Haley jumped at the sudden question but kept her place and tried to hold onto her needle while draping a side panel onto her dress form. “Yes, I did. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? To me! Of all the women in the world, wouldn’t I be the one to understand?” Alice asked.
“I wasn’t . . . ready to tell anyone. And I’m not necessarily ready to discuss it now!” Haley blushed, doing her best to keep her eyes on the cloth she was stitching on her dress.
“But you must tell me why! Was it Hawke? Is it possible you’ve—”
Haley dropped the cloth and turned quickly to face her aunt. “I’m not sure I should tell you anything! I love you, but nothing is settled! And if Father were to find out too soon, it could all go horribly wrong!”
“Of course! Of course! My goodness, it’s this sudden burst of shopping you’ve been about, isn’t it? And I’ve been glumly sending you out without a whiff of the truth!” She pouted for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve seen a single new ribbon, but I was too distracted to notice till now!”
“Aunt Alice, please!”
“Well, you can tell me everything now and then I won’t feel so left out. And as for Alfred, I’ve already assured my brother that whoever presents himself will be a man of your choosing, and he’s agreed to wait as patiently as he can—so now what do you think of your doddering old aunt?”
“He’s not angry?”
“Ah! Let’s give him the rest of the evening to fret and mull it all over, but I would say he’s taken it remarkably well for a man in his position.” A slow, wicked smile crept over her features. “So, it is Hawke, then?”
“Yes.”
“Aha! I knew it! I saw the two of you sitting together at MacLean’s and I swear my heart was just pounding at the prospect!” She clapped her hands like a child at a puppet show. “It’s too romantic! A secret affair and now the way is clear for you to accept and marry the man you desire!”
“It must remain a secret for a while longer! Promise me you’ll say nothing to anyone!” Haley captured her aunt’s hands in hers, desperate to have her attention. “Swear it!”
“I swear, I vow, I promise! I would offer my firstborn on the bargain if I had one!” she replied gleefully. “How much longer do you think, though?”
“Long enough for any ruffled feathers over my broken engagement to be soothed, and so that Galen’s courtship won’t appear to be linked to the matter. He doesn’t want anyone to judge me harshly for . . .”
“For falling in love with someone else while you were still betrothed?”
Haley’s heart skipped a beat. “When you say it like that, it sounds perfectly awful!”
“Which is just why your young man is being so clear-headed! La!” She fanned herself with a bare hand. “And in the meantime, you’ll have the distinct pleasure of enjoying your first torrid affair!”
“My first and last!” Haley playfully fanned her own face with her fingertips, mirroring her aunt. “Although, I will have to be clever to escape the watchful eyes of my chaperone.”
Aunt Alice giggled. “Too bad you don’t have a wicked old woman for a chaperone who would turn a blind eye to your comings and goings!”
Haley tried to keep a straight face, but within the space of a single breath, they fell into peals of laughter until they were both speechless from their merriment.
Bradley came into the library with a formal bow. “Mr. Blackwell has come to call, sir. Shall I tell him you’re not in?”
Galen stifled the urge to throw his pen at the man. Bradley didn’t approve of Ashe, and his less than subtle ways of demonstrating his feelings were almost comical. “No, Bradley. I’m always in for Mr. Blackwell.”
“Always? I shall make a note of that.” He turned and left to retrieve the guest, and Galen set aside the letter he was working on. Truthfully, he was grateful for the interruption since his mind kept wandering from the confines of his desk and back to the irresistible curves of Haley’s inner thighs.
He strode over to meet his friend in the doorway. “Ashe, did you come to tell me that you’ve found a chaperone after all? It occurred to me that you should simply hire one.”
“Now, there’s a novel idea! I’ll hire myself the fiercest dragon I can find to keep me in line and wouldn’t that give the Ton something to talk about!” Ashe laughed. “But no, for tonight, I’ve come with news of Josiah.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. If you consider it fine that he’s holed up with his paintbrushes and paints staring at a blank canvas in a loft in the worst part of town. I’ve already told Michael, so he’s called off the search.”
