Revenge Wears Rubies (14 page)

“Miss Moreland?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you wish an answer to your question?” he asked.

“W-which question was that?” With her lips swollen from his kisses, he could see her trying to shake off the effects of passion to recall what question he might be referring to.

“You asked me to cease and desist.” He held out the reins for her to take.

“Oh, yes . . . of course.”

He smiled, relishing the wicked thoughts that surged through him and tried to ignore the tight, hot sensation of his cock thrusting up in futility against his breeches. “The answer is no.”

He slapped her horse’s backside before she could think of a retort and sent the lady on her way, though he could hear her indignant sputtering through the trees.

“Did you enjoy your ride, dearest?” her father asked, crossing the room to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek. Haley could smell the brandy on his breath and closed her eyes while he embraced her, praying for patience.

“Father . . . you should get outdoors.” She tried to keep her tone light, as he held her at arm’s length. “It’s too beautiful a day to sit inside by yourself.”

“Pish!” His protest came cheerfully, and he let go of her shoulders. “I can see it well enough from here. That’s why God invented windows! And I wasn’t by myself.” The drink slurred his last word, and Haley gently guided him to a nearby chair.

“Did you have a caller?” she asked, hoping that Aunt Alice had had the sense to intervene if he’d been drinking and they’d received any social calls.

“Just Trumble!” He leaned back against the cushions, his eyes losing a little of their focus. “A bit of business between gentlemen, dearest. Nothing to trouble yourself with.”

“Business?” She took the seat across from him, a new sense of dread curling in her stomach.

“Now, now . . . you needn’t worry about every entry in my ledgers anymore! A man can borrow money as he wishes from his future son-in-law and I don’t need your nagging!” He rose, instantly agitated, like a child guiltily trying to deflect her attention from a broken vase.

Words failed her.
Another loan. More debt—it’s a nightmare that never seems to end. And I was . . . Oh, God, for a moment, I let myself forget Herbert and the loans and the smell of brandy. I kissed Mr. Hawke and for one glorious moment, I forgot all of it. But never again . . . I can never allow it to happen again.

“I used to ride with your mother. What a horsewoman she was!” He sighed. “I used to buy horses only if their color would compliment her lovely riding dress. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” She clasped her hands, unsure of what else to say.

“Herbert said he was taking you to the opera tomorrow night. You should wear the red dress. You look like your mother in the red—”

Haley stood abruptly, cutting off the familiar pattern of his melancholy request. “I’ll ask the cook to make you something to eat. You need to eat, Father. I’ll be in my room if you require anything.”

“I wasn’t . . .” His look was pure contrition. “Yes, I should eat.”

She turned away, unwilling to be drawn into another round of apologies and reassurances, and hurried out of the room and up the broad staircase as quickly as she could. Her emotions were too raw and unsettled after her appointment with Hawke, the taste of him still fresh in her memory.
I am not some stupid ninny to be ruled by passion and risk ruin.

Chapter
8

The small box at the theatre gave them a wonderful view of the stage, but also of the glittering attendees. Every hue of the rainbow met the eye, and Haley wasn’t surprised to see more than one lady in the audience turning her opera glasses to view her rivals in full dress rather than bothering with the performance. It was an acceptable sport for women, this obsession with fashion and jewels, but Haley’s eyes were drawn to the drama of the stage.

Her aunt sat next to her near the railing, while Herbert sat behind them, dozing as the opening night’s performance unfolded. Haley was lost in the story, swept up in the romance of it, and the ethereal sounds of so many voices intertwined in song—and the costumes were so otherworldly, it was easy to forget her troubles.

The incomparable soprano Miss Beatrice Langston was beginning another aria when Aunt Alice leaned over to whisper, “Isn’t Betsy a delight?”

“Such sadness and longing in her voice.” Haley nodded.

“Why are operas always so tragic? Can’t someone sing about something other than wretched heartbreak and death?” Alice fretted behind her fan. “Perhaps a livelier tune would keep your Mr. Trumble awake.”

Haley winced but didn’t turn to let her aunt see it. Dutiful resignation to her fate hadn’t fostered any sense of peace, and no matter how often she told herself that she had rightfully made the correct and honorable decision to allow Mr. Hawke no more liberties, her heart just wasn’t having it. Mr. Trumble’s usual sincere and bumbling habits were wearing against her nerves a thousandfold, each misstep and clumsy touch underlining her sense of impending doom. And with every clammy hand he offered, she’d been haunted by the memory of that kiss. . . .

Instead of its power fading with each passing hour since she’d left the glade two days ago, it seemed to grow in her mind, endlessly replaying each sensation and evocative second that he’d touched her, that she’d given in to her baser nature and explored what it would be like to be “
that woman
”
—
with secret smiles and no fear.

She nervously scanned the neighboring boxes, wondering if Mr. Hawke would make good on this threats not to give up the hunt. He’d appeared so often recently without warning that Haley began to feel a pang of disappointment that tonight it looked as if he’d failed to repeat the trick.

What am I doing? Wishing for the man to appear and lay waste to the last little shred of peace I have?
She forced herself to look back at the stage, but the blur of sparkling costumes and cavorting players did little to dampen the torrent of her thoughts.

