Red Roses Mean Love (22 page)

Heat flooded her system. He felt so good. So vibrant and alive. His masculine scent filled her head: the clean woodsy fragrance that belonged to him alone. She ached with the sudden need to press her lips against his warm flesh. To taste the wonder her hands felt.

But before she could act on her impulse, he grabbed her wrists. Holding her hands, he dragged himself to a sitting position, then dropped his forehead onto their intertwined fingertips and drew in a ragged-sounding breath.

"I thought you didn't want me to stop," Hayley whispered.
I don't want to stop. Please don't make me. Just this once, let me have what I want.

He lifted his head and their eyes met. "I didn't. I don't," he said in a husky voice. "But I
…"

His words trailed off when Hayley freed one of her hands and touched the bandage on his arm. "Did I hurt you?"

A strangled sound escaped his throat and he pulled her hand away. "God, no, Hayley, you didn't hurt me. You pleased me. Very much. Too much."

"Oh. I see." But she didn't see at all. She ached to touch him again, but he clearly didn't want her to. He said he enjoyed her touch, but he made her stop. Fiery embarrassment heated her. Dear God, what he must think of her! She had to get away from him before she made more of a fool out of herself.
What was I thinking?
It seemed she only had to
look
at this man and she lost her mind.

Extricating her hands from between his, she stood and fought to swallow the tears tightening her throat. "I'm sorry I woke you. I'll leave you to your reading." She turned to leave, but hadn't even managed to walk one step before he halted her progress, encircling her wrist with his strong fingers.

She looked down at him sitting on the sofa, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"To hell with being noble," he muttered. He tugged on her hand, pulling her down until she sat across his lap.

"Put your arms around my neck," he whispered, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. Hayley hesitated, but when he breathed "Please," she was lost. The instant she wrapped her arms around him, she found herself the recipient of a long, slow, deep, melting kiss that robbed her of her wits.

Stephen kissed her again and again, and with each passing moment his control slipped another notch. The touch of her hands, her tongue's silky caress against his, her rose-scented skin, were driving him mad. His arousal strained against his tight breeches, aching with want. He should have let her leave when he had the chance, but that look of hurt confusion on her face had pierced his heart.

She sighed his name and he pressed her back into the soft cushions, angling his body so he lay directly on top of her. His inner voice screamed at him,
Stop! Get off her! Leave her the hell alone! This is wrong.

But it felt so right.

Pushing his conscience aside, he
mentally rationalized that he only wanted to kiss her. Nothing more. Just a kiss
…
just one more kiss…

But stopping there proved impossible.

She overwhelmed him on every level, making coherent thought impossible. He cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples, which immediately peaked into hard points. Hayley moaned and tunneled her fingers through his hair, urging him closer. Unable to stop himself, he stroked one hand down her body, catching the hem of her gown and slowly pulling it up. He insinuated his hand under
the soft muslin and trailed his fingers up her calf. When his
fingers reached her knee, they encountered the tie to her cotton drawers, a barrier he made fast work of.

As his fingers continued their leisurely exploration up her leg, he reveled in the throaty, breathless moans escaping her. When his hand reached the juncture between her thighs, her entire body tensed.

"Stephen," she whispered against his lips.

Raising his head, he gazed down into her luminous, desire-dilated eyes. His fingers lightly caressed her. "Spread your legs for me, Hayley. I want to touch you. I need to feel you."

Her gaze never wavering from his, she obeyed.

His fingers skimmed upward and caressed her soft folds of womanly flesh, eliciting a growl of masculine lust from him. She was wet and slippery, warm and moist, and he lost himself in the feel of her, the sight of her throwing her head back and reveling in the discovery of new sensations.

While she writhed beneath his caress, clutching his shoulders, he gently eased a finger inside her, watching her all the while. Dear God, she was so hot and so tight. He moved his finger slowly in and out of her body, watching her passion grow, her breathing become deeper and faster. He slipped a second finger inside her and groaned aloud when her velvety walls clutched at him.

She pushed herself against his hand, and he knew what she sought, understood how desperate and hot she felt. He felt so himself.

"Stephen," she whispered, her voice a breathless pant, "I feel so strange. So achy, and wonderful, and
…
ohhh!" Her words ended on a surprised exclamation.

He watched, transfixed, as she climaxed. She responded with total abandon, her back arching, hips bucking against him. When she fell back against the cushions, sated, he slipped his fingers from her body. Rolling their bodies onto their sides, he gathered her against his hammering heart, burying his face in her fragrant hair. He'd never seen any
thing more erotic, more sensual, than Hayley in the throes of her first passion. It was a miracle he hadn't exploded himself, although in truth, he nearly had.

