Stephen clearly read the look of warm invitation in the woman's gaze. She looked like she wanted to have him for lunch.
Determined to be pleasant to Hayley's neighbors, Stephen inclined his head. "It would be an honor to attend."
"Excellent." Her gaze lingered on Stephen before turning back to Hayley. "I hope you'll have managed to dry off by then, Hayley," she said with a throaty laugh. She then linked a hand through each of her escort's arms. "Come, gentlemen. Let us get back to the village before those beastly dogs return."
The two men said goodbye, and Stephen was amused by the way Marshall Wentbridge's gaze clung to Pamela until the very last second. He was, however, highly unamused by the way Jeremy Popplemore's gaze clung to Hayley until the very last second.
Very highly unamused.
* * *
"Hayley, wait."
Stephen hadn't meant the request to sound like a command, but he was unable to hide his irritation.
She turned toward him, eyebrows raised in question. The rest of the bedraggled group continued along the path toward the house. "What is it, Stephen?"
His gaze wandered down her soaking-wet clinging dress, and pure male lust slammed into him. Heat pumped through his veins and his temper flared. "We need to discuss your lack of … propriety."
Her eyebrows shot up farther. "I beg your pardon?"
"That man, that Popplecart person—"
"Popplemore."
"Indeed. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw your gown plastered to your body in what can only be described as an indecent manner."
Her face flamed. "Surely you are mistaken. Jeremy has never treated me disrespectfully."
"The hell he hasn't. He undressed you with his eyes not five minutes ago." And damn it, so did I. His annoyance exploded into full-blown anger. "Your attire is nothing short of scandalous. If you're not sashaying about in skintight breeches—"
"Sashaying!"
"Then you're wet and…" He indicated her current state with a wave of his hand. "Well, wet. Your behavior is nothing short of shocking."
Blue fire flared in her eyes. "Indeed? Just what exactly do you find so offensive?"
"Everything," he fumed. The dam of frustration that had been steadily building inside him split open and a flood poured out. "The way you ride astride. The fact that you read gentlemen's magazines. The way your hair is always loose. For God's sake, only children and wantons wear their hair in such a manner." He started pacing in front of her. "You're always touching people. Have you any idea how inappropriate it was for you to shave me? To walk alone with me in the gardens? Allow me to kiss you?
"And then there's the way you run your home. Your brothers belong in boarding school, Callie needs a governess, and they all would benefit from some strong discipline and a firm set of rules to follow. Lessons belong in the classroom, not on a moth-eaten blanket. Children and servants do not take meals in the dining room." He paused in his tirade and plunged his fingers through his wet hair. "Winston needs to mind his language and Pierre needs to control his temper. Your household hovers one step away from chaos, and your entire family's behavior frequently skims the edges of decency."
The fire in her eyes turned to hot smoke. "Are you quite finished?"
He nodded stiffly. "Yes, I believe that about covers it."
"Excellent." Instead of backing down in the face of his anger as he'd expected, she moved closer and jabbed him hard in the chest with her index finger. He stepped back in surprise.
"Now you listen, and understand me well, Mr. Barrettson. You may say anything you wish about me, but don't you dare insult my family." She jabbed him again, harder this time. "We may be a bit unusual, but to suggest we are not decent is a mistake. Every member of my 'chaotic' household, from Winston down to Callie, is warm, loving, kind, and generous, and I am fiercely proud of each of them. I'll not allow you or anyone else to utter a word against them.
"As for your other complaints, I had no choice but to ride Pericles astride when we rescued you as he wasn't outfitted with a sidesaddle, and I don't believe Parliament has decreed that reading gentlemen's magazines is a crime. I only wear breeches at night, in the privacy of my own property. Never in the village. It was quite by accident that you even saw me wearing them. I rarely take the time to fuss with my hair because it falls out of whatever coif I try to achieve. As for touching people, it is simply my way of showing affection. Mama and Papa always had a kind touch for us and each other. They instilled it in me, and I hope to pass along that warmth to the children in my parents' absence. Had I suspected you found it so distasteful, I would never have laid a hand on you."
