RED ROSES MEAN LOVE

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  "You mean besides pigheaded men who are warm and kind one minute and cold and forbidding the next?"

  "Yes. And I am not pigheaded."

  "That is a matter of opinion," she said, her dimples winking.

  "Perhaps. What else makes you angry?"

  She pursed her lips and pondered the question for a moment. "Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies," she finally answered, her tone serious.

  Her words washed over him, filling him with shame. Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies. He was guilty of everyone of those things. Especially lies, where she was concerned.

  Forcing a light note into his voice, he said, "I shall endeavor not to engage in any of those activities." Too late, Stephen, his inner voice shouted.

  "I have no fear you'd ever act unkindly, selfishly, or in a cruel or deceitful manner," she said softly, looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

  Another wave of guilt swamped him, lying so heavily on his chest, he had to struggle to draw a breath. A frown formed between his brows. Tell her. Tell her now.

  "Hayley. I'm not the paragon you seem to think I am. In fact, I…" His words died when she reached out and touched his hand.

  "Yes, you are, Stephen." She raised shining eyes to his. "Yes, you are."

  Groaning, he gathered her into his arms, clutching her to his pounding heart. He buried his face in her fragrant hair and closed his eyes against the shame eating at him. She'd just looked at him the same way Callie had the night before, with admiration shining from her wide aqua eyes. Admiration that made him feel, for the first time in his life, that maybe he wasn't such a bastard after all. And by God, he liked the feeling.

  He liked it a great deal.

  But he didn't deserve it.

  Step away from her. Tell her you're leaving tomorrow.

  Instead he held her close. He clasped her tight and tried to absorb some of her goodness into himself, knowing that tomorrow, after he was gone, the look of admiration would fade from her eyes. A sense of profound loss swept through him, and he hugged her closer, enjoying her sweetness for another fleeting moment.

  After tomorrow it would all be gone.

  * * *

  "You look lovely, Miss Albright," Stephen said that evening to Pamela when she entered the drawing room. His gaze swept her from head to foot, taking in her pastel green gown and becoming chignon. "You're certain to turn every male head at the party."

  A pink blush suffused her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Barrettson. You look exceptionally dashing yourself."

  "Thank you…" Stephen's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hayley standing in the doorway, a vision in the pale aqua gown. The dress exactly matched her luminous eyes. The low scooped bodice hugged her breasts, leaving an enticing amount of creamy flesh bare. Her chestnut tresses were gathered in an artful array of curls on top of her head, with shiny tendrils surrounding her face. A pale aqua ribbon wound through the soft strands.

  God! The air left his lungs in a whoosh. She literally took his breath away. He walked toward her, his gaze fastened on her flushed face. When he reached her, he captured her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her gloved fingers.

  "You're exquisite," he said softly. "Utterly exquisite."

  Her blush heightened. "The gown is beautiful, Stephen."

  "The woman wearing it is beautiful." Unable to stop himself, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

  She gasped softly. "You don't think the bodice is a bit scandalous?"

  Stephen's eyes drifted downward. The bodice was indeed low-cut, but not unfashionably so. In fact, it was modest when compared to the gowns the women of the ton wore. Hayley's creamy skin glowed above the pale aqua muslin, the swell of her breasts captivating his gaze. He longed to brush his fingers over those enticing curves, and only a great deal of determination kept him from touching her.

  "It's perfect," he assured her, his voice husky with suppressed desire. "You look like an angel."

  "I love the pansies. They're so elegant."

  "Yes, well, 'you occupy my thoughts.'" As you have from the moment we met.

  "Are we ready to leave?" Pamela asked from across the room

  "Indeed we are," Stephen said, forcing his gaze away from Hayley. He held an elbow out for each woman, and led them out to the waiting gig. Grimsley held the reins while Stephen helped the ladies get seated. He settled himself between them and took the reins. The vehicle was really built for two, and the three of them were squashed together thigh to thigh. He'd never driven such a vehicle, and he hoped his ignorance wouldn't show. Setting the gig in motion, he hoped for the best.

  * * *

  Hayley entered Lorelei Smythe's elegant manor home, her heart pounding in anticipation. The way Stephen had looked at her—was still looking her, his green eyes dark and stormy, his gaze so warm and compelling, made it difficult to breathe.

