Red Roses Mean Love

Chapter 17

Hayley entered her bedchamber later that afternoon, and a confused frown furrowed her brow. Where on earth did that package on my bed come from?

Pulling the plainly wrapped bundle toward her, she plucked a small card from beneath the string binding it. She broke the seal and read the words: For Hayley, with my deepest gratitude, Stephen.

Stephen had given her a present.

She'd tried all day to banish thoughts of him and last night's passionate exchange, but he crowded every crevice of her mind. His smile, his eyes, teasing one minute, dark with desire the next. The touch of his hands, the taste of his mouth … she squeezed her eyes shut. She had to stop thinking about it. But how?

She clutched the bundle to her chest, her breath expelling from her lungs in a whoosh. She placed the package back on the bed and untied the ribbon, with shaking fingers. Folding the paper back, she stared in awe at the contents, then lifted the most beautiful gown she'd ever seen from the wrapping. Yards and yards of soft muslin fell to the floor, in the palest shade of aqua imaginable. The dress had short puffed sleeves adorned with cream-colored ribbons. The bodice was low, an ivory ribbon gathering the material just below the bust, and embroidered with a border of dark violet and cream flowers.

The flowers were pansies.

The same border of pansies adorned the hem of the dress, with vines of embroidered pale green ivy trailing down the skirt. Hayley held the gown up to her, and looked down, unable to believe her eyes. It appeared to be the right length, the hemline just brushing the tops of her sensible brown leather shoes.

She quickly rid herself of her dusty brown gown and reverently slipped the aqua creation over her head. The dress fit her as if it had been made for her. Scarcely able to breathe, she walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of her room.

The low bodice showed off an expanse of skin that made her blush. The soft material fell to her feet from the ivory ribbon beneath her bosom. Hayley tentatively fingered one of the embroidered pansies on the bodice, unable to believe that she was wearing such a beautiful dress. She felt like a princess.

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called in a distracted voice, unable to tear her gaze from her reflection.

"Hayley, could you-" Pamela halted as she caught sight of her sister standing before the mirror. "Hayley! What an exquisite gown. Where on earth did you get it?"

Hayley turned and stared at her sister. "It was a gift."

"A gift? From who?" Pamela touched the beautiful muslin with a single finger.

"From Stephen," Hayley said softly: "Stephen gave it to me."

Pamela's jaw dropped. "Where on earth did he get it? And how could he afford such a dress? It must have cost a small fortune."

Hayley shook her head. "I have no idea. All I know is this package was here when I returned from the village. He included a card. It's there on the bed."

Pamela went to the bed, picked up the card and read the single line. She looked at the bundle on Hayley's bed and gasped. "Did you see the rest of this?"

"The rest of what?" Hayley asked absently. She couldn't get over the dress long enough to think of anything else.

"Look at this," Pamela breathed. "Did you ever see anything so lovely?"

Hayley turned and gaped. Pamela held a chemise in front of her. The undergarment was pure white and woven so delicately, it appeared nearly transparent.

"Good heavens," Hayley exclaimed, joining her sister. One by one they lifted the remaining items from the package. Sheer silk stockings, ivory satin garters adorned with pale aqua ribbons, and a pair of pale aqua satin slippers. Hayley slipped the shoes onto her feet. They were a perfect fit.

"Oh, Hayley," Pamela breathed. "He must have bought you this to wear to the party tomorrow. How incredibly romantic."

"I cannot believe it," Hayley said, dazed. "How did he do it? Where did he get it? How did he know just the right sizes to buy?" She blushed as she recalled that Stephen had touched nearly every part of her body. He, more than anyone else, would be able to make a fairly accurate guess as to her sizes.

"He must care for you very much," Pamela said softly. She grasped Hayley's hands and squeezed them tightly. "I'm so happy for you. I like Mr. Barrettson very much, and if he makes you happy, then I welcome him with open arms."

Hayley raised startled eyes from the wonder of the slippers to Pamela's shining face. "Do you really think he cares for me?"

"Of course," Pamela said without a trace of doubt. "A man would never give a woman a gift such as this unless he cared for her deeply." Her gaze drifted to the undergarments spread across the bed. "Very deeply."

Hayley closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Oh, Pamela. I hope you're right. Dear God, I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Pamela gave her a quick hug. "Now let's get this gown off you before we ruin it." She helped Hayley remove the garment and hang it in her wardrobe.

"Just wait until Mr. Barrettson sees you in that gown. He's going to fall to his knees and profess his undying affection," Pamela predicted, handing over the undergarments, which Hayley carefully placed in her dresser drawer.

