“A hero?” she asked, captivated by the idea despite herself.
“It’s humility, to be certain, that keeps him from speaking of it, or of the fortune he seems to have made there. Or is there something else more sinister?”
“How can you even suggest such a thing?” Her alarm at the conversation escalated in a single heartbeat.
He stopped and gave her a knowing look that did nothing to dampen her discomfort. “It’s difficult to know what to suggest when a man refuses to share even the smallest detail about his adventures and continues to rebuff almost every invitation that’s issued—unless, of course, your name is on the guest list.”
She said nothing, frozen in place by her fear of what he would say next.
Rand Bascombe smiled. “It’s a happy coincidence, and I was a fool the other evening to press you to betray whatever confidences he’s shared with you. Have you forgiven me, Miss Moreland?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.
“Ah, here is a carriage for you!” He raised his hand to hail the driver to stop directly in front of them, handing the man up a coin with instructions to take her to the rented brownstone address. Then he turned back to her, as if all were right in the world. “We are friends again, and I am glad for it, Miss Moreland. I shall continue to look for you and your dear family when I am out, and I hope”—he bowed slightly and touched the rim of his hat—“that you will continue to enjoy your time in Town, and make the very most of it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bascombe.” She was numb as she climbed into the carriage, shaken but unsure. It was possible that she was simply filtering an innocent exchange through her own guilty conscience and reacting to insinuations that Mr. Bascombe hadn’t intended.
She was at a loss. If he knew of her affair with Hawke, she could hardly say anything without confirming his suspicions, or worse; if he knew nothing, and she overreacted, then she would create the rumor herself.
She let out a long, slow, shaky breath and regained her composure. If anything, the strange incident with Bascombe strengthened Galen’s case for continuing in secret for the time being. And as the carriage pulled away from the street, Haley began to feel better, and even reminded herself that bumping into an acquaintance while shopping only provided more of an alibi should anyone ever ask where she was spending her afternoons.
Oh, dear, I’m growing craftier by the hour. Is that a change for the better? She sighed, unsure of anything but her feelings when it came to Galen. She leaned back against the cushions and indulged in the newest memories of his body to hers. Every touch made her feel safe and desired, and she clung to that sensation as she returned alone to her precarious life. I have to weather the storm when Father learns I’ve broken my engagement . . . if only to make Galen proud of me later when he learns of what I’ve done. Then I’ll be able to tell Galen that I kept both our secret and my own honor by not deceiving Herbert.
As for Bascombe, whatever his interest in Galen, it has naught to do with me.
Chapter 15
“What a delight to add you to our intimate dinner, Mr. Hawke!” Lady MacLean marveled aloud yet again, and Galen watched out of the corner of his eye as Haley’s blush renewed its bloom.
It hadn’t been entirely easy, but it was worth it to see Haley’s reaction to his presence. And Galen was also enjoying the unexpected bonus of seeing Miss Haley Moreland once again in the exact same red dress he’d imagined her wearing in such erotic detail. He’d meant to just be present, and tease her if he could manage it without alerting the hostess too much, but the sight of her, so beautiful and so familiar—and within reach—was proving to be quite the temptation.
Aunt Alice had eagerly welcomed his presence and, as usual, was doing her best to assist him in any way she could. “So lucky that you could join us, especially as Mr. Trumble was unable to make it and poor Haley has no dinner partner!”
“Yes, extremely lucky—for me.” He bowed over his hostess’s hand, and was rewarded with Trumble’s vacant chair. Throughout the meal, that put him less than four place settings away from the delectable Miss Moreland, and Galen did his best to just savor it.
She was a skilled wit, and he watched her charm an older colonel into sharing some of his adventures in the Congo, and then just as sweetly keep the widower to her left amused and included in the exchange, until Galen was sure that both older men were besotted enough to envy the absent Mr. Trumble’s good fortune.
