Red Roses Mean Love (21 page)

Chapter 15

«
^
»

H
ayley sensed Winston's anguish the moment he joined the group in the drawing room after visiting Nathan's bedchamber.

"Lock me in the forecastle and slap me with a tankard of grog," he grumbled, blowing his nose into a huge hanky.
"Climbing like a bloody monkey, fallin' out o' trees, nearly
killin' 'imself." He turned mournful eyes to Hayley. "
Yer
Pa
would flog me stupid careless hide if 'e knew about this, God rest his soul."

Hayley stood, ready to comfort the distressed sailor, but halted when Grimsley flung a thin arm around Winston's
burly shoulders.

"Now, now, Winston," Grimsley said, patting him awkwardly. "Captain Albright knew that lads get into mischief. Remember the time Andrew wore the sheet and pretended to be a ghost?"

Winston
barked
out a laugh. "He
was only a wee tyke,
and as I
recall, you were scared out o' yer britches." He
blew his nose. "Ya cowardly bag o' bones."

"I believe a nip of port is called for," Grimsley said, gently urging Winston toward the door. "To
celebrate Master Nathan's recovery."

Winston nodded and sniffed. "Sounds like a fine idea, Grimmy. Lead on."

The two men left the drawing room, and conversation and tea drinking resumed.

"Those two
like
each other?" Stephen asked Hayley. "I can't believe it."

"Pretend you don't know. Besides, they would never admit it." She sipped her tea and unobtrusively observed Pamela and Marshall conversing on the other side of the room. At least she
thought
she was unobtrusive, but apparently she wasn't because after several minutes, Stephen remarked, "It appears that Wentbridge harbors some affection for your sister, a fact which seems to please you very much, I might add."

"Oh dear. Is it that obvious?" she asked, appalled.

Stephen nodded, a teasing gleam lighting his eyes. "I'm afraid so. Your eyes are very expressive, my dear."

Hayley stared at him, not sure if she'd correctly heard the endearment that passed his lips. Had he actually called her dear? She mentally shook herself. She must be hearing things.

"Marshall Wentbridge is an extremely fine young man," she said in an undertone, keeping one eye on the couple across the room. "He's carried a
tendre
for Pamela for quite some time now, and she is very fond of him. I wouldn't be surprised if a betrothal announcement was made shortly."

"And that would please you?"

She nodded. "Oh yes. It is my fondest hope for Pamela to fall in love and have a family of her own."

"I see."

"Why, yes, I'd love more tea," Aunt Olivia broke in, holding her cup out to Stephen. "How kind of you to ask, Mr. Barrettson."

Hayley watched Stephen gallantly but awkwardly pour tea into Aunt Olivia's cup. He handled the teapot as if he'd never touched one before. Clearly tea-pouring was not a task at which tutors were expected to excel.

Aunt Olivia took a sip then fixed her gaze on Stephen's face. "Are you attempting to grow whiskers, Mr. Barrettson?"

Stephen ran one hand over his stubbly cheeks. "No, not particularly, although it may appear that way."

"Well,
if
you were to ask my
opinion…"
She left the sentence hanging and stared at him pointedly.

"I would be honored to hear your thoughts on the subject, dear lady," Stephen assured her, inclining his head.

Aunt Olivia graced him with a beaming smile. "In that case, I must say that, while I'm sure you would look quite dashing with a beard, your face is much too handsome to cover up with facial hair." She batted her eyelashes at Stephen. "Don't you agree, Hayley?"

Hayley nearly choked on her tea. If she didn't know better, she'd swear her aunt was flirting with Stephen. "Well, I, er, yes, I suppose so." A hot blush crept up her neck.

Stephen leaned back in his chair and bestowed a devastating smile on Aunt Olivia. "Well, certainly, if you prefer me clean-shaven, Aunt Olivia, I shall have to rid myself of these offensive whiskers."

Aunt Olivia looked as if she would melt into a puddle at his feet. "Excellent, dear boy."

"Thank you for the tea,"
Marshall
said, joining the group sitting by the fireplace. "It was very enjoyable"—his glance drifted to Pamela—"but I really must be going."

Hayley rose and shook
Marshall
's hand. "Thank you for all you did for Nathan. Will we see you this Friday at Mrs. Smythe's party?"

"Oh, yes indeed. I look forward to it."
Marshall
shook Stephen's hand, bowed to Aunt Olivia, and waved to Callie and Andrew, who were playing cards.

"Pamela, would you mind terribly seeing
Marshall
out?" Hayley asked with a smile. "I'm so tired from all the day's excitement."

"Of course not." Pamela shyly took
Marshall
's arm and led him from the room.

"Asking Pamela if she minds seeing Dr. Wentbridge to the door is rather like asking Callie if she would like to have a tea party, don't you agree?" Aunt Olivia asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

Hayley smiled and shook her head. Apparently Aunt Olivia was quite a bit sharper than anyone thought.

* * *

Late that evening, after everyone had retired, Hayley headed
for her father's study. This was a perfect opportunity to get
some much-needed work done. She'd done very little writing since Stephen's arrival at Albright Cottage. If she didn't write, she wouldn't sell her stories. No sale, no money.

