Revenge Wears Rubies

by Renee Bernard

  Haley pulled her hand away, a guilty flush creeping into her cheeks. She didn’t see how Herbert making advances was any form of improvement, but admitting such a thing meant facing that it was her own passions that were untouched and cold when it came to her current engagement. “He is demonstrating gentlemanly restraint and I happen to admire him for it!”

  Aunt Alice continued, “Forgive me, dearest. I didn’t mean to embarrass you! But I’m afraid I would age ten years staring at jungle ferns and listening to some professor-type wax poetic about river algae.”

  “You’re a terrible chaperone, Aunt Alice, but I don’t think I have the strength to argue the point this afternoon.” She stood to go, retrieving her bonnet from a table by the door. “Please let Father know I will be home before dinner.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows not to worry. Do have fun, Haley, or at least try! You’re far too young for all this remarkable discipline and practical nonsense!”

  Haley shook her head but smiled. “I will make every effort to look for mischief to get into.”

  Aunt Alice beamed and waved her out the door. “That’s my girl!”

  Haley deliberately kept her chin up as she headed for the stairs. If her aunt and others perceived her as a practical person, then it was all for the best. She certainly was striving to keep a level head and not let sentimentality disrupt her plans, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore her misgivings. Perhaps I am my mother’s daughter more than I would wish to be—all this longing for things I cannot have, and odd thoughts about men who have no business in balconies.

  Herbert crossed the open hall downstairs, looking up eagerly for her. “There you are! I was just boasting to Mr. Bascombe at the coffeehouse that you were always prompt. A fine quality in a wife, I told him.”

  “I’m sure punctuality is a fine quality for anyone to strive for, but thank you, Mr. Trumble.” Haley reached the bottom of the stairs to take her wrap from one of the servants. She was used to his odd compliments. Mr. Trumble never spoke of her appearance, perhaps because he thought it might be too direct. If Mr. Trumble was anything, Haley knew he was reserved in his courtship—if not in his social conduct otherwise.

  “Where is your aunt?” He looked nervously behind her. “Fashionably late again?”

  “I’m afraid she won’t be joining us this afternoon. A slight headache has detained her abovestairs.”

  “Oh, well . . . that is . . . regrettable.” He tugged on the lapels of his coat, as if bracing himself for the trials ahead.

  “We’ll just have to do our best to enjoy the fruits of Mr. Millstein and Mr. Brown’s expedition to the Amazon on our own. Shall we go then?” He held out his arm to stiffly escort her down to the carriage, and the pair was finally off.

  Haley was relieved to see it was the open chaise and suddenly felt a small hint of excitement to be out of the house and away. Perhaps Aunt Alice was right, if not in her specifics, then in the direction of her advice. I need to try to be happier. “What a lovely day, Mr. Trumble!” she said as she took her seat and arranged her skirts.

  “The wind is blowing in the proper direction, for once,” he returned with a jolly certainty. “London air is not the sweetest, but who would complain? And with such company? Although . . .” He hesitated to situate himself as conscientiously as he could on the seat next to her. “I do hope no one thinks I’ve spirited you away from your keepers.”

  He was openly uncomfortable without Aunt Alice along—and a sheen of nervous perspiration across his upper lip only compounded the trouble, forcing him to anxiously dab at his face at odd moments with a linen handkerchief. “Not that this is not reasonably proper since we are formally engaged, but . . . these Londoners do have their own ideas about what is proper and what isn’t. We’ll be sure to meet friends as soon as we’re there, and then no one will be able to say that we were genuinely alone.” He shifted another inch or two away from her on the carriage seat, as if even the touch of her skirts against his breeches might cause offense. “I’m thinking only of you, naturally.”

  Haley had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. With his handkerchief sporadically popping up and down, he looked like an old bishop waving to the populace as they drove by. “You’re too thoughtful, Mr. Trumble.”

  “Manners make the man, my father always said.” He wiped off his lips again but clearly began to warm to the conversation. “I imagine it’s manners that make the cut anywhere, but I’m thrilled to discover such a welcome in high society.”

