Red Roses Mean Love (27 page)

"How do you like my home, Mr. Barrettson?" Lorelei asked when they stood in relative privacy near the windows.

He couldn't even say what color the room was. "It's lovely, Mrs. Smythe."

"You must call me Lorelei. My husband, may he rest in peace, bought me the house several years before his untimely death."

"My condolences on your loss," Stephen murmured, his attention fixed on the couple across the room.

"Oh, it was two years ago now," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm quite out of mourning now."

Stephen forced himself to look directly at her. She was undeniably attractive, with light brown hair and knowing hazel eyes filled with sexual promise. Her body was lush, a fact attested to by the voluptuous breast pressed against his arm, and the eye-stopping amount of cleavage showing above her bodice. There once was a time, not very long ago, when he probably would have returned her interest, and the evening would have culminated in a mutually satisfying sexual encounter.

But not anymore.

He looked at Lorelei Smythe with a dispassionate gaze, experiencing nothing but mild annoyance at her cloying attention. He felt tense and bothered, and wanted nothing more than to stalk across the room and fling Jeremy Popplepuss out the window. The damn man was practically disrobing Hayley with his eyes.

Stephen's eyes narrowed to slits when he observed Jeremy lean over to say something in Hayley's ear. Whatever he said, a becoming blush bloomed on her cheeks. Poppledop was definitely going out the window. Headfirst.

"They make an interesting couple, do they not?" Lorelei murmured.

"Who?"

"Jeremy and Hayley, of course, although I must say, I'm a bit surprised at Jeremy. I would have thought Pamela a better match for him. She is
much
more suited to him than Hayley."

Stephen turned to her. "Indeed? In what way?"

A breathy laugh escaped her. "Well, Hayley is so
…
I don't quite know how to say it. So gangly and
unladylike.
Pamela is much more a young lady, but it appears her heart is engaged elsewhere." Her gaze wandered to Pamela and Marshall, who stood conversing near the fireplace.

"If indeed Jeremy is interested in Hayley again," Lorelei continued, "she'd be foolish to turn down his suit. She's quite long in the tooth and I cannot imagine any other man courting her." She eyed Stephen. "You are aware that Hayley and Jeremy were once
…
close?"

"Yes, but I was under the impression that Popplepart objected to taking on Miss Albright's entire family."
The man is clearly an idiot.

"Popplemore. Jeremy has confided in me that since Pamela will probably soon wed, and the children aren't quite so young anymore, he believes he can convince Hayley to relinquish their care to Pamela part of the time."

"Does he indeed?" Stephen asked in a deceptively quiet tone. If Poppledart entertained the idea that Hayley would give up her family, the man was a bigger fool than Stephen had originally thought. An overpowering urge to grab the bastard around the neck and shake him until his teeth rattled swamped Stephen. As he contemplated doing just that, his pesky inner voice interrupted.
Leave her be. She deserves to be happy, and if Popplepuss is the man to do it, don't interfere. You're leaving Halstead tomorrow. You'll never see her again. Don't ruin what might be her last and only chance for happiness.

Stephen took a deep breath and forced his body to relax, to let go of the hot rush of jealousy washing over him at the thought of Hayley with another man. She wasn't his. He had no right to deny her being with someone else. In fact, the kindest thing he could do for her would be to urge her in Jeremy's direction. The very thought cramped his insides.
Bloody hell, I don't think I'm capable of being that kind.

"Would you mind getting me another glass of wine?" Lorelei asked in husky voice.

Stephen jerked his attention back to her. There was no mistaking the look of warm invitation in her eyes. The best way to encourage Hayley to spend the evening with Poppledart would be for Stephen to occupy himself elsewhere.

"A glass of wine. Of course." He headed across the room toward the decanters, glad to divert his attention from his torturous thoughts.

* * *

Hayley smiled on the outside all during dinner, but on the inside she was positively seething. Lorelei sat at the head of the table, with Jeremy on her right and Stephen on her left. Sitting next to Jeremy and across from Stephen, Hayley watched in an agony of misery as Lorelei flirted outrageously with him all through dinner, her eyes smiling at him, her cleavage pressing against his arm.

But what hurt more, Stephen flirted right back. His slow, devastating smile slid over Lorelei, his green eyes assessing her with a warm, admiring look that made Hayley want to scream.

She tried to deny it, but she was jealous. Totally, absolutely, disgustingly green with jealousy. Every time Lorelei's throaty laugh reached Hayley's ears, and every time the intimate rumble of Stephen's voice washed over her, Hayley wanted to throw something. She'd never felt so miserable and out of place in her life.

In desperation, she turned her attention to Jeremy, unable to listen to or watch Stephen and Lorelei any longer. Jeremy was amusing, solicitous, and very complimentary all through dinner. Hayley spoke briefly to
Marshall
, but Pamela sat on
Marshall
's other side, so the doctor's attention was riveted elsewhere.

Hayley tried to enjoy the sumptuous meal of roast pheasant, creamed peas, and an assortment of fish, but every bite
tasted like ashes. For the sake of her pride, she did her best to converse with Jeremy, but her heart was not in it. Peeking across the table, she watched Lorelei trail a lazy fingertip
down Stephen's sleeve. He answered the gesture by touching his wineglass to hers.

No, Hayley's heart was definitely not in it. Her heart was breaking.

Chapter 20

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A
fter dinner there was dancing in the drawing room. While everyone was eating, the footmen had pushed the furniture back and a three-piece orchestra had set themselves up in a corner of the large room.

Jeremy held out his hand. "May I have the honor of this dance, Hayley?"

Hayley didn't want to dance. She wanted to go home. She wanted to take off this cursed gown and fling it in the face of the scoundrel who had given it to her.

Forcing a smile, she said, "Of course," and took Jeremy's hand. They danced a quadrille, and Hayley momentarily forgot her anger as she concentrated on the intricate steps. At the end of the dance, Jeremy left her side to fetch her a glass of punch.

Hayley's eyes skimmed the room. A smile touched her lips when she noticed Pamela and Marshall laughing together near the orchestra. Joy radiated from Pamela's face, and Hayley felt truly happy for her.

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 de
parture 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 af
forded 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 Albright

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.