With a groan, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the memory of their kiss to wash over him. He had never kissed such a tall woman before, and he had to admit that it was a unique experience. All her curves fit his frame like perfectly formed puzzle pieces. If she had not left the garden, God knows what would have happened between them.
She excited him more than any other woman he had ever known. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, she had nearly brought him to his knees.
Where he had found the strength to refrain from stripping her bare and burying himself in her warmth, he would never know. He knew many men who were ruled by their passions and made unwise decisions based on their physical needs rather than their brains. Stephen normally didn't suffer from that problem, but kissing Hayley was a decision that definitely had physical needs written all over it.
Even though his head told him not to kiss her, even though logic screamed it was an unwise decision, he hadn't heeded his own better judgment. And now look at me. Drinking brandy in the middle of the night, still uncomfortably aroused, and unable to sleep. And all because of an on-the-shelf spinster. If the members of his club could see him like this—all but mooning over an innocent country chit—they would laugh their collective asses off.
But she's not just an on-the-shelf country chit, his inner voice interrupted. Except for Victoria she's the only truly good person you have ever met. She shares herself with everyone—her family, friends, even strangers—yet asks nothing in return. What the hell sort of person is that?
An angel.
But look at all her flaws. Her behavior, her clothing, her family, would cause Society matrons to dash for their hartshorn. Still, she somehow struck a chord deep inside him. And damn it, he didn't like it. Yet it also bothered him to no end that she'd been upset when she left him.
Frustrated, Stephen tossed down the remainder of his drink and stood. He paced back and forth. He had to face the facts. The only reason he was staying at Albright Cottage was because someone was trying to kill him. He was going home to London in a few weeks time and would undoubtedly never see Hayley again. His time in the country should be spent thinking of ways to capture his killer, not kissing in the garden. But he seemed to be having a difficult time remembering why he was here. He had no business starting any sort of dalliance with her. Perhaps if she were more experienced and could play sexual games by his rules, he would consider passing his enforced time in Halstead in her arms.
But he had no desire to seduce a virginal spinster. Stephen paused in his pacing and looked down at his still unrelaxed arousal and quirked his mouth in a rueful half-grin.
All right, so he had the desire to seduce her. But he would not. His life was in London and there was no place in his world for Miss Hayley Albright and her brood of noisy siblings. He was simply going to have to stay away from her as much as possible and control himself when he was near her. No more kissing. Absolutely not. Never again. He'd allowed things to get out of hand this evening—a mistake he couldn't afford to repeat. He nodded to himself decisively and headed back to his bedchamber.
Surely he'd have no trouble keeping his passions in check for the next several weeks. Then once he was back in London he would bury himself in his mistress's willing arms and forget all about this insane desire for a simple country girl.
Yes indeed. Once I slake my passions with my mistress, all thoughts of Hayley will vanish completely.
His inner voice said not bloody likely, but he managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.
* * *
Hayley lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, reliving the past hour—the most wonderful and most mortifying hour of her life. Her emotions swayed from euphoria to shame, then back again.
A shiver passed through her as she recalled the sensation of Stephen's mouth, the warmth of his body, the spicy, woodsy-clean fragrance that belonged to him alone. Heat flooded her veins, pooling in her lower belly. After living six and twenty years without having the vaguest notion of what desire felt like, Stephen had shown her in a matter of minutes.
This aching, sweet, warmth … this heart-pounding, tingling sensation that invaded all one's senses … this was desire. She raised her fingertips to her swollen lips and touched them.
But heaven above, what he must think of her! Her cheeks flamed, recalling her wanton reaction to his kiss, to his caress, but he'd simply overwhelmed her senses. She couldn't have stopped her uninhibited response any more than she could pull the moon from the sky.
Jeremy Popplemore had certainly never made her feel this way—all liquid and weak-limbed. In fact, what she felt for Stephen made her youthful feelings for Jeremy pale to nothingness.