“Thank God.”
“Speaking of which, you look like hell.”
“All this flattery makes me wonder what a man would say if he weren’t such a good friend,” Galen said.
“Darius once said if you cannot rely on your nearest friends to tell you the unvarnished truth, then the world makes a terrible mirror.”
“That sounds like something Thorne would say,” Galen conceded. “And if you must know, I’m having a little difficulty sleeping.”
“Still?”
“Still.” Galen didn’t offer to elaborate. “Drink, Ashe?”
He nodded. “You’re a good man to have it around even if you don’t partake.”
“I try to be as hospitable as I can. Besides, one man’s poison . . .” He held out the glass of scotch he’d just poured.
“Is another man’s pleasure!” Ashe took the glass with a grateful smile. “So”—he sat down—“tell me about this woman. Word has it you’re up to no good.”
“Who said that?” Galen nearly spilled the barley water he’d been pouring himself.
“Michael.” Ashe shrugged. “But he wouldn’t elaborate, so I assumed he merely meant that she was completely unsuitable—which consequently means, of course, I’m thrilled for you.”
“It’s not a question of suitability.”
“Ah, but there is a question?”
“No,” Galen said firmly. “No questions.”
“But there is a woman?”
Galen sighed, sensing his defeat was inevitable. “Yes. There is a woman.”
“Well, unless you’re pursuing Lord Russell’s daughter, I’m having trouble understanding why Michael was so grim and secretive about it. Hell! He never sighs like that when I tell him I’m flipping up the skirts of half the chorus at the Royal Theatre!”
“Sadly, I think we’re coming to just expect it of you, Ashe,” Galen teased.
“Ah! The predictability of always getting cast in the role of the rake and ne’er-do-well—it’s a curse, I tell you.”
“If it were such a curse, you’d alter course.”
“True, but we each have our tonics, don’t we?” Ashe tossed back his drink, demonstrating his capacity for all manners of indulgences. “And I sleep like a baby, my friend.”
Galen didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to dispute the claim. “Yes, I suppose we each have our own method of . . . adjusting back into the world.”
“Naturally! Darius has his books, Rowan his profession, Josiah his art, I have my pleasures, and Michael has the Jaded to watch over, and you. . . I’m still not sure what you have, Galen.”
Revenge. Galen took a sip of his barley water, wishing that Ashe were less astute and more of the fool he pretended to be.
Ashe gave him a searching look, as if he could read the answer if he looked hard enough at his friend. “Is it solitude, Galen? Is that what you have? For I swear, you always seem to hold everyone at arm’s length. Even amidst the Jaded, I’d say, you’re always careful about revealing too much of yourself.”
“You’re becoming quite the philosopher. Darius must have worn off on you all those weeks in the dark.” Ashe and Darius had shared a cell together for a time, and despite their stark differences, Galen knew they were strangely close. But Galen also knew that he’d deliberately tried
to draw Ashe off with a painful reference to the past, and consequently, proven the man was right in his guess.
And the look in Ashe’s eyes conveyed that he knew it, too. “Hard to keep a woman at arm’s length, isn’t it? Especially after you’ve tumbled them once or twice.”
“Ashe.” Galen gave him a warning look. “I can manage my own affairs.”
“Well”—Ashe set down his empty glass—“any man who can truly ‘manage’ a woman should be sure to share his methods with the rest of us. I’ve never met anyone who could really make that claim, Galen.”
“You manage well enough.”
“I do nothing of the kind! I sample, savor, and select from the garden of sensual little flowers within reach, but I’m not sure I’ve ever claimed to be in control.” Ashe’s eyes flashed with wicked mischief. “Perhaps it’s that humility that keeps all my lovely blossoms so happy.”
“Oh, yes! How could I have forgotten about your humility, Lord Gardener?”
