Red Roses Mean Love

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.

Leaning toward her, Stephen said, "You're blushing, Hayley. Just as you did when you said your name means 'from the hay meadow.'" He paused and lowered his gaze pointedly to her mouth. "I believe we know each other well enough now for you tell me why the meaning of your name brings such color to your cheeks."

Glancing around, he saw that Andrew and Nathan were engrossed in the unlikely combination of activities of eating meat pies and catching a grasshopper. Pamela and Callie sat on the far end of the huge quilt, eating and laughing at Andrew and Nathan's antics. "This is as alone as we'll ever be in such a crowd. Tell me," he urged.

Amusement gleamed in her eyes. "I don't want to shock you."

He waved his chicken leg with a flourish. "I am completely unshockable, I assure you."

"Very well, but don't say you weren't warned. It's an Albright family tradition to name the children in commemoration of the place or circumstances surrounding their, er, conception.

Stephen stared at her for several heartbeats as understanding dawned. "You mean your parents-"

"Precisely. In a hay meadow. I'm deeply grateful there was no stream nearby or I might have been christened something truly horrid like 'Atwater' or 'Riverhead.'"

"Indeed." A deep chuckle rumbled through him. "I must admit, I'm now curious about the origins of the other children's names."

She raised her brows. "You're certain you're unshockable?"

"Positive."

"All right. Pamela means 'made from honey.' Papa brought Mama a porcelain jar back from a voyage, and…" Her voice trailed off.

Stephen suppressed a laugh. "Say no more. I quite understand."

"Nathan means 'gift from God' and was chosen because my parents had prayed for a boy. Andrew means 'manly,' chosen by Mama because she said Papa was, er, manly." She coughed into her hand. "And Callie means 'the most beautiful,' again chosen by Mama to commemorate her, um, night with Papa."

Stephen wasn't sure what amused him more-her outrageous story or the ever growing crimson staining her cheeks. Their eyes met and his mirth faded, replaced by an overpowering desire to touch her. To kiss her. All the promises he'd made himself last evening fled his mind, his resolve melting like sugar in hot tea.

For the first time in years he had absolutely nothing to do but sit on a quilt by a lake and nibble on chicken legs, and by damn he was enjoying himself. All the cares and responsibilities he shouldered were miles away for the time being. An unprecedented sense of peace washed over him.

He shouldn't be flirting with Hayley, but he couldn't help himself. His gaze fixed on her wide aqua eyes and a slow grin curved one corner of his lips.

He ran a lazy fingertip across her flushed cheek. She drew in a quick breath and her lips parted slightly, drawing his attention. The need to taste her again was quickly overpowering his common sense. Leaning closer, he whispered, "Your skin turns the most fascinating shade when-"

"Hayley!" Callie's voice broke in. "May I have some cider?"

Hayley gasped. Disappointment flooded him. Jerking back from his hand, she focused her attention on pouring Callie some cider and the moment was lost.

Pamela rejoined them, helping herself to another slice of bread. "What age are the children you tutor, Mr. Barrettson?" she asked.

He forced his gaze from Hayley's tempting mouth. "The young man I was in charge of recently went off to Eton, thus ending my employment," he improvised smoothly. "I am scheduled to begin with another family next month."

"Where does the family live?" Callie asked. "I hope it is near Halstead so we can see you often." Her huge eyes looked at him with a hopeful expression.

Stephen's light mood sobered a bit. Once he left Halstead, he doubted he would ever see the Albrights again. His life was almost exclusively in London or his country estate, Glenfield Manor, which was situated several hours from London in the opposite direction of Halstead. He and the Albrights moved in completely different social circles. No, he was unlikely ever to see them again.

"I'm afraid the family lives very far from Halstead, Callie," he answered. The hopeful light faded from her eyes, yanking something tender in his heart.

"Oh," Callie said, clearly crestfallen. Then her expression brightened. "Perhaps you can come to visit us. Hayley promised me a party for my birthday next month. Would you like to come? We'll have a grand tea party with cakes and cookies."

Stephen was saved from answering by a loud bark. He turned and gaped, watching as three huge dogs-or were they small, barking, horses?-emerged from the woods and barreled toward the group at breakneck speed. He made a halfhearted attempt to stand, but Hayley laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"I wouldn't get up if I were you," she warned in a laughing voice. "It is only inviting them to knock you down."