As the significance of that thought settled on Hayley, her heart skipped a beat. Sitting bolt upright in bed, she pressed her palms to her hot cheeks, half in awestruck discovery, half in dismay.
She was falling in love with Stephen Barrettson.
Falling in love. Dear God. Was that possible?
She flopped back down and forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. She'd long ago given up on ever finding a man to love and share her life with. She had managed to cope after Jeremy cried off, and in retrospect she could not really blame him for not wanting to take on the entire Albright brood. The responsibility, as she well knew, was daunting.
So she had gone on, devoting herself to her family, her days occupied with running Albright Manor and educating the children. None of the gentlemen in the village struck her fancy, and she knew she was too tall, too average-looking, and too unconventional to attract their attention anyway. Left with little choice, she'd pushed all thoughts of romance and love aside.
Until Stephen Barrettson entered her life.
The man had not been out of her thoughts for a moment since she brought him home. Even while he lay prostrate on the bed, racked with fever, close to death, Hayley had felt something—an indescribable, inexplicable bond with him.
When he finally awoke and she had looked into his dark green eyes for the first time, her heart had turned over. Now, after spending the last several days with him, her feelings were growing stronger. Aside from the fact that Stephen was the most physically beautiful man she had ever seen, he also fascinated her.
That he had no family wrenched her heart. Yes, Stephen possessed an air of sadness, an inner vulnerability that beckoned her like nectar attracts bees. She longed to banish the uneasy shadows lurking in his eyes.
She noticed how he sometimes froze when she touched him, as if caring, friendly touches were foreign to him. He reminded her of the cat with the broken leg she had found as a child. Her heart had gone out to the poor suffering creature. She'd brought the cat into the barn, set its leg, and named her Petunia. She'd cared for Petunia, loving the furry beast, feeding it, and pouring all her heart, soul, and compassion into the task. Petunia, alone and friendless in the world, reveled in the attention. Even though the cat did occasionally spit and claw at her, Hayley never lost patience with the creature and soon they were inseparable friends. Petunia died when Hayley was sixteen, and she had cried for days.
Stephen reminded her of that cat—injured and desperately in need of love and compassion, even if he didn't realize it.
Perhaps I can heal him on the inside as well as the outside. Perhaps no one has ever really been kind to him, or loved him. Her mind raced ahead. Maybe if she showed Stephen what a loving family was, perhaps he might want to stay in Halstead.
Perhaps he'll come to care for me as I care for him.
Hayley knew that if he didn't, if he left in two weeks as he was planning, her heart would break. What were the chances that he might fall in love with her and want to remain? Hayley shook her head. One man had already walked away from her because of the responsibilities she carried. Nothing had changed—she still would never consider abandoning her family.
Then there was the matter of her secret employment. How could she possibly consider a ro
Don't forget how he kissed you, her inner voice interrupted. That kiss. How could she possibly forget it? And Stephen had certainly seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps she wasn't quite as unattractive as she thought? Hayley dismissed that notion with an impatient shake of her head. No, feminine allure was definitely not her strong suit.
Might Stephen grow to care for her?
Hayley shook her head. The odds were not in her favor.
But whatever the odds, might it not be worth the risk?
Chapter 11
« ^ »
When Stephen entered the breakfast room the next morning, he found it empty except for Aunt Olivia, who sat at the table sipping coffee.
"Good morning, Mr. Barrettson," she said. "Coffee, fruit, and muffins are on the sideboard."
"Thank you, Miss Albright," Stephen said gratefully. His head pounded like all bloody hell thanks to his freedom with the brandy the previous evening. He dearly wished Sigfried was here to fix him up with whatever awful concoction he gave Stephen after an evening of overindulgence. As his valet was absent, coffee sounded like just the thing to set him to rights. He owed Hayley an apology and he wanted all his faculties intact before facing her.
"You must call me Aunt Olivia," she said with a friendly smile. "Everyone does. You're part of the family, dear boy."
