Revenge Wears Rubies

by Renee Bernard

  Galen smiled to hear Michael use the term.

  Michael acknowledged the look before completing his vow. “Yes, the Jaded. I’ll keep our exchange tonight to myself. But if they ask, I’m not lying. I’ll keep your motives out of it, but the rest of it will be public knowledge soon enough, won’t it?”

  “When I’m ready, yes.” Galen folded his arms. “Thank you, Michael.”

  “Don’t thank me, Galen. Just be careful.”

  He was gone before Galen could respond to try to defuse the tension between them. Even so, Galen wasn’t sure what he could have said to have soothed the rift. Michael just didn’t understand. It was a grisly business, and nothing he was ready to boast about, but Galen knew that Michael would be true to his word, and for now, he would have the freedom he needed to complete his mission.

  There was a firm knock at the door.

  “Are you in need of anything, sir?” Bradley’s voice was filled with a concern the solid door did nothing to muffle.

  “Come in.” Galen sighed. “Come in and see for yourself that I am fine and in fact, don’t need for a thing.”

  Bradley came through the door, a heavy brass candlestick holder aloft as if he’d anticipated a good brawl. “I heard shouting and could have sworn you were under attack!”

  Galen shook his head. “The danger is passed, good sir. Now put that thing down before you set your nightcap on fire.”

  “Trouble sleeping, then? Was it a nightmare?” Bradley pressed, lowering his candle. “Shall I send for Dr. West?”

  “I don’t need a nursemaid, Bradley!”

  Bradley was nonplussed. “May I make you some tea? The green tea seemed to suit you last time. Perhaps it will calm your nerves, sir.”

  Galen felt a twitch of amusement at the man’s cheek, but also at the strange notion that a cup of green tea didn’t sound unappealing. Damn it. So much for proclaiming my independence! Bradley’s getting too good at this. I’ll have to increase his wages at this pace.

  “Tea, then,” Galen said. “And a plate of anything handy downstairs. I may as well eat while I’m at it. But don’t wake the cook!”

  “I’m the soul of stealth, sir.” Bradley bowed curtly and retreated to fetch the tray.

  “Wonderful,” he spoke aloud to the closed door. “Everyone is the soul of stealth and may come and go in this house as they wish.”

  Everyone, except me.

  Chapter 6

  The sound of a Mozart concerto filled the elegant ballroom, now appointed as an intimate music hall for the Earl of Marchfield’s guests. Aunt Alice had insisted that they were seated at the back of the room to allow them to leave discreetly if her headache should return. Haley was convinced that her dear aunt might be using these headaches more and more frequently to achieve her own aims, but it was hard to confront her chaperone since Haley wasn’t clear on Alice’s overall scheme.

  For the moment, Haley was battling to politely ignore the long, heavy breathing sounds of a very sleepy Mr. Trumble seated next to her. A distracting internal debate as to how one might subtly awake him before the rumbling breaths became out-and-out snores and drew the attention of everyone in the hall was overshadowing any pleasure she may have had in the concert. So far, he’d tipped his head forward onto his chest in what she prayed might be mistaken for a meditative pose.

  She leaned forward to try to catch Aunt Alice’s eye on the other side of Mr. Trumble for assistance, but her aunt had, in fact, achieved a similar repose, though with a more ladylike smile on her face and less of a tendency to snore and give herself away.

  So much for classical music uplifting the soul! Apparently, I’m the only one who’s still conscious!

  Haley lifted her fan and made a careful study of the guests in front of her and further down the row to make sure that no one else was aware of her dilemma. It wasn’t uncommon for a guest to nod off during a lengthy performance, but if the slip in etiquette intruded on someone else’s enjoyment of the evening, it was far less forgivable an offense.

  She sighed with temporary relief when no one’s eyes met hers with disapproval or amusement and leaned back to consider her next strategy. A pinch on his elbow? But if he’s startled and yelps, then I’ve humiliated him and that’s too horrible to—

  A man softly cleared his throat to her left, and Haley froze. When she’d summoned the nerve to look up, there he was. Leaning against the wall was a jaguar with glittering emerald eyes that conveyed pure mischief. He must have arrived late and just taken his place there by coincidence.

  It was hard to credit the handsome presence of Galen Hawke standing six feet away to mere coincidence, but Haley wasn’t sure what to think as she looked away quickly as if riveted by the violinist. Herbert chose that moment to let out a soft snort, and Haley felt a flood of embarrassment stain her cheeks.

  After what felt like a small eternity, Haley glanced back again, a small part of her wondering if he’d seen enough of her misery and decided to move on. But he was still there.

  And he was looking directly at her.