  Haley nodded, unsure of what to say. Mr. Trumble, for all his courtesies, was hardly a paragon of etiquette, and she knew that their welcome had more to do with his fortune and her father’s title than anything else.

  “Even Mr. Bascombe remarked on our good fortune!” Herbert continued cheerfully.

  “Did he?” she asked.

  “He said he was extremely impressed that we’d garnered Mr. Hawke’s attention. ‘A rare blessing to gain three words in conversation as of late,’ he said. Never a prayer he’ll be seen making social calls, and all that, but now—Mr. Bascombe was asking me how I’d managed it! I told him it was the pair of you exchanging secrets that must have done it.”

  “We were hardly exchanging—”

  “Ah, here we are!”

  He held out a gloved hand to help her alight from the carriage. “Melrose’s sister is a judge, so we must be sure to inquire after her. She was the one who mentioned that this was the perfect genteel outing for a bride-to-be.”

  “How so?” Haley deliberately pressed, her curiosity getting the better of her as she was unsure of how Miss Melrose made the link between tropical botany and English brides.

  “Oh, well . . .” Herbert’s brow furrowed as he considered the puzzle briefly before his expression cleared and returned to its usual jolly state. “All ladies love flowers.”

  Haley wouldn’t have corrected him for the world but took the gloved hand he offered to help her down from the carriage. Together they headed up the shallow steps to the exhibition hall, and Haley did her best to take in the grand setting. The explorers seemed to have collected an entire jungle to display for the curious of London, and it was difficult not to wonder if they had left anything behind in the Amazon to shade the native inhabitants there. Behind orderly ropes and descriptive signs, floras of every size and shape were doing their best to evoke an exotic aura and make onlookers forget that they were steps away from Regent’s Park.

  But as Herbert nervously escorted her through the gathering, it was clear he was far more interested in finding his friends than stopping to take in the sights. She did her best to stay serenely at his side, but his sudden bursts of speed when he thought he’d spotted this or that acquaintance made it challenging—not to mention his sudden stops when he realized that he was virtually running up to greet complete strangers.

  “Ouch!” Her toes took a direct blow as Mr. Trumble changed directions without warning.

  “Pardon me, Miss Moreland!” He took out his handkerchief to wipe at his sweat-soaked brow. “I had no idea that the exhibit would be so popular with the general public.”

  “I imagine it’s their only chance to experience the Amazon, Mr. Trumble.” Haley forced a smile and ignored the throbbing pinch of her toes and the quizzical looks of a few bystanders. “Shall we just stroll and see if friends will simply find us?”

  His brow furrowed at the proposal. “I don’t see that they would stand a chance with all these vines blocking a man’s view of the horizon.” His expression cleared as he came up with his own brilliant plan. “Let’s reserve your strength, my dear, and spare your poor feet! There are benches in these smaller rooms. Why don’t you stay here, where it is quiet, and I will make the effort to locate suitable company? Then we can review the exhibits without anxiety!”

  “As you say,” she said, swallowing a sigh of disappointment. So much for my afternoon outing! I could have sat at home and in better quiet, but I suppose one has to make the best of it
. “It’s very considerate of you, Mr. Trumble.”

  “There you are! No one will bother you here, and I shall be back within moments! I’ll ask for Miss Melrose!” He made a little bow and gave an odd wave of his handkerchief before heading out on his quest. Haley watched him go with a wistful smile.

  She was abandoned, yet again. The minutes stretched out into a dull and tedious chain, and Haley’s thoughts wandered to the more interesting study of the attendees than the botanical wonders in the hall. It was a true slice of London society, and she did her best to memorize the lively flow so that she could relate it again when Aunt Alice asked.