Stephen's hand froze in the act of picking up his coffee cup. Part of the family? He barely felt part of his own family.
"Er, thank you … Aunt Olivia." To hide his confusion he sipped his coffee.
"You're looking a bit peaked this morning," Aunt Olivia remarked.
An image of Hayley flashed through his mind. "I'm afraid I didn't sleep very well."
"Oh dear. That's too bad. There are some mornings I, too, feel like hell." She shook her head sympathetically.
Stephen nearly choked on his coffee. "I said well. WELL."
A beaming smile lit her cherubic face. "Oh! I'm so glad you're well, although I'm a bit surprised to hear it. You look rather pale to me."
"I'm fine," Stephen said loudly, a desperate note creeping into his voice. All this shouting was setting his head to pounding. "Where is everyone?" he all but screamed, hoping she would understand him.
"Hayley and the children have gone to the lake to have their lessons."
"Lessons? At the lake?"
"Of course. Hayley always teaches the children outdoors if the weather permits." She leaned forward. "I stayed home to supervise the laundry woman from the village. Hayley told me she didn't know how she'd manage without me to watch over the washtub. Why, if I didn't keep an eye on the proceedings, our clothes might end up in ruins!"
A half-smile lit Stephen's lips. How like Hayley to make her aunt feel important. He finished his coffee, stood, and walked over to Aunt Olivia. When he stood directly in front of her, he took her hand, made her a formal bow, then pressed a brief kiss to the back of her fingers.
"Hayley and the children are indeed lucky to have you, Aunt Olivia." He spoke loudly, and he knew she'd heard him when a pink flush crept up her cheeks.
"Well!" She patted her hair and dropped her eyes demurely. "What a topping thing to say, Mr. Barrettson. Why, I'd wager you're more charming than the king himself." She peeked up at him, and blushed ever more furiously.
Stephen laughed. "I'm not certain charming is the best word to describe His Majesty."
Her eyes widened to saucers. "Good heavens, have you actually met him?"
"Of course." He suddenly realized what he was saying. "Not." He coughed several times. "Of course not." Damn it, he needed to remember who the hell he was, or rather, who he was supposed to be. And tutors certainly were not acquainted with King George. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll wander down to the lake and see the others," he said. He bowed again over her hand and left the room.
"What a delightful young man," Olivia said aloud to the empty room. "So charming. And handsome as the devil. I wonder what my niece is planning to do about it."
* * *
Stephen heard their voices before he saw them.
Pausing behind a copse of beech trees, he remained out of sight, listening for a moment.
"Excellent," came Hayley's voice. "Now, who can tell me who Brabantio was?"
"He was Desdemona's father in Othello," Nathan replied. "He strongly opposed her marriage to the Moor."
"Correct," said Hayley. "How about Goneril?"
"She was Lear's eldest, evil daughter in King Lear," Andrew answered. "That was easy, Hayley. Ask us a harder one."
"All right. Who was Demetrius?"
"The young man in love with Hermia in A Midsummer Night's Dream," said Nathan.
"No," protested Andrew. "He was a friend of Antony's in Antony and Cleopatra, right, Hayley?"
"Actually, you are both correct," said Hayley. "Shakespeare often used the same character names in more than one play."
Stephen stepped from behind the tree and said, "Demetrius was also Chiron's brother in Titus Andronicus."
Their "classroom" was a huge, moth-eaten quilt spread on the grass. Nathan and Andrew lay sprawled on their stomachs. Hayley sat with her legs folded beneath her, her brown gown surrounding her, while Pamela and Callie sat a short distance away, perched before easels, watercolor brushes in their hands.
Hayley turned at the sound of his voice. "Ste—Mr. Barrettson! What a … pleasant surprise."
"May I join you?"
She hesitated, then scooted over, making room. "Of course."
Stephen settled himself next to her. His gaze drifted over her and his heart thumped to life. The bright sun glinted on her chestnut hair, coaxing reddish highlights out of hiding, and a delicate pink flush stained her cheeks. In spite of her plain, rather ugly gown, she was absolutely breathtaking.