Almost as entertaining was watching that same man try to steer clear of Mrs. Shaw’s flirtatious hints and shocking pronouncements that for any widower looking to marry for a third time, he should consider a wife with a little snow on the roof as she had already demonstrated an ability to survive. Even the colonel and Lord MacLean kept their heads down rather than enter into the fray.
As for his conversation partners, Lady MacLean was very gracious and all too happy to share with him the details on their current renovations of their property in the country. Galen did his best to nod and make the appropriate comments when it came to landscaping and the dire consequences of a lack of irrigation, all the while keeping his eyes on the siren in red across the table.
“Why are you looking so smug over there, Miss Moreland?” he asked softly, observing the catlike look of satisfaction on her face as they took their places in the drawing room after dinner. He carefully joined her in a window seat away from the others, but they were still well within sight of the party and were forced to keep their voices down.
“Because I think you’ve accidentally delivered yourself into my hands.”
Galen held very still, suddenly wary. “In what way?”
“Because now we are in public and you will be forced to make small talk and answer questions and . . . your methods of distraction are powerless here, Mr. Hawke.”
“Not powerless,” he threatened softly, looking at her as if he had every intention of sweeping her up to strip her naked and take her in front of a drawing room of guests.
Haley’s eyes widened, and her cheeks reddened, but she bravely held her place next to him. “You’re bluffing, Mr. Hawke. Now, behave!”
He shrugged and smiled. “It was worth a try. I suspect you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t even attempt to ward you off with a reference to how delicious I find your juices.”
“Galen!” She gasped in shock, then realized the game and composed herself quickly. “Enough of that, Mr. Hawke.” She tilted her head as if assessing him anew. “All this evasiveness might give a woman pause to wonder what you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
She smiled. “You always say that, and I always have the feeling that it isn’t true.”
“Very well, you have me at your mercy, Miss Moreland. Ask what you will. But I warn you, I think Lady MacLean is starting to eye me so that she can come over and show us sketches of her proposed herb garden.” He crossed his arms and gave her a look of pure challenge. “Unless you’ve lost your nerve?”
She hesitated and fingered the silk of her skirt for a moment. “I don’t know where to begin.” She looked back up at him, and he caught himself on the verge of sighing at the stunning color of her blue green eyes. Galen straightened in his seat, attempting to regain his own composure as she bit the plump flesh of her lower lip.
Damn it! You’re not some love-starved pup, Hawke! It’s after-dinner conversation, not pillow talk!
“Something easy then,” she said. “A favorite poem? Or some anecdote from your youth? Or even better, a sweet story about your first kiss . . .”
Galen’s brow furrowed as he tried to decide if anything was easy when it came to conversing with Haley. There was so much he’d kept to himself and now, as he looked at her, it was harder to remember why. “Lately, Shakespeare’s twenty-seventh sonnet comes more often to mind, as it’s about insomnia and I . . . have trouble sleeping more often than not.”
“Do you?” She looked at him with an honest sympathy. “Does the sonnet help?”
/> He shook his head. “No, but it lets me consider my plight in lofty pentameter, and that can make me feel more noble about suffering at three in the morning.”
“I’ll have to look it up!” She laughed softly, and Galen’s shoulder relaxed at the melodious sound of it.
“If you wish, for I’m not going to recite it here!” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Don’t they warn young women about the dangers of poetry?”
She nodded. “They do. But I still don’t see the harm. For you are . . .” She hesitated and then lowered her voice even more. “As impossible to resist as you are, I don’t see how you reading poetry to me could be any more potent!”
The urge to kiss her was almost too strong to set aside, but Galen forced himself to just smile. “An experiment for another day, Miss Moreland.”
Mrs. Shaw came up quickly enough to catch them both off guard, and Galen straightened the instant Haley’s gasp alerted him to the intrusion. “Did you not wish a glass of port, Mr. Hawke? Some of the other gentlemen are yet enjoying a taste or two in the library.”