Ashe stood, gracefully unfolding from the chair. “Hmmm, Lord Gardener . . . I’ll keep the persona in mind for the next masque ball I attend. Thank you for the rousing ideas, Galen. Well, I’m off to Rowan’s to make sure he’s heard about our poor painter.”
“So soon?”
Ashe laughed. “Don’t pretend you’re not glad to see me go! I’ve violated your sacred solitude long enough for one afternoon, but . . .” His smile faded, and for one moment, Ashe’s look was somber and sincere. “I’m hoping this girl will change all this for you, Galen. And from the way you sputter denials and expend those icy glares when I even come close to mentioning Miss Haley Moreland, I have a feeling that she just might—if she survives the attempt.”
The small shock of hearing her name on Ashe’s lips was enough to stun him into silence as Ashe retreated without another word exchanged. But Ashe’s final words were too haunting and far too close to his current dilemma to give any comfort at all.
Galen gave himself a quick shake, as if he could brush off the effects of the conversation. If she changes me, it will only be as the instrument that settles old scores and allows me to feel human again. I’m going to sleep like a baby, too, Ashe! And as for her survival, I’m sure no matter how temporarily crushing a blow it will be to have her heartless nature exposed for all the world to see, she’ll find her feet eventually.
But nothing about Haley felt heartless, and it was harder and harder to see the path ahead. She’d denied him nothing—except the truth about her past or any admission of guilt about casting John off. The temptation to confront her directly about John was fleeting and he again dismissed it. She would only deny their betrothal or come up with a lie. There was a part of him that didn’t wish to bring John’s ghost into the room only to see him betrayed. But now only one thing was clear: the longer he held her, the harder it was going to be to let go.
Chapter 17
“Mr. Weathers wished me to thank you, Mistress, for your thoughtfulness the other day. He said he couldn’t remember another employer so kind,” Mrs. Biron said as she waited for Haley’s menu selections for the remainder of the week.
Haley shook her head. “I cannot believe that, but please tell him there’s no need for thanks.”
“Every maid has made a point to praise you, especially Emily, as you’ve been showing her tricks with your dressmaking to help her better herself.” Mrs. Biron beamed. “Not a cross word in all this time from you!”
“Why would I be cross?” Haley asked with a light touch of confusion. “You’ve all been so good to us, and I know it must be challenging to take on a household so quickly and to . . .” Haley tried to think of the most diplomatic way to describe her immediate family’s odd quirks and tiresome requirements. “Accommodate us as you have.”
“You’ve no worries, there, Miss Moreland!” Mrs. Biron’s voice dropped, ensuring that they wouldn’t be overheard. “You’ve the loyalty of the entire staff, and there’s no doubt of that.” Without another word she placed a small brass key on the table between them on top of the menus. “That’s the old laundry service door near the south entrance. Not a soul uses it, really, and so I thought you should have it for safekeeping.”
“Oh.” She stared down at it, then looked up to make sure she’d understood. “Not a soul, you say?”
“I should get these off to the cook as soon as possible.” Mrs. Biron collected the pages, discreetly leaving the key behind. “If there’s anything else, be sure to let me know.”
She bobbed a quick curtsy and left before Haley could think of a dignified reply.
Oh, dear. I’ve been less careful than I thought if Mrs. Biron has noticed, but . . . it seems she and the servants have agreed to look the other way. Her fingers closed around the key, and a thrill shivered down her spine.
It would be easier now. Even with Aunt Alice’s cooperation, it was harrowing to come up with excuses every afternoon with the worry of what the servants might say when no matter how many times she went out shopping, she came home empty-handed. But if what Mrs. Biron said was true, she could come and go as she pleased with few limitations. She smiled in anticipation, eager to enjoy her new freedom. I could even be with him at night! Father retires so early, I could slip out and return without anyone seeing me.
She took up a fresh sheet of paper and began to compose a note to Hawke. Tonight, my heart, I will be there tonight!