"I hope the shock of seeing me garbed in something other than basic brown doesn't cause his heart to stop," Hayley said with a laugh.

"I think Mr. Barrettson's heart is going to be much too busy beating furiously to even consider stopping."

Hayley couldn't erase the radiant smile she knew lit her face at Pamela's words. She redressed quickly, intending to go to the stables.

Arm in arm, she and Pamela left the room and walked down the stairs. They met Stephen in the foyer. With a shy smile Pamela excused herself, leaving Stephen and Hayley alone.

Hayley opened her mouth to thank him for her gift, but the words fled her mind when she noticed the parade of scabs dotting his jaw. "Good heavens. What happened to your face?"

A rueful laugh escaped him. "I shaved."

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"Just my pride. I fear shaving is not an activity I excel at."

"Then why…?" Her voice trailed off as she realized why. "Did you shave because of what Aunt Olivia said?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. And Andrew requested a shaving lesson. I'm afraid the lad's face bears as many nicks as mine, but all in all we managed quite well."

Hayley's heart faltered. Dear God, he was wonderful. Cutting his face to ribbons trying to please an old woman and an adolescent boy. She briefly wondered why he was so inept at a masculine activity he'd surely been performing for years, but she didn't question him. Clearly his lack of ability embarrassed him and she had no wish to make him uncomfortable.

Laying her hand on his sleeve, she said, "Please allow me to assist you next time. I shudder to think of you and Andrew slitting your throats."

"Agreed."

A warm blush crept up her face. "Stephen, I found the gown. It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen … that I could ever imagine. No one has ever given me anything so wonderful. Or so extravagant." Thinking of the sheer stockings, she flushed hotter. "I don't know what to say, or how to thank you."

Stephen touched her face with a gentle finger. "You don't have to say anything, and you can thank me by wearing it tomorrow evening to Mrs. Smythe's party."

"Where did you get it? How did you get it? Why-"

"I wrote to Justin, told him very specifically what I wanted, and he brought it here earlier today. As for why-well, I suppose I just wanted you to have a dress that wasn't brown or gray. I wanted you to look as beautiful as you are. I've wondered what you would look like in a gown the same color as your eyes."

A nervous laugh escaped her. "I hope you're not disappointed."

Stephen shook his head, his eyes dark and serious as they rested on hers. "You could never disappoint me, Hayley."

Pleasure washed through her at his words. Before she could even fashion a reply, he leaned forward, his gaze riveted on her mouth. Dear God, he was going to kiss her! Right here in the foyer!

Heart pounding, she lifted her face. He was only a breath away. He was-

"Strap me to the longboat and dump me in the sea!" bellowed Winston.

Hayley gasped and stepped back from Stephen so quickly, she nearly stumbled. She turned and sagged with relief when she realized the salty sailor was struggling with several boxes that blocked his view of the foyer.

Winston caught sight of her and Stephen. "How about lendin' yerself for a minute, Mr. Barrettson? These boxes aren't 'eavy, but they're big, and that wispy bag o' bones is nowhere to be found."

"Glad to help," Stephen said. He turned to Hayley. "Where are you going?"

"The stables. I thought I'd exercise Pericles." Dear God, he'd nearly kissed her in the foyer in the broad light of day! Even more shocking was the realization that she'd desperately wanted him to. If Winston hadn't interrupted them, she probably would have thrown her arms around Stephen's neck and kissed him until she forgot her own name.

"I'll help Winston, then come out later and see how you're doing. Enjoy your ride."

"Thank you." Pulling herself together, Hayley headed outdoors. Almost kissed in the foyer. Merciful heavens, she'd lost her mind. Callie had nearly discovered them last night, a mistake she'd vowed not to repeat, yet she'd nearly done just that. Shaking her head, she reminded herself that she was supposed to be staying away from Stephen, a mission she couldn't seem to accomplish for more than two seconds at a time. The longer she knew him, the more time she spent with him, the more impossible it became for her to imagine him leaving.

Heaven help her, she wanted him to stay.

But he would soon return to his own life.

And that's when she discovered that in spite of her best intentions, she'd never learned to stop wanting things she couldn't have.

After helping Winston with the boxes, Stephen walked down to the stables, but neither Hayley nor Pericles were anywhere in sight. He returned to the house, wandered into the library, and picked up a back issue of Gentleman's Weekly. Settling himself on the brocade settee, he turned to the installment of A Sea Captain's Adventures. He was halfway through the story when the words suddenly stilled him. He reread the paragraph again, certain his eyes were deceiving him.