After a moment she leaned back and touched his face. He looked at her and their gazes locked.

Turning his face, he pressed a fervent kiss into her palm. "God, Hayley. You are beautiful. So soft and warm." His arousal jerked in his snug breeches, a pulsing
reminder of
how badly he wanted to bury himself inside her.

"What happened to me? I've never experienced anything like that before."

"You experienced a woman's pleasure," he whispered against her palm.

"It was
…
incredible. I had no idea." She caressed his face with gentle fingers and a breathy sigh escaped her. "What a wondrous, marvelous feeling."

Stephen touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, swallowing the lump of guilt that clogged his throat, threatening to choke him. Now that he could think clearly again, he was thoroughly disgusted with himself.
Jesus. What a bloody bastard I am.
He'd just compromised her beyond all hope, and worse, he knew if he didn't get away from her, he'd compromise her even more. And damn it, she deserved better than a tumble on the study sofa with a man who would leave her.

Raising himself on one elbow, he gently brushed the tangle of curls from her forehead. "Hayley, I…"
God.
He knew he should apologize, but he couldn't. It had been too beautiful. She was too beautiful. Tenderness invaded his system. He swallowed and tried again. "We cannot keep doing this, Hayley. We cannot continue spending time alone like this. You'll end up completely ruined, and I am going to lose my mind. I don't want to compromise you any more than I already have."
Like hell. I want to compromise you so badly I can barely think straight.

Dark red stained her cheeks and she struggled to sit up. "Of course, you're right. I'm sorry—"

Stephen laid a single finger across her lips, halting her words. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Hayley. I take full responsibility for what happened. But I'm only a man, and I
don't want to ruin you. If we're alone like this again, I will. I
can't seem to help myself."

Forcing himself to move away from her, he sat up, then helped her to do the same. He ran shaky fingers through his hair and expelled a long breath. His body continued to throb
and ache, but he knew Hayley was the only thing that would satisfy him, and she was the one thing he must not take. How ironic that all his wealth and estates and titles could not give him what he really wanted. He knew he
could
simply take it, but at what cost?
I would hate myself. And worse, she would hate me. Maybe not now, but later. After I leave.

Turning, he watched her adjust her clothing. She looked vulnerable, confused, and more beautiful than any other woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, and her cheeks abraded from his whiskers. Her chestnut hair fell in artful disarray around her shoulders. The glow of the fire cast a golden halo around her. He had to get away from her. Now.

Standing, he extended his hand. "Come. I'll walk you to your chamber."

Before she could reply, the study door burst open. Callie stood in the threshold, tears streaming down her face. "Hayley! There you are!"

Hayley dropped to her knees and Callie launched herself into her arms. "What's wrong, darling? Are you hurt?"

Callie clung to Hayley and sobbed into her neck. "I had a bad dream. The kind with hairy monsters who eat little girls. I looked for you everywhere and couldn't find you. I was so scared."

"Oh, poppet. I'm so sorry. I'm here now."

Hayley raised stricken eyes to Stephen, and he easily read the guilt and self-disgust in her gaze. He could almost hear her thoughts
…
Look what I've done. I was acting the wanton with you and Callie needed me. I failed her. What a terrible mistake I've made. And what would have happened if she'd interrupted us five minutes earlier?

She looked pointedly at the door and he knew she wanted him to leave before Callie noticed
him. Without a word he left, closing
the door silently behind him, knowing he'd left
a piece of his soul behind.

Chapter 16

«
^
»

"
A
m I interrupting something?" Justin asked the next afternoon. He stepped onto the patio at Albright Cottage, an amused, incredulous look on his face.

Stephen tried to glower at his friend, but it was damned hard to look threatening while pinching a tiny teacup between his fingers. It was even more difficult considering he sat at a tiny child-size table, his frame nearly bent double, his knees bumping his chin and his ass wedged into a teensy chair. He shot Justin the harshest glare he could manage under the circumstances.

"Why, no, Justin. You're not interrupting at all. In fact, you are just in time to join us." He indicated a tiny empty chair with a nod. "Please sit down."

Stephen almost laughed out loud at the expression of horror that crossed Justin's face.

"Oh, no," Justin said, "that is not necess—"

"Nonsense," Stephen broke in. "We insist. Justin, may I present Miss Callie Albright, the finest hostess in all of Halstead. Callie, this is Mr. Justin Mallory, a dear friend of mine."