She made a move to poke him again and he stepped hastily back. Steam was all but hissing from her. "When I offered to shave you, I was merely thinking of your comfort. And as I recall, you joined me in my garden. I do agree that allowing you to kiss me was a grave error in judgment, but rest assured it is a mistake that won't be repeated, especially as you clearly found it so abhorrent."
"Hayley, I—"
"I'm not finished yet," she said, her eyes skewering him into silence. "I do not have the funds for either a governess or boarding school, but let me assure you, even if I did, I would not dream of sending Andrew and Nathan away.
"We have many rules in our home with regard to chores and behavior. Perhaps they do not meet your lofty standards, but that does not make them wrong. I discipline the children in what I hope is a firm yet loving manner and I think they are wonderful. Boisterous, yes. But I would worry if they simply sat quietly with their hands folded."
She pursed her lips and tapped her chin. "Hmmm. What else did you find offensive?"
Before he could open his mouth to speak, she rushed on.
"Oh, yes. Our moth-eaten blanket. We enjoy taking our lessons outside. I'm surprised that as a tutor you haven't done so yourself, but we clearly disagree on most matters. The children and the servants eat in the dining room because they are part of the family—a concept you obviously know nothing about. And if Pierre wants to wave his arms about, and Winston's language is occasionally rough, I accept that because I love them—another subject you appear to know little about, and for that I pity you."
Stephen stared at her, at a complete loss for words. He'd never received such a dressing-down in his entire life. Three minutes ago he'd been filled with righteous anger. Now he felt like a red-faced lad in knee pants after a severe scolding.
Jesus, he felt like an ass. By allowing his anger and frustration and, damn it, his jealousy, to get the better of him, he'd accomplished nothing except angering her and earning himself a bruised chest. He rubbed his throbbing skin. She certainly packed a powerful jab.
Sizzling him with a final glare that pierced him like a sword, she started up the path toward the house. Shame filled him along with an uneasy ache that cramped his insides.
He caught up with her, and grabbed her arm. "Hayley, wait."
She halted and stared pointedly at his hand holding her, then slid her gaze up to meet his eyes. "Please unhand me. You've made your dislike of touching quite clear."
He slowly removed his hand, his stomach churning. The problem wasn't that he disliked her touch. He liked it too much. "I owe you an apology."
Silence and a raised brow met his pronouncement.
"I was angry and spoke out of turn," he continued. "I'm sorry."
Her gaze remained steady on his for a full minute. Then she regally inclined her head and said in a cool voice, "I accept your apology, Mr. Barrettson. Now, please excuse me, I must change out of this 'scandalous' attire."
She turned and walked down the path, her wet gown dragging behind her.
Stephen stared after her. He could not recall the last time anyone had gainsaid him. Or the last time he'd issued an apology. Or experienced this sick sense of remorse because he'd hurt someone. Or cared if someone thought badly of him.
All he knew was that his heart hurt.
And it had nothing to do with the jab
bing she'd given him.
Chapter 12
« ^ »
When Stephen joined the family for dinner later that evening, they bore no resemblance to the bedraggled group that had tracked into the house earlier. All freshly bathed and clothed, they filed into the dining room.
His gaze settled on Hayley and his pulse leapt. Her hair was carefully arranged in a neat chignon at her nape. Their eyes met and when she smiled briefly, relief swept through him. A breath he hadn't realized he'd held whooshed from his lungs.
It was Nathan's turn to say the evening prayer, and everyone joined hands. Everyone, that is, except him and Hayley. Callie slipped her little hand into his, but while Hayley joined hands with Pamela, she made no move to touch him.
Acute loss flooded him. She touches people to show affection. And she doesn't want to touch me. An ache he could not name pinched him. He had no one to blame but himself, but damn it, he hadn't meant that he never wanted her to touch him again.
With his heart wedged in his throat, he held out his hand. She glanced down and surprise flickered in her eyes, but she made no move to touch him.