As she passed the library on her way to the study, she looked down and saw a soft glow of light shining beneath the door. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The scene that greeted her eyes suffused her with
tender warmth.

She'd been so occupied getting the children to bed and
checking on Nathan, she'd just assumed Stephen had retired
early as he had the previous evening. But clearly he hadn't,
for he lay sprawled out on the long overstuffed sofa in front of the fireplace. A warm fire glowed in the grate, casting
mellow shadows and flickering light over the room.

After closing the door, Hayley approached on silent feet,
stopping when she stood directly in front of him and staring down at his sleeping form. His jacket and waistcoat were
folded neatly over a chair on the opposite side of the fire
place. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing his strong
forearms, and his shirt was unfastened nearly to his waist.

Hayley stared at the bronzed skin gleaming between the
V of white lawn. He'd removed the bandages taping his ribs, granting her an unimpeded view of his muscular chest. Dark
curling hair tapered into a raven line that bisected his flat,
taut stomach before disappearing into his shirt once again.
An open
Gentleman's Weekly
lay on the floor. Hayley no
ticed the page was opened to
A Sea Captain's Adventures
by
H. Tripp.

Her gaze wandered back up his face. Such a beautiful, handsome face. Relaxed in sleep, his features softened, he
looked almost boyish, with a single lock of raven hair falling
over his forehead. An overwhelming rush of tenderness
washed over her, for this man who, in spite of his injuries, had exhausted himself building a stone wall with two young boys, then carried Nathan all the way back to the house, and comforted her in a way no one else could have.

She loved him.

God help her, she loved him.

Unable to stop herself, she dropped to her knees next to the sofa, her eyes devouring the man who had stolen her heart. A heart she'd never thought to give, or believed any man would want. She doubted that Stephen would want it, but it was his just the same.

Her mind told her to leave—there was no point prolonging the sweet agony of wanting what she couldn't have, but her inner yearnings rebelled and won. Just this once she'd listen to her longings, and she longed to touch him. Not as she had while she'd nursed him through his fever, with the impersonal touch of a caregiver, but as a woman touched a man. A man she loved.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she reached out and gently brushed the lock of hair from his brow. His eyelashes formed crescent shadows against his cheeks, and his lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and deep. She feathered a light fingertip down his stubbled cheek, loving the prickly rasp against her skin.

She remained motionless for several wondrous minutes, on her knees, her rapt gaze roving from his bronze chest up to his handsome face, and back again.
I must stop this. I don't want to risk that he'll awaken and find me gawking like an adoring slave.
Knowing she had to, but reluctant just the same, she started to rise.

"Don't stop."

Hayley froze at the softly whispered words. Her startled gaze flew to Stephen's face. His eyes were half opened and he was regarding her with an unfathomable, hooded expression. Hot waves of embarrassed consternation suffused her, rendering her speechless.

Stephen reached out and gently captured her hand and brought it to his chest, covering it with his own. Soft springy
hair grazed her palm and the heat of his skin sizzled right
through to her very soul.

"Don't stop," he whispered again, his gaze penetrating and intense. "Touch me." He pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, then slid it across his hair-roughened skin. "Like that."

Hayley stared at him, mesmerized by the flames dancing in his eyes. His hot gaze bore into her,
commanding her to
do as he bid. Her always reliable common sense, the inner voice that should be telling her to stop, to think of her reputation, to consider the consequences of her actions, remained stubbornly silent. The woman in her who had been pushed aside and forgotten about for so long emerged, filled with love and needs and desire. For this man whose heart thumped against her fingers.

She looked at her hand lying against his chest, then tentatively glided her palm across the expanse of warm skin, his hair tickling her palm.

A low gasp escaped him and her gaze flew back to his in alarm. "Did I hurt you?" she whispered, stricken.

He slowly shook his head. "No."

"Then why did you groan?"

"Because it felt
…
so
…
good. Do it again."

Hayley's mouth went dry. She gently moved her hand across his chest once again, her gaze locked to his. She watched in stunned amazement as his eyes darkened to green smoke.

Emboldened, she ran her hand slowly over him, her fingers gliding over his taut muscles. When her fingertips bushed over one of his small, flat nipples, he sucked in a hissing breath, but she could tell she had not hurt him.

Fascinated, she brought her other hand to his chest, and allowed her curious fingers to touch him, sifting through the dark mat of hair covering his warm skin. She watched in delighted amazement when his muscles tensed and contracted from her gentle ministrations.

She continued touching him, her strokes long and slow.
Soon his shirt, open though it was, proved a hindrance to her questing hands. Without a word, he unfastened the last sev
eral buttons, pulled the shirttails from his breeches, then guided her hands back to him.

Separating the soft material, she laid his torso entirely bare to her avid eyes. Dear God, he was magnificent. All hard muscle and golden skin sprinkled with dark hair. No longer hesitant, she ran eager hands over him, growing bolder with each stroke of her palms across his body. His sighs grew more lengthy and his growls of pleasure deeper with each pass of her hands.