Callie peeked up at Justin from beneath the brim of a huge hat adorned with colorful feathers. "How do you do, Mr. Mallory?" she said with a sweet smile. "Please sit down. We're just about to begin our tea party." She moved
around the table and held the tiny chair out for Justin. "You may sit right here, next to Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones."

Stephen watched Justin's gaze move from the minuscule chair to the none too clean doll, then to Callie's hopeful expression. Clearly knowing when he was defeated, Justin set his package down, moved to the tiny chair and gingerly sat down. He could barely squeeze his hips between the chair's wooden arms, and like Stephen's, his knees bumped his chin.

"Wonderful!" Callie exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee. "I'll pour the tea while we wait for Grimsley to bring our cookies." With great ceremony, Callie poured four cups of tea and served her guests. Justin stared down at the thimble-size cup with a dazed expression, then choked back a laugh.

Grimsley arrived with a plate of cookies, setting it in the center of the table. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mallory."

Justin looked up from his cramped position. "Good afternoon, Grimsley."

"How fortunate you arrived in time for the party," the footman said with a perfectly straight face. He bowed and left the patio.

Callie passed the plate of cookies around, keeping up a constant string of chatter. She refilled the tiny cups as soon as they were emptied—one sip rendered them dry—and acted the perfect hostess. When the teapot was empty, she excused herself to refill it.

Alone on the patio, Justin shot Stephen a sidelong glance.

"Don't say it, Justin."

"Don't say what?"

"What you're thinking."

Justin squinted at him. "Actually, I was wondering what happened to your face."

Stephen sizzled him with a withering look. "I shaved, if you must know."

Justin's jaw fell. "You
shaved?
What on earth did you
use? A rusty ax?"

Stephen's lips thinned. "I used a razor. And I'll have you
know, I think I did a damn fine job. It's not easy shaving yourself. I recommend you not take your valet for granted. I intend to double Sigfried's salary the moment I return to
London
."

"Why not simply grow a beard?" Justin asked, his amusement evident.

Stephen mentally sighed and wished Justin would just be quiet. "Aunt Olivia prefers me clean-shaven," he mumbled. "So does Callie."

"Ah,
I see," Justin said, nodding. He peered at Stephen's hand. "What is that scratch on your hand? Another shaving debacle?"

"It's a memento from my fishing trip with the boys."

Justin raised his brows.
"Fishing?"

"Yes. I caught eight fish and only fell in the stream twice."

Justin's eyes nearly popped from his head, then he burst into laughter. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. "Dear God, Stephen," he finally said, brushing his cheeks with a tiny linen napkin. "What has happened to you? Tea parties with little girls? Fishing with young boys? Shredding your face? Good God, man, you don't know the first thing about shaving. Or fishing for that matter. You're lucky you didn't slit your throat. Or drown in the stream. Do you even know how to swim?"

Insulted, Stephen said, "Of course I know how to swim."

Justin burst out laughing again.

"Justin." The warning in Stephen's voice was unmistakable.

"Yes?"

"The only
reason
I haven't flung you head first into the vegetable garden is because my ass is permanently wedged in this goddamn tiny chair. I may never rise again. However,
if
I do, rest assured I'll make you sorry for your disrespect."

Justin bit into his cookie, clearly unconcerned with Stephen's threats. "I doubt it. I could blackmail you for every pound you're worth with what I've seen today. These are delicious cookies, by the way." He tossed a broad wink at Stephen.

Callie returned with a fresh pot of tea, and the group polished off cup after cup, or sip after sip, of the hot brew and another plate of cookies. When the teapot was finally drained, Callie stood. "Thank you so much for coming to my tea party," she said with a curtsy. She lifted Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones from her chair, hugging the doll to her chest. "I must put Miss Josephine in for her nap now. Good afternoon, gentlemen." With a polite nod, she left the patio.

Stephen and Justin looked at each other. Finally Stephen sighed and spoke. "I have to get out of this chair. I feel an incredible cramp coming on."

Justin wiggled his bottom experimentally. "My ass is stuck between the armrests."

Stephen tried to stand and couldn't. "Well, this is a devil of a mess," he grumbled. "And to top it off, I desperately need to relieve myself. I must have drunk forty-three cups of tea."

Justin laughed. "Forty-seven, but who's counting?"

"Why are you sitting there like that?" Andrew asked, stepping onto the patio. He gaped at the two men, a look of horror coming over his face. "Ye Gods! Callie got you at one of her tea parties, didn't she?"

A rueful grimace tilted one corner of Stephen's lips. "I'm afraid so."

Justin leaned forward and peered up at the boy. "I say, Andrew, what on earth happened to your face?"

Andrew touched his scab-dotted cheek and shot Stephen a shy smile. "Mr. Barrettson taught me how to shave."