"What the hell are they?" Stephen eyed the approaching beasts distrustfully. "They looked as if they could eat Callie in one gulp. And they're nearly upon us."

"They're our pets. Oh, I know they look intimidating, but they're gentle as lambs. Just sit still and let them smell you. You'll be the best of friends in no time."

Stephen didn't have a chance to reply. The three dogs descended, tongues lolling, tails wagging, and chaos reigned. The beasts alternately gobbled every morsel of food on the quilt, licked the Albright children, and barked in a deafening fashion. Stephen sat perfectly still, praying that the monster smelling his ear wouldn't decide to make an hors d'oeuvre out of it.

"May I present our dogs, Winky, Pinky, and Stinky," Hayley said, trying without much success to smother a grin. "Boys, this is Mr. Barrettson, our guest. I expect you to treat him with the utmost courtesy and gentleness."

The beast directly in front of Stephen had only one eye. "This, I take it, is Winky?" he guessed, casting a sidelong glance at Hayley.

"Yes. Poor Winky lost an eye several years ago. And this is Pinky. Callie named him that because he had no fur when he was a puppy, only pink skin."

Stephen refrained from pointing out that Pinky did not have much hair now. He was easily the most moth-eaten character Stephen had ever set eyes on.

The third big beast came up to Stephen, thrust its snout in his face, and barked once. Without a doubt this animal was Stinky. The stench of his breath nearly choked Stephen. Then, before he could stop the beast, it swiped the entire side of his face with a stinking, slimy tongue.

"Come on boys!" Nathan and Andrew shouted. They picked up sticks and headed for the lake shore. Several seconds later the dogs ran into the water, eagerly fetching the pieces of wood.

"Do you need a handkerchief?" Hayley asked, staring pointedly at his wet face.

Stephen touched his fingers to his cheek. "Actually, I think a bath is more in order," he said dryly. If Sigfried saw him now, the formidable valet would succumb to apoplexy-immediately after he condemned those dogs to death.

"Wait here. I'll wet a napkin for you."

She walked to the shore, bent over, and dipped one end of a linen napkin into the lake.

"Hayley! Look out!"

Andrew's warning came too late.

Just as Hayley straightened, one of the beasts jumped up and placed its huge front paws on her shoulders.

Hayley, clearly unprepared for the dog's enthusiastic greeting, lost her footing. She fell backward and landed with a wet splash in the water, the huge dog standing on top of her, wagging its tail and licking her face.

Stephen jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain the sudden movement caused in his tender ribs, and raced to the shore.

"Stop it, you crazy canine!" Andrew yelled, giving the beast an unceremonious shove. The dog lavished Hayley's face with one last swipe of its tongue and jumped off, racing down the shore with his cohorts following in a frenzy.

By the time Stephen reached the shore, Andrew and Nathan had helped her up and were leading her out of the water. Stephen skidded to a halt, and stared.

She was soaked, head to foot. Her hair lay plastered against her scalp, bits of leaves clinging to the strands. Flecks of mud marked her face, like dirty freckles against her pale skin.

Black mud streaked her gown, which clung to her body like a second skin. Stephen's gaze wandered down her length, his imagination easily conjuring up the perfection of her curves under the wet material. His nostrils twitched as he caught a whiff of her. She stunk to high heaven. Obviously Stinky was the culprit. His eyes traveled back to her face and he froze, stunned by what he saw.

He'd fully expected her to be outraged. Any woman of his acquaintance, including his normally sweet-natured sister, would be furious and apoplectic over such an incident.

Hayley was smiling.

"Are you all right?" Pamela asked, holding Callie by the hand.

Hayley laughed and looked down at herself. "Well, I look like the very devil, and smell even worse, but other than that I'm fine." She shot a sheepish look at Stephen. "Did I mention that the dogs are somewhat high-strung?"

Several other words to describe those filthy beasts sprang to Stephen's mind, but before he had a chance to utter them, the dogs bounded back at full gallop, tongues lolling. The three beasts surrounded the group and simultaneously shook themselves, showering sprays of muddy water in all directions. Then they took off in a tear, disappearing into the woods.