He was in the Black again, and the air was so thick with the smell of rotting flesh and excrement that he was sure he would choke to death. He hated the Black. A man could forget who he was, or what he was, if he was trapped there for too long—and Galen had been there too long. He knew it. And there were torches coming.
And he wasn’t glad to see them.
It wasn’t the bone-gnawing terror of knowing that they were going to torture him again, barking in a language he didn’t know and inflicting so much pain that he wouldn’t even be able to weep or beg for mercy.
He wasn’t glad to see the lights coming closer because he’d been in the Black too long. And he was afraid of what the torches would reveal.
“They’re coming again.” It was Haley’s voice in the Black, soft and sweet and out of place, but in the dream, he didn’t question it. Of course, she was here. She’d been in all his dreams since the first time he’d set eyes on her. His beautiful angel. His erotic demon. She was always here.
“Yes.” He answered her, even though it meant he had to taste the foul air on his tongue.
“You could close your eyes,” she suggested in a whisper, and panic seized him because they were coming closer and closer and the light was starting to hurt his eyes and he was trapped. And even she would see . . .
And he reached for her, and the torches were there—blazing cruel light so that he could see her face and watch the terror that came to life in her eyes when she realized what he’d become. He reached out to touch her cheek, to comfort her or deny it, but then he could see his own hand. Fingers rotting, covered in black beetles and maggots . . . and he was touching her and she was screaming.
“Galen! Wake up! Wake up!”
He almost struck out against her, but her soft, cool fingers on his face finally anchored him back into the waking world. “I’m . . . it was . . . a bad dream.”
She knelt next to him, instinctively protecting him by cradling his head against her chest, her fingers stroking his hair and face in gentle soothing circles. “You were screaming. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life, my poor Galen! What was it?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out as he realized that none of the residual terror he usually felt was there. He’d made love to her and then fallen asleep. Normally, after any of his nightmares, he would have been compelled to leap up and light every lamp in the room to dispel its effects. But this time it was different. His heart had already slowed, and his attention was absorbed into the scent of her hair and the sweet silk of her warm skin against his. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing? How can that be?”
He stared into the dark, not really sure of the answer. How is it possible that I’m not tearing this bedroom apart and ringing for poor Bradley? The only difference—is Haley. “Ghosts and nightmares, Haley, apparently don’t have the same power as I look at you.”
“You can’t look at me, Galen. It’s too dark, but it’s a sweet sentiment.” She kissed him on the forehead, in an almost maternal gesture, but his body responded nonetheless and Galen wasn’t about to let her think of him as helpless for a single second longer.
He reared up, using his strength and speed to exchange positions with her, tucking her against his side and pinning her to the bedding. “I’ve memorized you, Miss Moreland. Lights are desirable, but I can navigate without them.”
“How . . . resourceful of you!” She sighed, arching into his hands as he began to demonstrate his mastery in the dark. He splayed his hands up over her rib cage and covered her breasts with his palms, relishing the way their pert tips came to life in hot, ripe points against his touch. “Every inch, Miss Moreland, of that voluptuous body of yours is mapped.”
“N-not every inch!” her voice was suddenly shy. “A lady likes to think she has a few mysteries left, Galen.”
“You have your mysteries, Haley. Never fear,” he whispered. Galen lifted himself off the bed and burrowed under the light covers to position himself at her feet.
“G-Galen? What are you doing?” she asked warily.
“Conducting a survey of the landscape,” he answered, his voice muffled by the sheets.
He started with her toes, playfully kissing each one before he dragged his nails lightly along the arch of her feet and made her giggle. Galen’s campaign was relentless, as he gently bit her instep only to circle her ankle with his tongue, making her yelp with surprise. He gave each foot equal attention, until she no longer seemed startled by any of his maneuvers. He massaged the small muscles in her heels and then easily slid his hands up to her calves to press his hands up over the curves there, contracting his fingers as he drew them back down until he’d reached her heel again—only to leisurely repeat the process.
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