"There's nothing more wonderful than children," Captain Haydon Mills said to his crew. "Why, when each of my five were born, the missus and I looked at them and recalled the moment we'd made them together." His laugh boomed in the sea air. "Named them all based on where we'd loved. Good thing it was never by a stream or the poor thing would have been called 'Atwater'!"

He stared at the page in stunned amazement while pieces clicked into place. Atwater? Naming the children after where they'd been conceived? Atwater? H. Tripp, Tripp Albright, sea captains, Justin's inquiries into the Albright financial situation… bloody hell! If Hayley wasn't the author of these stories, she certainly had something to do with them.

Is this how she supported the family? By selling stories based on her father's experiences to Gentleman's Weekly? He recalled their conversation about A Sea Captain's Adventures. She'd taken umbrage when he'd criticized H. Tripp's writing ability, and she'd admitted she read all the stories. Of course she had-she'd written the damn things! Or at the very least, she'd helped someone else write them.

His mind whirled with the implications. Clearly she had to keep her involvement with the stories a secret. Gentleman's Weekly was the most popular magazine among the male members of Society. Every lord he knew read it faithfully, cover to cover. If the esteemed peers of the realm were ever to discover that the stories in their favorite periodical were written by a woman, they would be outraged and appalled. Not to mention they would cease buying the publication instantly. Such an occurrence would ruin the magazine… and what he imagined was Hayley's sole source of income.

He should have been scandalized. A woman selling stories to a gentlemen's magazine went completely beyond the pale. But somehow admiration overpowered any feelings of shock. When faced with dire circumstances, she'd found a way to provide for her family. But was Hayley actually H. Tripp, or simply an advisor to someone else?

The powerful need to know the answer to that question surprised him. He needed to see her. Talk to her. Would he be able to read her secret in her eyes? There was only one way to find out. Her occupation was none of his business, but he could not squelch his need to know the truth.

Determined to find Hayley, he headed for the terrace. In the foyer he encountered a dozing Grimsley sitting on a straight-backed chair. Two weeks ago, the sight of a servant sleeping in the foyer would have angered and appalled him. Here and now, however, the sight seemed somehow… appropriate. Without disturbing Grimsley, Stephen continued outside, shaking his head. Nearsighted footmen sleeping in the foyer, salty-tongued sailors hollering in the corridors, cooks tossing pots and pans, noisy children with boundless energy-Albright Cottage and its occupants were the complete opposite of everything he was used to. But where he'd at first been stunned by the chaos, he now knew that chaos was simply another word for heaven. And it was going to be damned hard to leave it.

Outside, he saw two figures in the distance walking toward the house. He knew at once they were Hayley and Callie. He settled himself on a wrought-iron chair to wait, and deeply breathed the earth-scented air. Leaning his head back, he enjoyed the warm sun on his face. Two days from now he'd be back in London, resuming his life, trying to catch a murderer. I need to tell Hayley I'm leaving the day after the party. I cannot put it off much as I want to. I'll tell her this afternoon.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feminine voices. Sitting up straight, Stephen shaded his eyes against the bright sun. Hayley and Callie were dashing across the grass, arms outstretched. Unable to resist the lure of their laughter, he stood and walked to the patio railing for a better view.

"You can't catch me!" Callie yelled, running as fast as her little legs would allow.

"Oh, yes I can!" Hayley ran after her, nearly catching the child. "You won't escape this time!"

Callie squealed with delight and darted toward the patio. Hayley followed in hot pursuit. He watched their antics and a feeling, a longing, he couldn't describe tugged at him, seeping through his veins. What would it have been like to have a childhood filled with games and laughter? Hugs and smiles? He only needed to look at Callie's face, shining with happiness, to know it was wonderful. Hayley was an excellent mother to her sibling brood, and if his suspicions regarding her occupation proved correct, she loved them with an unselfish depth he wouldn't have believed existed.

His gaze sought her out, following her as she chased her energetic sister, pretending to catch her. Her hair had come undone, and shiny chestnut curls flew behind her in wild disarray as she ran. His throat tightened. She was so damn beautiful. A fascinating combination of wild innocence.

But it was no longer just her lovely face that captivated him. It was her inner beauty. Her loving touches and easy smiles. Her giving heart, her patient strength. If only things were different-

He ruthlessly cut off the thought. Things were not different, and he needed to remember that.

Their laughter grew louder. Callie sprinted toward the house, but just before they reached the terrace steps, Hayley caught her from behind and swung her up in her arms.