Stephen looked at his soaked shirt and wiped the water drops from his face with his wet sleeve. "High-strung, did you say?" he asked, surveying the rest of the group. They were all wet and bedraggled, especially little Callie, who was nothing short of drenched.

"Perhaps 'overly enthusiastic' is a better term," Pamela suggested with a giggle, pushing her wet hair from her face.

"How about zealous?" Andrew said with a grin.

"Mentally unbalanced is actually more accurate," Stephen muttered, shaking his head.

Nathan turned beseeching eyes to his bedraggled sister. "Can we dunk in the water, Hayley? Please? We're already all wet."

Stephen thought Hayley was going to refuse, but he watched a mischievous gleam sparkle in her eyes. She lifted her sodden skins to her knees.

"Last one in is a wart-nosed goblin!" she shouted.

The rest of the Albrights, including Pamela, who until that moment Stephen had believed fairly sane, splashed into the lake. Nathan performed a belly-flop dive, sending a sheet of water over everyone as he dunked beneath the surface. Stephen stood on the shore, half amused, half horrified by their exuberant, uninhibited behavior. They tossed water at each other, flinging Shakespearean insults back and forth.

"Your 'offence is rank, it smells to heaven!'" Splash!

"'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark!'" Splash!

"'My nose is in great indignation!'" Splash!

"'You have a blasting and scandalous odor!'" Splash!

Stephen shook his head in amazement. They were all candidates for Bedlam. But damn it, their hilarity was contagious. Throwing his head back, he laughed until his sides ached. He just couldn't help himself. The group of them, from the supposedly adult Hayley down to little Callie, were soaked, bedraggled and obviously enjoying themselves to the limit.

"Mr. Barrettson! Mr. Barrettson! You're the wart-nosed goblin!" Callie ran to Stephen and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. "Come on! You're missing all the fun!"

Stephen hesitated. Frolic about in a lake? In one's clothes? He'd never done anything so undignified in his entire life. It was one thing to watch them and quite another to participate.

Callie tugged again. "Don't be afraid, Mr. Barrettson. It's only water."

He drew himself up. "I'm not afraid."

Leaning closer, she confided in an undernote, "If Winston were here, he'd say 'get yer bloody self wet. Yer arse won't melt.' That's what he tells Andrew and Nathan when they don't want to take their baths."

A bark of horrified laughter nearly choked him. Half appalled, half amused, he shifted his feet and debated if he should correct her. Callie clearly interpreted the movement as a sign of capitulation. She yanked on his hand, and he gave in. What the hell. No one will ever know. He allowed Callie to pull him forward into the lake. The instant he joined the others, a wall of water hit him in the face, shocking him, leaving him sputtering.

"Oops!" Hayley flashed him an unrepentant grin. Determined to regain his dignity, Stephen issued a low growl and plunged his hands into the water, and splashed for all he was worth. His bruised ribs protested the movement, but he ignored the discomfort, intent on regaining his honor. Callie and Andrew sided with Stephen against Nathan, Pamela, and Hayley, and soon all-out war was waged.

After nearly half an hour Hayley called a cease-fire. "Halt!" she gasped, puffing with exertion.

Stephen remained bent over, arms beneath the surface of the water, ready to pounce. His eyes narrowed on the opposing troops. "Are you surrendering?"

"Yes. I give up. I can't go on," Hayley said, pushing her soaking hair from her forehead.

"Nor I," panted Pamela.

"But, Hayley!" protested Nathan. "I'm not ready to surrender."

Hayley rumpled the boy's hair. "Part of being a successful leader is knowing when you're beaten. We shall be victorious next time."

"We accept your surrender," Stephen said solemnly. The opposing forces shook hands all around and sloshed out of the water, laughing and dripping.

They'd just reached the shore when a man's voice came from beyond the thick copse of trees.

"Hello? Is that you, Miss Albright?"

Everyone's attention focused on a group of people emerging from the forest.

"Good heavens, Hayley, it's Dr. Wentbridge," Pamela gasped in a distressed undertone. "Whatever will he think when he sees me in such a state? Oh dear."