In a low voice only she could hear, he said a word the Marquess of Glenfield rarely, if ever used. "Please."
Their gazes collided, and after several heartbeats she placed her hand in his. Their palms met and warmth flowed up his arm. He gently squeezed her hand and a smile touched his lips when she squeezed him back. All this touching, he realized, wasn't so terrible after all. Of course, he was only enduring it for the sake of his tutor ruse. In fact, he was quite impressed with his acting ability.
While Nathan recited his prayer, Stephen's mind wandered, envisioning Hayley as she'd appeared earlier, wet and bedraggled, smiling and laughing, then eyes blazing, challenging and jabbing him. His fingers involuntarily tightened against hers once again.
"Mr. Barrettson, you can let go of Hayley's hand now," Callie said, tugging on Stephen's sleeve. "The prayer is over."
Stephen gazed down at the little girl and slowly let go of Hayley's hand. "Thank you, Callie," he said with a smile.
Callie beamed at him. "You're welcome."
The meal itself was a noisy, lively affair with the children loudly relating the day's events to Aunt Olivia, Winston, and Grimsley.
"Haul me by my britches and fling me from the crow's nest!" Winston exclaimed, shaking his head. "Those blood—" He caught Hayley's warning eye and coughed. "Those crazy dogs are sure to cause an accident someday."
Grimsley shot Winston a squinting glare. "As I recall, you are the person who encouraged Miss Hayley to keep those unruly beasts." He raised his nose in the air. "I would have—"
"You can't even see the mangy mongrels, ya blind old coot," Winston growled. "Ya wouldn't know a dog from an end table even if ya fell on it."
Grimsley squared his thin shoulders. "As Captain Albright's personal valet, I most certainly never fell on either a dog or an end table."
"Ya most likely have, but ya wouldn't be able to tell, ya nearsighted bag o' bones."
Hayley cleared her throat with a loud ahem, and the two men ceased their bickering. Although they exchanged only a few words during the meal, Stephen was acutely aware of Hayley next to him. Every time she moved, the subtle scent of roses wafted over him. The sound of her laughter flowed over him like warmed honey. Their fingers brushed once when they reached for the saltcellar at the same moment and his heart nearly stopped. Heat shot up his arm, and he shook his head, bemused by his strong reaction.
After dinner the group retired to the drawing room, where Andrew challenged Stephen to a game of chess. Badly in need of mental stimulation, Stephen accepted. Hayley, Pamela, Nathan, and Callie played cards while Aunt Olivia concentrated on her needlework. Stephen was well impressed by Andrew's skill. The boy played a wickedly clever game, and Stephen enjoyed himself thoroughly.
"Checkmate," Stephen finally said, moving his bishop into position. "That was an excellent game, Andrew. You're very skilled," he praised the boy. "You certainly had me on the run. Did your father teach you to play?"
"Yes. Papa taught all of us, except Callie, of course. I can beat Nathan all the time, but I've yet to best Hayley."
Stephen's brows rose in surprise. "Your sister plays chess?"
"Hayley's a better player than Papa was, and Papa was one of the best." He eyed Stephen with a speculative glance. "You're good, but I bet Hayley could beat you."
Stephen hadn't lost a chess game in years. He recalled his last defeat. He'd been about Andrew's age and had lost to his private tutor. That defeat had earned him his father's scathing scorn. "I don't think so, Andrew."
"Indeed? Would you care to place a wager?" Andrew asked, his eyes glowing.
Stephen's hands stilled from replacing his chess pieces. "A wager?"
"Yes. I bet that Hayley can best you at chess."
"And what are your terms?"
Andrew thought for a moment, his brow puckered. Suddenly his face cleared. "If you lose, you must help Nathan and me complete the building of our castle in the meadow by the lake."
Stephen cocked a brow. "And if I should win?"
"You won't," Andrew stated positively.
"But if, by some miracle, I do?"
"Well…" Andrew obviously didn't foresee such an outcome.