  She'd always dreaded parties. The few she'd attended had resulted in nothing but acute embarrassment. She was too tall, no one asked her to dance, and her clothes always seemed out of fashion.

  But not tonight. Tonight she felt like a princess. Her dress was beautiful, and the handsomest, most wonderful man in the world was her escort.

  "Hayley and Pamela," Lorelei gushed, extending her hands. "How nice to see you. And Mr. Barrettson. How divine you're here." She graced Pamela with a cursory nod, then her eyes settled on Hayley.

  "Goodness! What a lovely gown, Hayley," she said, her sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Hayley's appearance. "I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so nicely attired." Snaking her arm through Stephen's with an unmistakably proprietary air, she continued, "Hayley usually dresses in drab brown and covers herself with lake water. It would be quite scandalous if everyone wasn't used to her … eccentricities. Now, you must allow me to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. Barrettson." She turned back to Pamela and Hayley. "Will you please excuse us?" Pressing herself close to Stephen's side, she led him into the house.

  "I cannot tolerate the way that woman treats you," Pamela fumed in a hushed tone. "I'd like to smack that supercilious smug look right off her face. How dare she commandeer your Mr. Barrettson like that. Why she—"

  "Pamela, he is not my Mr. Barrettson," Hayley whispered, trying to tamp down the jealousy flooding her. The sight of Lorelei's hands on Stephen made Hayley want to break something. Perhaps that gaudy porcelain shepherdess on that expensive cherrywood end table.

  But she had Pamela to think about, and a scene would never do. Pulling herself together, she said, "Wipe that frown from your face, Pamela. Marshall just caught sight of us and is headed this way."

  "Miss Hayley, Miss Pamela," Marshall said when he reached them. He bowed to Hayley. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Hayley."

  "Thank you, Marshall."

  Marshall turned to Pamela and Hayley watched him visibly swallow. "And you, Miss Pamela," he said in a reverent tone, "you look very beautiful." He bowed formally over her hand, then extended his arms to both of them. "May I escort you ladies into the party?"

  "Perhaps Hayley would allow me the pleasure?" a deep voice behind them asked.

  Hayley turned and found herself face-to-face with Jeremy Popplemore. He smiled in a friendly manner, and Hayley responded in kind. She bore Jeremy no ill feelings. If he wished to be friends, she harbored no objections.

  "Good evening, Jeremy. That is very kind, but Marshall—"

  "Has already escorted your sister into the drawing room, I'm afraid," Jeremy said wryly. He extended his elbow. "May I have the honor?"

  Left with little choice, Hayley lightly rested her gloved hand on Jeremy's sleeve and allowed him to escort her into the well-appointed drawing room. Axminster carpets dotted the polished marble floors, and tasteful cherrywood and mahogany tables accented the half dozen brocade sofas. Perhaps forty people roamed the large room, standing about in small groups, sipping Madeira or punch served by footmen.

  "You look lovely this evening, Hayley," Jeremy said, his eyes sliding over her, linge
ring on her décolletage. "Very lovely indeed."

  Hayley couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. "Thank you, Jeremy, although I must say, everyone who says that to me has the most astounded look on their face. I must look quite dreadful most of the time."

  Jeremy threw back his head and laughed. "Not at all, my dear," he assured her, his eyes once again sweeping over her. "Not at all."

  * * *

  On the other side of the room, Stephen heard Jeremy Poppleport's laugh. He'd covertly observed the other man escort Hayley into the drawing room and then watched his eyes travel over her with a look Stephen recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who liked what he saw. The look of a man who wanted what he saw.

  Stephen's fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass. He fought hard to banish the overpowering desire to pummel Poppledink into dust. And to make matters worse, Lorelei Smythe was once again plastered to Stephen's side, and angling him to a private corner of the room. Because he was distracted and didn't wish to be rude to the people Hayley and her family had to socialize with, he allowed himself to be led. But he'd already decided he was going to give this annoying woman exactly two more minutes of his time, then depart her bothersome company.

  "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

  « ^ »

  After 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, aft
er 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.