  The hoi polloi made a fascinating show, but one well-to-do couple in particular caught her eye as they sauntered nearby. Haley’s hands unconsciously clenched in her lap as she watched the pair of lovers, clearly enamored, with their eyes locked on each other. They paid no attention to their surroundings, but instead made it seem as if the world around them no longer existed. In a subtle dance of polite gestures and movements of their bodies and hands, they strolled past her at a dreamlike pace. It was all somehow genteel and civilized, but it was as if they were yet connected to each other, beyond conventional rules.

  Haley would have looked away when the gentleman reached out to trace his lady’s cheek and brush back a curl from her face, but then he leaned in to run his tongue along the outside shell of the woman’s ear—and Haley was sure the world had stopped to hold its breath. She gasped at the intimate act, breathless at their boldness and shocked at her own envy. What would it be like to be touched like that? To want to touch someone so badly that it wouldn’t matter where you were or who was watching?

  “Are you a voyeur, Miss Moreland?”

  She jumped from the bench, startled beyond words to have been caught staring—and by Mr. Hawke! “N-not at all! I was just . . . admiring the . . .” She could feel the heat of her blood in her cheeks as she realized that she couldn’t name a single plant in the vicinity to make her lie plausible. “Greenery,” she finished lamely.

  “Were you?”

  His tone had a friendly teasing edge to it, and Haley couldn’t help but smile at it. “I am a great fan of greenery,” she finally managed. It was mortifying to be caught gawking at strangers, and her guilt heightened every sensation and made her feel breathless and awkward. “And you?”

  He took a small step closer, effectively cutting off her view of almost everything and everyone in the hall. “I think Mr. Millstein and Mr. Brown are apparently obsessed with ferns, and that a man can waste a great deal of time looking for beauty on far-off continents only to realize that it was within his reach right here at home.”

  Haley almost hiccupped at his provocative words, and even more at the strange heat in his eyes as he looked at her so directly. “I’m not sure they have the same ferns in Hampshire.”

  Galen glanced back over his shoulder at the pair she’d been studying, watching them move away toward the main hall, before he looked back at her to ask, “Have you ever been in love like that, Miss Moreland?”

  “What a—that’s an inappropriate question, Mr. Hawke!”

  “Is it?” He shrugged, taking a step back to innocently gesture for her to return to her place on the bench, so that he could sit next to her. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Haley took the seat tentatively, reminding herself that they were in a public hall and it was probably her own nerves making her feel so strangely charged and defensive. “It is a personal and private subject, sir.”

  His gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made the world fade away. Once again, she could feel her practical nature just slipping away in his presence. There was a touch of something savage in his emerald eyes, something wicked and unfettered that belied the word gentleman. His appearance was flawlessly civilized, but the glimmer in his eyes mocked the very idea. His elegant façade did nothing to mute the effect but only managed to highlight it. And instead of being frightened, Haley felt a surge of desire at the sight of it.

  For one fleeting second, she thought she saw a hint of . . . dislike? But it was gone before she could name it, and he shifted closer and there was nothing to note but the raw masculine presence mere inches from her.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Hawke?”

  “I’m trying to understand you better. You are not an easy woman to make out, Miss Moreland.” He tilted his head to one side, as if contemplating a great mystery. “Is love such a forbidden thing to ever mention?”

  “Not forbidden, just . . .” Haley wasn’t even sure what to say. “It’s a topic that could be misinterpreted.”

  “Perhaps I do venture too far to ask these things.” He straightened, his manner once again casual. “Your face when you were watching those lovers, Miss Moreland, made me wonder whether you were thinking of a love you’d lost, or wishing for another. You looked like a beggar at a bakery window.”

  “I did not!” She narrowly reined in the urge to strike him in the arm. “I am not—starving for affection!”

  He laughed and held up one hand defensively as if aware of how close he’d come to a well-earned bruise. “I apologize! My mistake, Miss Moreland. But who wouldn’t envy them, even secretly?”

  She took a deep breath, ignoring the cascade of butterflies in her stomach. “There is nothing to envy. Love is . . . foolish. A woman has to keep her wits about her, if she wishes to avoid . . .” Haley bit her lip before her mind could summon the right word. “If she wishes to avoid catastrophe.”