"Caught you!" Hayley announced. "I caught the poppet!" She covered Callie's face with exuberant kisses and the child's happy giggles filled the air.

Stephen cleared his throat, both to make them aware of his presence and to dislodge the lump of emotion clogged there. Two identical pairs of aqua eyes turned toward him.

His gaze locked with Hayley's, and his pulse galloped away. She was flushed from exertion, her skin blooming bright with color. His attention wandered down to her mouth-that full, alluring mouth that beckoned him like a siren's call, tempting him to forget where they were and kiss her until he'd had his fill. He knew she'd read his thoughts when her smile faltered and her lips trembled. He could almost hear her whispering, Yes, I want you to kiss me. He could almost feel the touch of her mouth, the taste of her tongue.

"Mr. Barrettson!" Callie scrambled from Hayley's arms and ran to him. "We're playing 'catch the poppet'! I'm the poppet."

Her excited voice broke through his sensual reverie. He glanced down at her beaming face and couldn't help but return her smile. "Indeed you are. And I see you were caught."

"That's the best part," she confided in a conspiratorial whisper.

His gaze swung back to Hayley. "Yes, I imagine it is."

"Would you like to play with us?"

Before Stephen could answer, Hayley said, "Callie, all that running about might injure Mr. Barrettson's shoulder or ribs. He can join us in a game in a week or two, when he's fully healed."

"Perhaps," Stephen murmured, a feeling of heavy gloom settling over him.

After tomorrow he'd probably never see her again.

Tell her. Tell her now. But he looked into her smiling, happy face and could not make his mouth form the words.

Later. I'll tell her later.

"May I speak to you privately, Hayley?"

Hayley paused on her way into the house. Stephen leaned against the terrace railing, ankles crossed, arms folded across his chest. The warm breeze ruffled his hair, and the sun glinted in the ebony strands. Dear God, her throat ached just looking at him. After scooting Callie inside with the promise of reading her a story after dinner, Hayley turned to him, ready to smile, but his somber gaze stilled her. She looked down and noticed he held a Gentleman's Weekly in his hand. A sense of foreboding prickled her skin.

"Is something wrong, Stephen?"

He regarded her with an unreadable expression. "I don't know how to ask this other than simply to ask. What is your connection to H. Tripp?"

His words shifted the ground beneath her feet and she locked her knees to steady herself. She felt the blood drain from her face, but she tried her best to hide her stunned distress. "I beg your pardon?"

"H. Tripp. The author. How are you associated with him?"

Hayley's mind spun, frantically searching for the proper words to say. How much did he know? And how on earth had he found out? Swallowing her dismay, praying her voice remained steady, she asked, "Why would you think I have any connection to him?"

Instead of answering, he opened the magazine and read,

…when each of my five were born, the missus and I looked at them and recalled the moment we'd made them… named them all based on where we'd loved. Good thing it was never by a stream or the poor thing would have been called "Atwater!"

He closed the magazine. "I'm sure you understand my question now."

Weakness wobbled her legs and she sank into a wrought-iron chair. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She'd guarded her secret for so long, she didn't know how to respond. And if Stephen had figured it out, how long before other people did? If she lost her income … she clenched her hands together until her knuckles whitened. That simply could not happen. She wouldn't let it. But under the circumstances, there was no point in attempting to lie to Stephen.

Drawing a resolute breath, she squarely met his gaze. "I am H. Tripp."

She'd expected her admission to upset him, or disgust him, but he merely nodded.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. The publisher demands absolute secrecy-"

"With good reason," he broke in.

"Yes." She searched his eyes for some clue of his feelings, but his expression remained unreadable. "When Papa died, we desperately needed money. I refused to leave the children to take a governess or companion post. The income I receive from Gentleman's Weekly allows me to provide for them here." She rubbed her moist palms on her skirt. "I'm sure you're quite scandalized-"

"I'm not."

She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. He might not be scandalized, but it seemed apparent he didn't approve. And the possibility of her secret becoming common knowledge filled her with dread. "I hope you will please consider not telling anyone about this. My livelihood depends on retaining my anonymity."

"I have no intention of doing anything that could harm your employment, Hayley. I shall not reveal your secret. You have my word."

Relief flooded her and she released a pent-up breath she hadn't even realized she held. "Thank you. I-"

"You're welcome. Please excuse me."

Before she could say another word, he opened the French windows and entered the house. Hayley stared after him and bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling.

Though he'd said nothing further, his abrupt, cold departure said it all.

SHAPE \* MERGEFORMAT