“I never drink, Mrs. Shaw.”
“Oh, yes! You said something like that before, and I’ve naturally credited your reluctance to the company at hand,” she said as she cheerfully took a seat across from the couple. “I don’t think a bar mouse would have taken a glass of champagne with Rand Bascombe after he was so odd.”
“Aunt Alice!” Haley rolled her eyes. “Must you?”
“What?” Aunt Alice ignored her niece and turned her full attention back to Galen. “I wasn’t misbehaving, was I, Mr. Hawke?”
“Not in the slightest, Mrs. Shaw.” Galen settled into the cushions as if he had nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, deliberately hoping that the tables would turn to show Haley that he might not be the only one cornered into conversation. I’ll ask Mrs. Shaw about Haley and see if—
“What was India like? Were you there during the Troubles?”
“I don’t want to speak of it. India is . . . India.” He shook his head, grimly accepting that. “Others seem to bask in the exotic and flourish, but I was never one of them. I always felt like I was trespassing. So”—he took a deep breath—“I shall leave it at that, and adventure no further than Bristol or Bath, if pressed.”
“Why do you think everyone is so curious about your time there?” Alice asked.
“Are they?”
Haley looked away, an awkward pause telling him that she’d heard more than she was saying.
“Mr. Rand Bascombe was extremely persistent, and I can’t help but wonder why he would bother—why concern himself so much?”
“Perhaps the answer is a simple one, more befitting the nature of the man who’s asking,” he offered as directly as he could. “I think Bascombe has no adventures of his own to bandy about and seeks to live vicariously through the mishaps of others and fortify his dinner conversations.”
She laughed. “He could certainly benefit from a new anecdote or two!”
“And there you have it!” Galen leaned forward, rewarding Haley’s aunt with a wicked grin that was sure to give her a thrill. “But you strike me as the kind of woman who has no need to live vicariously at all! I suspect you have a tale or two of your own that could top any fiction, Mrs. Shaw.”
“One or two! Of course, there is one in particular that . . .” Her aunt went on, but Haley’s thoughts drifted. She could feel her levity bleeding away almost instantly, despite the skilled turn of the conversation and Aunt Alice’s lively stories. She wondered why she instinctively knew that there was so much more to him—so much he wasn’t saying. He was like a wounded animal, protecting his weak side in case she should suddenly strike out against him. And the idea brought tears to her eyes.
Haley had to clench her fingers together in her lap to keep from reaching out to gently pull her fingers across his forehead and down to caress the handsome lines of his face, wishing that by a tender touch or word alone she could reach him, even heal him.
He touches me or instantly diverts me every time I ask a question, or get too close, I suspect. He distracts me with the undeniable attraction between us—this powerful desire that makes me forget everything else. At least, for a while . . .
Haley sighed, leaning back against the cool stone of the alcove, letting the ancient masonry draw some of the fever from her blood—and studied the profile of the man she knew almost nothing of but who now held her entire future in his hands.
Chapter 16
Alice pressed her ear against the smooth, thick wood of the library door, determined to discover what Mr. Trumble and her brother were discussing in such uneven tones. She could pick out her brother’s voice more easily, as he practically shouted on the other side of the door.
“Like hell, she has! I’ve not heard a word of it!”
And then there was something sternly mumbled by Trumble, and Alice winced as she heard the reply, “Oh, my God, no!”
The rest was all spoken too softly for her to make out, but the intensity of the exchange never wavered. She could hear her brother moaning at one point, and then it was as if Mr. Trumble was doing his best to comfort him.
I’d bet my last farthing that the engagement’s off! The question is, who broke it off and where is Mr. Hawke?
Alice was straining to try to catch the gist of their words when Trumble opened the door without warning. Alice gave out a startled yelp and nearly fell into the threshold before catching herself to stand aside to allow Herbert to make a hurried and unhappy exit from the house.