Holding out his hand, he presented her with a small bunch of flowers. "For you."
A slow, beautiful smile eased across her face, and his heart, quite simply, turned over.
"Pansies," she said softly. "Thank you."
He leaned closer and said in voice only she could hear, "Forgive me. I allowed things to get out of hand last evening."
Her color heightened to deep rose. "Of course."
Relief swept through him, although his better judgment told him he'd be better off with her upset at him.
"Perhaps you'd like to join in our lesson?" she invited. "I'd nearly forgotten that you are a tutor."
Her gaze drifted down to his mouth and Stephen stifled a moan. Her gaze touched him like a caress. It took him several seconds to process her comment. She'd forgotten he was a tutor. I'd forgotten I told you I was a tutor. I'm too busy remembering our kiss. With an effort, he pulled his attention away from her and looked at Nathan and Andrew.
"You boys certainly seem to know your Shakespeare," Stephen remarked, thankful he hadn't interrupted a Latin lesson.
"Do you like Shakespeare, Mr. Barrettson?" asked Andrew, his eyes alight with curiosity.
"Yes, but I always preferred the stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table." He recalled, as a child, sneaking into the woods surrounding Barrett Hall, Gregory and Victoria in tow, the three of them pretending to search for the Holy Grail. It was one of very few pleasant childhood memories. The game had ended the moment his father found out about "that foolishness."
"We often pretend we're King Arthur's knights!" Nathan exclaimed. He pointed toward a clearing in the distance. "We're building a castle out of stones in the meadow over yonder. Andrew is Arthur and I am Lancelot. We're looking for a Galahad. Would you like to play?"
"As I recall, Galahad is a young man virtually without flaw," Stephen said, a mock frown on his face. "I don't believe I could fit in his shoes."
"Then how about Percival?" broke in Andrew. "He was one of the three Grail Knights."
"All right," Stephen agreed. "Percival it is." He turned to Hayley. "And what part do you play in Camelot?"
She laughed. "Pamela and I share the part of Queen Guinevere. We rarely join in the exploits. Our job is taking care of the castle and awaiting the return of our chivalrous knights."
"Callie is King Arthur's page," said Nathan.
"It certainly sounds like you have a good group to seek the Grail. When is the next expedition?" Stephen asked.
Andrew and Nathan turned hopeful eyes to Hayley. "Today, Hayley? Please?"
"Tomorrow, my good knights. No searching for the Holy Grail until we finish our lessons and chores."
Andrew and Nathan groaned, but prepared for the remainder of their lessons. Stephen observed Hayley's teaching methods with interest. She started Nathan composing a short story, invented a half-dozen complicated mathematical problems for Andrew, then instructed Callie to draw pictures of objects using every letter of the alphabet. Last, she discussed various household items with Pamela while they set up their picnic lunch. It was certainly different from the strict lessons he'd received at the hands of his forbidding private tutors.
Did this woman do anything in the conventional way? Damn it, no. She didn't. And he was beginning to suspect that was part of her appeal.
When the children finished their assignments, everyone clamored onto the quilt to eat. Hayley passed out plates of cold meat pies, chicken, fish, and cheese while Pamela cut thick slices of bread.
After the children had been served, Hayley turned to him. "I hope you're hungry, Mr. Barrettson."
"Starved," Stephen assured her, reminding himself they were discussing lunch.
"What sort of chicken do you care for?" she asked, peering into the hamper. "I have three thighs, one leg, and two wings."
"Indeed? You must have a devil of a time getting clothes to fit."
At first she seemed puzzled by his words, then, as their meaning sank in, she blushed bright red. "I didn't mean—"
"I was teasing you, Hayley," he said softly, feeling more lighthearted than he had in years. He reached around her, grabbed a chicken leg, and bit into the meat with gusto. "Delicious," he proclaimed, giving her a broad wink. By damn, being a tutor was great fun.
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