Jeremy's sleeve and allowed him to escort her into the well-appointed drawing room. Axminster carpets dotted the polished marble floors, and tasteful cherrywood and mahogany tables accented the half dozen brocade sofas. Perhaps forty people roamed the large room, standing about in small groups, sipping
Madeira
or punch served by footmen.

"You look lovely this evening, Hayley," Jeremy said, his eyes sliding over her, lingering on her décolletage. "Very lovely indeed."

Hayley couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. "Thank you, Jeremy, although I must say, everyone who says that to me has the most astounded look on their face. I must look quite dreadful most of the time."

Jeremy threw back his head and laughed. "Not at all, my dear," he assured her, his eyes once again sweeping over her. "Not at all."

* * *

On the other side of the room, Stephen heard Jeremy Poppleport's laugh. He'd covertly observed the other man escort Hayley into the drawing room and then watched his eyes travel over her with a look Stephen recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who liked what he saw. The look of a man who wanted what he saw.

Stephen's fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass. He fought hard to banish the overpowering desire to pummel Poppledink into dust. And to make matters worse, Lorelei Smythe was once again plastered to Stephen's side, and angling him to a private corner of the room. Because he was
distracted and didn't wish to be rude to the people Hayley
and her family had to socialize with, he allowed himself to be led. But he'd already decided he was going to give this annoying woman exactly two more minutes of his time, then depart her bothersome company.