"Come quickly." Hayley grabbed Pamela's hand and hurried her back to the quilt. She yanked the blanket from the ground and vigorously shook the leaves from it. "We cannot do anything about your hair, but at least we can hide your gown." Hayley wrapped the quilt around Pamela, brushed a soggy curl from her sister's wet, flushed face, then turned to greet the newcomers.

Stephen and the young Albrights joined Hayley and Pamela just as two gentlemen and a woman approached. When the newcomers were several yards away, they paused.

"Miss Albright!" said the shorter man. "What manner of tragedy has befallen you?"

Stephen looked the speaker up and down. He was a handsome young man with light brown hair and concerned blue eyes. Stephen noticed the young man's gaze settle on Pamela, who immediately flushed a delicate shade of pink. Turning his attention back to Hayley, Stephen was surprised that her face appeared pale and that she remained uncharacteristically silent. Her attention was focused on the other gentleman in the trio.

The other young man was also quite handsome, with blond hair and light blue eyes. Stephen stiffened when he saw him scrutinize the way Hayley's wet gown clung to her curves. His gaze flicked to the woman standing between the two men. She was quite attractive, in a petulant sort of way.

Hayley cleared her throat. "We were playing with the dogs and ended up in the lake, I'm afraid."

"How unfortunate, but so very like you, Hayley dear," the woman said, her small nose wrinkling. Stephen watched her haughty gaze wander over the group and come to rest on him. Her hazel eyes grew round with surprise, then narrowed with interest. "I believe some introductions are in order, Hayley," the supercilious beauty murmured, her eyes taking in every aspect of Stephen's wet appearance and apparently liking what she saw.

"Introductions?" Hayley followed the woman's glance and saw Stephen. "Oh, yes, of course. This is Mr. Stephen Barrettson from London. He is our guest for the next several weeks." Hayley nodded toward the woman. "Mr. Barrettson, may I present Mrs. Lorelei Smythe, a neighbor from the village," she intoned without a lick of enthusiasm.

Stephen bowed formally over the woman's extended hand. "A pleasure, Mrs. Smythe."

"Indeed, Mr. Barrettson," Mrs. Smythe agreed in a silky voice, her knowing eyes once again traveling down Stephen's wet length.

Hayley continued her introductions. "This is Dr. Marshall Wentbridge, another neighbor from the village. Marshall recently finished his studies and is now a physician. He paid a visit when you were ill."

Marshall Wentbridge extended his hand to Stephen in a friendly fashion. "I'm pleased to see you looking so well, Mr. Barrettson. You've obviously already met Winky, Pinky, and Stinky," he said with a wry twist of his lips.

"Sad, but true," Stephen agreed with a grimace.

Stephen released Dr. Wentbridge's hand and turned his attention to the blond man. Much to Stephen's annoyance, this man was staring directly at Hayley's breasts. A frown tugged between Stephen's brows.

He waited for Hayley to speak, and was surprised at how pinched her voice sounded when she spoke. "Mr. Barrettson, may I introduce you to another neighbor from the village. This is Mr. Jeremy Popplemore."

The name slammed into Stephen like a fist to his midsection. Jeremy Popplemore. He forced his face to remain expressionless as he scrutinized the man who had deserted Hayley.

Jeremy extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Barrettson," he said in a somewhat perfunctory fashion, his attention clearly on Hayley.

Stephen stepped in front of Hayley, completely blocking her from Jeremy Popplemore's inquisitive eyes, and shook his hand in an equally perfunctory manner.

"Well, it's been lovely seeing all of you," Hayley said, leaning around Stephen's shoulders, "but as you can plainly see, we're all a bit indisposed. We really must get back to the house. Please excuse us." She turned, grabbed Callie's hand, and started to walk away. She'd gone only two steps when Lorelei Smythe's voice halted her.

"Before you go, Hayley dear, I must tell you why we sought you out." She handed Hayley a folded piece of paper, sealed with red wax. "This is an invitation for you and Pamela to attend a small party at my home a week from today, honoring Jeremy's happy return to Halstead. I do so hope you'll be able to attend." She turned to Stephen. "I hope you will still be in Halstead, Mr. Barrettson. I'd be delighted to have you." A slow smile curved her lips and her eyes wandered over the muscles visible beneath Stephen's soaked shirt.

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 jabbing she'd given him.

SHAPE \* MERGEFORMAT