  “Ah, yes! Catastrophe.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate growl. “I think a man in love with you would sacrifice anything to keep you from, as you so eloquently described it, catastrophe.”

  Haley nearly jumped from her place as his hand casually moved into the voluminous folds of her skirt so that just the tips of his fingers grazed the outside curve of her hip. Layers of cloth did little to lessen the imprint of the heat of his fingers at her thigh, and worst of all, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move away.

  “I wouldn’t—”

  He withdrew his hand to shift on the bench, making the touch seem entirely accidental, and Haley lost her train of thought.

  “Yes?” he prompted gently.

  “I wouldn’t want someone to sacrifice anything on my behalf. I don’t need—” She couldn’t make herself say “love,” and then she wasn’t sure what to say at all. She was drowning in needs and fighting every instinct to seize onto Galen and beg him to never stop looking at her this way, to put his hand back and to do more—to do all the things that the beautiful caged creature behind his eyes would do if there were no consequences. “Not everyone is interested in such things, Mr. Hawke.”

  He shook his head, lessening the spell but not breaking it. “You hide more than any woman I have ever met.”

  “I’m hardly hiding, Mr. Hawke.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Haley did her best to look cavalier and close the subject. “I am entitled to seek a few moments of quiet, if I wish to.”

  “To catch your breath,” he amended playfully. “I can see how one might mistake the practice for something else.”

  “You are an expert on the matter, Mr. Hawke.” Haley smiled, enjoying the banter in spite of herself.

  “May I see your hand?”

  “Whatever for?” Her smile vanished at the unexpected request.

  “For science, Miss Moreland.”

  “Science,” she echoed, completely caught off guard. “I’m sure I shouldn’t allow a stranger to hold my hand in public.”

  “I’m hardly a stranger, Miss Moreland. We’ve been formally introduced, and I’m not trying to make love to you in front of a display of philodendrons. I’m just trying to satisfy a small and innocent curiosity.”

  Nothing about you is innocent, Mr. Hawke. She repressed the quick rejoinder by a narrow margin. “A curiosity about what, exactly?”

  “Your hand, please.”

  Haley held out her gloved hand, unsure of exactly
what the man intended.

  He shook his head. “I’ll need to see your bare palm for this to work, Miss Moreland.”

  Well, this certainly qualifies as mischief. . . . Haley tugged at the tip of each finger to pull off the glove on her right hand and then deliberately held it up, palm outward, fingers splayed to show him her hand. She silently congratulated herself on complying with his outlandish request without any risk of an onlooker mistaking it for anything inappropriate. Odd, perhaps, but not scandalous!

  His gaze shifted to her palm, and he looked at it as if she were holding up a pamphlet for him to peruse. Haley felt a stab of uncertainty. “Mr. Hawke?”

  “In the east, I met a man who claimed that each experience leaves a mark on the hand, and that there was wisdom in each line if a man knew how to read it.” Galen reached up to extend his own index finger to trace an almost invisible groove along the fleshy and sensitive topography of her palm. The touch was electric and so light, evoking pleasure that she hadn’t expected. “If you were ever in love, Miss Moreland, it would be here.”

  “Would it?” she whispered.

  “Love should leave a mark, don’t you think?” His finger continued its journey, a magic that kept her spellbound. “Something that powerful, with that kind of passion. There should be a sign of some kind, some indelible scar that is unmistakable—or it wasn’t love. But then, a scar likens it to something that you would avoid. A catastrophe to be warded off, instead of a quest for completion.”

  “You’re a romantic, Mr. Hawke.”

  “Not at all.” He withdrew his fingertip, leaving only the echo of sensation on her skin. “And we’ve proved our eastern friend wrong.”

  “Oh?” She lowered her hand slowly, surprised at the taste of disappointment.

  “Not a trace to be seen, but you undoubtedly know what it is to love.”

  “I do?” Haley gasped at her own mistake. “I do! Yes, undoubtedly!”