Red Roses Mean Love

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, after 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.

When he reentered the drawing room, his eyes had searched for Hayley, but he was unable to find her. He spotted Jeremy across the room, but Hayley was nowhere in sight. He finally approached Pamela, who stood alone by the window.

"I find it amazing that you'd ask about Hayley's whereabouts, Mr. Barrettson," Pamela responded in a frigid voice.

Stephen stared at her, unable to mask his surprise at her frosty tone. "Why would you find it amazing?"

She shot him a look of utter disgust. "Perhaps because you've seen fit to ignore her for the entire evening up to this point."

"She hardly lacked for company," Stephen said mildly.

"You humiliated her in front of that hateful woman," Pamela said, her eyes spitting blue fury. "Hayley has shown you nothing but kindness. How could you be so cruel to her?"

Guilt swept over him. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd only tried to do what was best for her. Stay away and let another man-a man who wasn't leaving-pay attention to her.

"I assure you, it was never my intention to hurt her."

"But you have. You've hurt her terribly."

"Tell me where she is, and I'll apologize."

"She's left."

Stephen stared at Pamela. "I beg your pardon?"

"She's gone home. I suppose you didn't notice her departure because you were too busy out on the terrace with Mrs. Smythe." She looked Stephen up and down once, her expression clearly registering dislike. "Quite frankly, Mr. Barrettson, I'm surprised at you. Up until this evening I believed you were a kind, thoughtful man. A man worthy of Hayley's admiration. Obviously I was mistaken." She turned to leave, but Stephen caught her arm.

In truth, he was stunned by her little speech. It seemed he was destined to receive severe trimmings from the Albright women. But his surprise was overshadowed by the acute sense of loss he felt. It bothered him no end that Pamela was looking at him as if he were horse dung in the road. She must be very angry indeed, for such a display of temper.

And the thought of Hayley hurting because of him, of her no longer holding him in high esteem, constricted his chest with regret. It truly pained him to think that either of these women felt badly toward him. Especially Hayley.

"You were not mistaken," he said softly. "I assure you I hold your sister in the highest regard and I would never intentionally hurt her."

Pamela's gaze did not soften a bit. "Then why did you-"

"I don't know." A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "I'm an ass."

Pamela regarded him steadily, her eyes unforgiving. "You won't hear an argument from me," she said with brutal honesty. "But you're telling the wrong Miss Albright." She pulled her arm from Stephen's fingers. "Please, excuse me."

Stephen watched Pamela walk over to Marshall. The orchestra struck up another tune, and the two headed for the dance floor. Stephen strode into the foyer and quickly left the house.

The forty-five minute walk back to Albright Cottage afforded Stephen a much-needed opportunity to think.

He knew that for Hayley's sake he'd done the right thing this evening, but he still felt like a bastard. She'd looked so beautiful, her face flushed and shining with happiness, so incredibly lovely in her new gown. He'd wanted so badly to touch her, to kiss her, to sweep her up in his arms and carry her off to a private place where they could be alone.

But how could he do that when he was leaving in the morning? He was a bastard, but not that much of a bastard.

The thought of his imminent departure filled him with emptiness, and his heart pinched in his chest. He'd grown very fond of the Albrights in his brief stay with them. All of them.

But especially fond of Hayley.

Bloody hell. To say "fond" was an understatement that bordered on the ridiculous. He admired her. Respected her. Genuinely liked her.

Deeply cared for her.

He entered the house. Grimsley was not at the door, so Stephen assumed the footman had gone to bed. He looked in the library and study for Hayley, but both were empty so he assumed she'd retired. He'd wait and talk to her before he left in the morning. That way he'd have tonight to find the right words to say, although he doubted they existed.

Climbing the stairs, he loosened his neckcloth. When he entered his bedchamber, he quickly removed his jacket, tossing it and his cravat on a wing chair next to the fire. He was in the process of unfastening his shirt when he glanced toward the bed. His fingers stilled, and he stared.

The gown he'd given Hayley lay across the coverlet.

As if in a trance, he approached the bed. The beautiful gown was carefully spread out, a single sheet of paper on top of the material. In a neat pile next to the garment lay the chemise, stockings, and slippers. Reaching out, he picked up the note.

Mr. Barrettson,

Thank you very much for the lovely gown and accessories, but upon second consideration, it would be improper for me to accept such an elaborate and personal gift.

I must travel to a neighboring village tomorrow to visit with a friend of the family who is ailing, and I will be gone overnight. As your injuries appear quite healed, I believe it would be best if you left before I return the day after tomorrow.

It was my and my family's pleasure to care for you, and we are happy for your recovery. Please accept my felicitations on your good health, and my most heartfelt wishes that you remain so.

Sincerely,

Hayley Albright

Stephen read the note again, the pressure in his chest increasing until it felt as if a pianoforte lay on top of him. She was dismissing him. She had given him back his gift and wanted him gone before she returned from her visit to another village.

His head knew she was doing the wise thing. It was better this way. When she returned from her journey, he'd be gone. No painful goodbye. No admitting his lies.

His heart, however, knew he couldn't leave like this.

Without knowing what he was going to say to her, Stephen scooped up the gown and accessories, left his bedchamber, and closed the door softly behind him.

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