Stephen leaned forward. "If I win, you and Nathan must help your sisters weed the flower garden."
A look of pure horror passed over Andrew's face. "Weed the flower garden? But flowers are so … girl-like," Andrew finished lamely.
"I used to think so myself," Stephen said with an inward chuckle, thinking of the previous evening, "but I recently discovered flowers are something every man should know about."
"They are?" Andrew clearly didn't know whether to believe this man-to-man advice.
Stephen placed his hand over his heart. "Trust me, Andrew. Helping out in the flower garden is a very manly activity. Besides"—Stephen flashed the boy a grin—"if Hayley is as fine a chess player as you think, you won't have to pull up a single weed."
"That's right," Andrew said, his face clearing. "You'll be building a castle." Reaching his hand across the chess table, he said, "Done. You have a wager."
Stephen returned the boy's firm grip. "Done."
"When will you play her?" Andrew asked eagerly.
Stephen's eyes wandered over to Hayley, who was frowning at the cards she held in her hand. "I shall challenge her this evening," he answered softly.
* * *
"I understand you're a very fine chess player."
Hayley, on her way to the study to get some writing done now that the family had settled down for the night, paused in surprise. Stephen stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, his long frame supported by his broad shoulders. His arms were folded across his chest, and his green eyes studied her with interest. She walked toward him, trying to calm her suddenly erratic pulse.
"I thought everyone had gone to bed," she said, stopping in front of him.
"Everyone has … except for us," Stephen said softly. "Andrew informed me you're an excellent chess player. May I interest you in a game?"
Surprise raised her brows. "You realize it wouldn't be proper for us to be alone, staring at each other over a chessboard. I'd hate to receive another scolding."
"I've admitted I spoke out of turn. I thought you accepted my apology."
"I did, but—"
"Then play chess with me."
Hayley hesitated. She really needed to get some writing done. But the thought of spending time alone with Stephen was simply too enticing to ignore. The adventures of Captain Haydon Mills could wait a few hours.
Flashing him a smile, she walked past him into the drawing room. "I'd love to play."
They settled themselves opposite each other in front of the fireplace, the mahogany chess table between them.
A slow smile curved one corner of his mouth. "What shall we play for?"
Hayley looked at him in surprise. "Play
for? You mean as in a wager?"
"Exactly. It would make the game more interesting, don't you agree?"
"Perhaps," Hayley murmured, embarrassed to admit she had no excess funds for gaming. "I'm afraid I cannot afford to wager much."
"I wasn't thinking along the lines of money."
"Indeed? What else could we wager?"
Stephen tapped his fingers against his chin. "Ah! I have it. The winner may ask the loser to perform a task of the winner's choice."
"What sort of task?" Hayley asked, totally at sea.
"Well, for example, if you should win, you might ask me to pull weeds in your garden, and if I should win, I might ask you to mend one of my shirts." A slow smile touched his lips. "Or perhaps shave me again."
Her breath caught in her throat. Clearly he was teasing her. "But I would happily do those things for you anyway, Stephen."
"Oh. Well, I'm sure I could come up with something," he said, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion.
"Provided you are able to best me, of course."
"Of course." He inclined his head toward the table. "Shall we play?"
Anticipation skittered through her. It had been ages since she'd engaged anyone other than the boys in a game. She shot him a jaunty smile. "Prepare yourself to be trounced."
Hayley quickly discovered Stephen was a very skilled player. Relishing the challenge, she attacked with an unusual offensive her father had taught her, and counteracted Stephen's every move. With each passing moment, they slipped back into their previous easy camaraderie. The awkwardness between them faded until they were chuckling and teasing each other after every move.
After two hours of steady play Stephen leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face after making a brilliant move. "Top that."
"If you insist." Hayley leaned forward and moved her queen. "Checkmate."
The self-satisfied smile faded from Stephen's lips. His gaze dropped to the table, and he shook his head, clearly amazed. Then his surprised expression turned to one of clear admiration.
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