“Oh, my! I was just . . . in the hallway when I thought I heard you in pain, Alfred. Are you all right?” Alice came in, approaching her brother, who was still seated in a chair by the window. “Did you . . . have a lovely visit with Mr. Trumble?”
Alfred glared at her, clearly in no mood for her attempt at innocence. “You were listening at the door!”
“Unsuccessfully!” Alice sat down across from him, abandoning theatrics in an eager attempt to get at the truth. “I could tell you were yelling, but then you were both very inconsiderate to speak so softly, and I thought I’d have the vapors before he finally opened the door!”
“You are an impossible woman,” he noted, distracted for just a moment from the matter at hand. “How is it that no one has strangled you before now?”
“I can be very charming, Alfred. Now, as for Trumble?” she prompted.
“He said that Haley broke the engagement! She told him three days ago, and he waited to give her time to reconsider, but—”
“She said nothing!” Alice said in astonishment.
“He said he was waiting for a note from her, but he’s heard not a word and so wanted to tell me that the engagement is, in fact, off!” His voice echoed with disbelief. “How could she? All my hopes and plans, dashed in a single act! Is it vengeance? Because I’ve been such a terrible father? Because I—”
“Oh, pish!” Alice’s optimistic nature wasn’t going to allow him his speech. “You’ve lost your senses if you think that dear child has a single malicious bone in her body!”
“I’d have said not a deceptive bone, either, but Trumble said it was days ago!” He put his face in his hands. “Where are the tears? Don’t women cry when they lose a chance at a good marriage?” He dropped his hands, lifting eyes narrowed with suspicion as a new possibility struck him. “Alice? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Alice took a deep breath. “Perhaps.”
“Alice, as your brother and sole support in this wicked world, I’m going to tell you that I’m in no mood to have to pull this out of you piece by piece, so let’s have it.”
“I can assure you that I believe there may be a better man waiting in the wings,” Alice said, doing her best to match his serious tone despite the tickle of happy mischief inside her. “A man you’re sure to approve of, and who has money enough to at least stem the tides of disaster and keep us all afloat.”
“Really?”
“I’m more c
ertain of it with each passing moment. After all, this is Haley we’re discussing! Not some crazed loon prone to chasing after ghosts.”
Alfred managed a weak smile. “You’re deliberately trying to make light of this!”
“Not at all! I am the soul of discretion, and I am looking forward to seeing this new suitor make his calls.”
“Well, I hope he emerges soon! Trumble has generously agreed not to evict us from the house or dismiss the servants since he’d paid for all in advance. But the man expects to be repaid! Oh”—he closed his eyes at a new thought—“and all those loans! Oh, I think I’m going to be ill!”
“There, now. Would you like a brandy?”
“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “None for me.”
“Oh!” Alice exclaimed in quiet surprise. “All the better, Alfred. Now, no worries! Haley is too levelheaded a girl not to have good instincts, and I want you to trust her.”
“Trust? In what? Is there any chance you know the name of this better prospect that would lead her to make such an insane gamble?” he asked.
“I might, but I’m not about to blurt out a wrong guess and send you off on a wild-goose chase. Let’s just wait and see how things unfold, and when she is ready to tell us, why then, you just do your best to look entirely surprised!”
“I will be surprised!”
“All the better!” Alice clapped her hands, as if the matter were now completely settled. “Now see that you don’t go marching into her rooms to start bellowing! It’s hardly conducive to the first tender stages of romance to have the father throwing tantrums.”
He sighed. “I’m going to just accept it as a bad sign that everyone continues to speak to me as if I were five years old.”
“You’re young at heart, dear Alfred.” Alice leaned over to pat his hand and then stood to go. “It’s one of your best qualities. Now, I’m going to see to my niece and make sure she’s dressed for the evening!”
“Is it true? You broke your engagement to Mr. Trumble?” Alice asked without any preamble, sweeping into Haley’s room.
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