I’m sold like a broodmare from my father’s stables and chafing at the bit and bridle. The bargain’s made and I gave my word of honor as a gentleman’s daughter. And if I ever see Mr. Hawke again, I shall be sure to remind him of it.
She sighed, aware that she’d once again let her thoughts circle back to the forbidden subject of Mr. Galen Hawke.

The performance drew to a finish, and the audience applauded warmly, awaking Herbert instantly so that he could clap louder than anyone else. “Bravo!”

Aunt Alice gave him a look of amusement. “Mr. Trumble, be careful you don’t show too much enthusiasm. If Miss Langston asks you anything of the plot, you’ll be in a terrible bind!”

He laughed, taking her jibe in the friendly spirit in which it was intended. “I shall just say that I am speechless as a result of her talent, and she’ll think me very glib!” He stood to hold out his arm for Haley. “Shall we meet the players, then, and rub a few elbows?”

Haley gathered her fan and stood to join him. “Not too many elbows, I hope. Perhaps if it’s too crowded we can make an early departure?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” He led her out of the box, and Aunt Alice followed as they made their way to the soiree to be held in a first-floor salon where the attendees could meet and mingle with the talent of the night’s performance. “I have never met theatre folk before, but I understand they are quite friendly!” Herbert said in anticipation.

“Oh, yes!” Alice countered knowingly. “I have met several, and they are . . . quite friendly!”

Haley glanced over her shoulder to catch the wicked little smile that followed her aunt’s reminiscence and tried not to roll her eyes. It was just like Aunt Alice to have a ribald tale involving some handsome actor she’d encountered in her heyday! Like her brother, Mrs. Shaw had also known a great love in her spouse, but when she’d lost him after only a year of marriage, she’d indulged in her own brand of mourning and lived the life of a merry widow. But Haley wasn’t sure which stories were true and which were wishful thinking, since they seemed to grow more and more shocking as the years went on.

They reached the party just as the actors were entering, many still in their costumes, which seemed to add to the gathering’s excitement. It was as if exotic creatures had landed in their midst, and Haley watched several ladies lift their fans to hide their appraisals of the charming male performers. The male guests were far less worried about hiding their appreciation of the actresses, although a few of them seemed to make an effort to stay true to the dictates of good decorum.

Herbert craned his neck, looking about the room. “I don’t see Miss Langston!”

“She is the star of the evening, Mr. Trumble. No doubt she wishes to make an entrance of her own,” Aunt Alice advised sagely.

“Ah! I see,” Herbert said, then clapped his hands in excitement. “And there she is, just as you said! How enchanting!”

“Would you like an introduction, good sir?” a gentleman nearby offered, bowing briefly. He had paste diamonds at the center of each button on his coat, and Haley sensed immediately he had all to do with the theatrical company.

“I would, indeed! I am Herbert Trumble, and this is my fiancée, Miss Moreland, and her aunt, Mrs. Shaw.” Herbert seized the man’s hand and gave it his customarily thorough shake. “How do you do?”

“I am Edmond Blakely, Miss Langston’s manager, and”—his eyes opened in dramatic surprise—“Is that Herbert Trumble of
the
Trumble Textiles and Imports?”

“It is!” Herbert beamed with pride. “I see you have heard of my father’s company?”

“Heard of?” He shook his head. “How can anyone not know of your industrial empire, sir?”

Haley bit the inside of her lip to keep her expression neutral as Mr. Trumble puffed up at Mr. Blakely’s attentions and instantly seemed to forget everything else around him.

Miss Langston came over at her manager’s signal, and Haley was forced to let go of Mr. Trumble’s arm as he stepped away from her to meet the lovely singer. “What an honor, Miss Langston!”

“This is Mr. Herbert Trumble and party, Miss Langston,” Mr. Blakely blithely introduced them, and Aunt Alice chuckled softly behind Haley as Herbert made no sound at correcting the man and providing their names or dutifully indicating that she was, in fact, the future Mrs. Trumble of Trumble Textiles and Imports.

“Did you enjoy our humble efforts, Mr. Trumble?” Miss Langston asked, her voice as smooth as silk.

“You are a siren! And I saw nothing humble in any of it!” Herbert almost gushed with praise.

“Ah! You see? A man who knows fine art when he beholds it!” Blakely pronounced. “Would that other investors shared your distinct passion, Mr. Trumble!”

Alice leaned over and whispered in Haley’s ear, “An interesting turn, eh? It’s Herbert’s turn to feel at home, I’d say, and we’re just the tagalongs while they work him over for an investment or two.”

“It’s . . . refreshing for him to be able to speak informally and not feel judged, I’m sure.” Haley tried to come to his defense.

“Well, as refreshing as it is, perhaps you should take heart in it! After all, this may be more of a taste of what’s to come for you than the other London parties we’ve attended. Not that he’s ever lacked for cheer!”

Haley whispered back, “Mr. Trumble makes friends wherever he goes, and you shouldn’t hold it against him if he doesn’t discriminate against—”

“She’d be delighted! Wouldn’t you, Miss Moreland?” Herbert’s words brought her instantly back to the conversation, but she’d missed the transition.