"Mr. Barrettson
taught you?" Justin shook his head. "Good God, boy, you're lucky you lived to tell the tale. Stephen doesn't know the first thing about—"

"Ahem!" Stephen shot his friend a silencing, killing glare then turned to Andrew. "How about helping us up?"

"Glad to," Andrew said. He leaned over and helped first Stephen, then Justin to extricate their hips from the tiny chairs, taking care not to break them.

Justin held one of the chairs aloft after it was removed from his bottom. "Sturdy little chair. It's amazing it withstood my weight."

"Thank you, Andrew," Stephen said, rubbing a cramp from his thigh.

Andrew shot both men a knowing grin. "Glad to help. I've attended more than one of Callie's tea parties. I'm quite familiar with those ghastly little chairs." He picked up a cookie from the nearly empty plate, stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, and sauntered off into the house.

Justin picked up his package and urged, "Come along, Stephen. Let's get away from here before anything else happens to us."

Stephen nodded his agreement, and they headed down a stone path away from the house. After walking a good distance, they stopped and sat down on a wooden bench.

"Where are the other Albrights today?" Justin asked, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Hayley, Pamela, and Aunt Olivia went to the village, and Nathan is resting in his room. He took a spill from a tree yesterday."

"Is he all right?" Justin asked.

"Yes, but the doctor wants him to stay in bed today." A chuckle escaped Stephen. "I think the confinement is killing the lad."

Justin eyed his friend speculatively. "You seem to be fitting in here quite well," he said, his tone nonchalant. "When we last spoke you seemed to feel the Albright children were unruly, loud hooligans."

"They are unruly, loud hooligans. I've merely grown somewhat accustomed to them." He smiled inwardly, thinking of Callie's enchanting, delighted smile when he'd agreed to attend her tea party. In spite of the tiny chairs, he'd enjoyed himself, and the child's happiness warmed him in a way he'd never before felt.

"The children are a bit rough around the edges," Stephen remarked, "but they're all kindhearted."
Actually, they're wonderful.
His gaze drifted to the package resting at Justin's feet. "Are those the things I asked you to bring?"

Justin nodded and handed the package to Stephen. "Yes."

"Excellent. I'm in desperate need of additional clothing." He ruefully thought of his breeches with the split up the back.

Justin cocked a single brow. "Indeed? Is that why you requested I bring you a gown? A pale aqua muslin gown? With matching slippers and accompanying undergarments?"

Stephen blasted Justin with a frigid look. "The gown is for
Miss Albright."

An amused smirk quirked Justin's lips. "Indeed? Which Miss Albright? There are several of them, you know."

"It's for Hayley," Stephen said in a tight voice.

"Ah. An unusual gift. Very personal. And quite costly, for a
tutor
to give, that is. I'll have you know it required a considerable amount of time, effort, money, and influence to procure that gown. In fact, it damn near took an act of Parliament."

"I will, of course, pay you back," Stephen said frostily.

"I'd prefer you satisfy my curiosity."

"Forget it, Justin," Stephen warned.

"As you wish," Justin said with a smile. "I can only hope
Victoria
remains ignorant of my purchase. If she ever gets wind of it, I'll be neck-deep in trouble. How the hell will I explain I bought the gown for
you?
She's bound to think I have a mistress."

"You're a very resourceful fellow. I'm sure you'll manage to come up with a plausible excuse. Rest assured she'll never hear the truth from my lips. Now, tell me. What is happening in
London
?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Justin said. "In fact, if you hadn't sent for me, I planned to come here anyway. One of our suspects, Marcus Lawrence, is dead."

Stephen
stared
at Justin.
"Dead?"

Justin nodded. "Suicide. He was found two days ago in his study. Apparently he put a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The magistrate was about to bring him up on charges in relation to his illegal cargo. That, combined with his financial ruin, apparently pushed him over the edge."

Stephen narrowed his eyes. "How do they know it wasn't murder?"

"Apparently several witnesses saw him the night he died. He was stinking drunk, rambling on about his losses, and totally despondent. According to his butler,
Lawrence
arrived home at
midnight
and went immediately to his study. The butler heard the gunshot several minutes later."

"Could someone have gotten in through a window?" Stephen asked.

Justin shook his head. "No. There was only one window and it was locked from the inside. He'd scribbled a short note to his wife, begging her forgiveness. It was definitely suicide."

"So, if
Lawrence
was our man," Stephen mused out loud, "then the threat to me is over."

"If
Lawrence
was our man," Justin agreed.

Stephen looked at his friend and silent understanding passed between them.