  Galen had waited patiently, watching her struggle for decorum as Mr. Trumble slid further and further into what was guaranteed to be an ill-timed sleep in front of all their newest acquaintances. The humor of it, as her fiancé and aunt both nodded in their chairs, was difficult to ignore. But the sight of her—so beautiful and so proud, a regal thing perched on her seat trying to act as if there was nothing amiss in the world, affected him in a way he’d not expected. She was in a jewel green evening gown, with lace dyed to match along the décolletage that drew his eyes along the creamy slopes of her shoulder blades and neck. A glittering hair comb in the shape of a peacock held her lustrous brown curls aloft, and Galen’s fingers itched to pluck it free and watch her hair fall down her back.

  And when she glanced back at him the second time, with her cheeks flushed pink, he made no effort to look away. Instead, he held her gaze and let the erotic fantasy in his mind unfold—aware that it must show in his face, that the raw heat of his need would blaze in his eyes, challenging her not to look away.

  It’s just us in the world, isn’t it? And if it were just us . . . in this room . . . it would echo with your sighs, Miss Haley Moreland. I can just see it. Can you? I’m going to take down that hair and fist my hands in that silk and kiss you until you know what it is to be well and truly kissed. You’ll have no thoughts of the mud troll, my dear. No thoughts of any other man before me. . . . How long till that reserve is gone, I wonder? I’m going to taste you until I’m satisfied. And only then will I see to those buttons and laces. . . .

  I shall strip you bare and lay out that green dress on the floor and push you back against it. I’m going to survey every inch of your body, and then I’m going to taste every inch until I’m satisfied. Galen had to shift his balance slightly, aware of his body’s raging reaction to the workings of his mind. His cock was rock hard as he imagined her arching beneath him, pressing those breasts upward like a pagan offering for his worshipping mouth, her thighs parting wide to show him the ripe, glistening pink flesh that would be his to claim. You’ll be wet and wanton and this illusion of prim reserve will shatter forever when you come for me. . . .

  He wanted her in a thousand ways, and the erotic tangle of it unfolded in a sweet cascade of images that taunted him as he held his place against the wall.

  I’m going to have you, Haley Moreland. All of you. Every glorious inch, and then we’ll see what the tigress is capable of when she has nowhere to turn. . . .

  Her lips parted, as if she’d heard him, but still she didn’t look away. He could see her breath coming faster, the crescendo in the music masking her situation from the man at her side. The color of her dress brought out the green in her eyes, and he watched in open fascination at the storm of emotions that lit them from within. One pale hand moved up to cover her heart, as if her trembling fingers could slow its beat and shield it from him; yet still, she didn’t look away.

  I want you. I want you.
I want you. He let the thought echo again and again, in rhythm with the music, deliberately seeking to cast a spell and consign her to her fate.

  Haley wasn’t sure how long she’d been caught in his gaze. It was so otherworldly and impossible, to find herself staring back at him, basking in the heat of his eyes like a cat basking in the sun. She kept thinking that she should feel some measure of shame or offense, but her outrage never seemed to coalesce in the whirlwind of her emotions. This wasn’t the leering or lecherous look of an uncouth ruffian—this was that primitive fire she’d first glimpsed in him at the exhibition hall, unleashed. She felt naked as his eyes raked over her body, as if he were touching her, or even somehow devouring her. For his look was raw hunger, and she knew instinctively that she was the main course. But fear gave way to something else she couldn’t name, her body surging with heat and a restless hunger of its own that answered his and begged him to step away from the wall.

  It was ridiculous to think such things, to entertain this bizarre exchange in such a public place and without a care to the slumbering man at her side, but once again in his presence, Haley felt the world slide away into an inconsequential background that left only the two of them together.

  Wicked thoughts of what it would mean to surrender to impulse, to allow him to do more than look, suffused her cheeks with color and Haley had to put a hand over her heart to prevent it from pounding out of her chest. A girl could drown in those eyes and never cry for help. It’s indecent, the way he’s openly staring. It’s obscene the way I’m enjoying this—every thrilling, horrifying second of this. . . . I should—

  But the internal momentum of her protest faltered at “should” as an odd spasm of delicious tension made her aware of every taut inch of her body, from the tiny hairs raised on the back of her neck to the molten damp well between her legs. It was too much.

  She began to rise from her chair to escape on unsteady legs, determined to end it, once and for all. But just at that instant, the musical piece ended in a flourish and applause broke out. Herbert awoke with a distinct snort, and then immediately joined in to clap his hands with guilty enthusiasm as Aunt Alice calmly opened her eyes as if pleasantly surprised to find her dreams ending in public acclaim.

  Haley was forced to keep her seat, fanning herself with her eyes forward. If I’m lucky, he’ll just take this opportunity to slip away before Herbert or anyone else notices him. After all, he cannot be so reckless as to want to draw attention to himself just standing there . . . staring at me, can he?

  “Well, that was most refreshing!” Herbert exclaimed. “Very re—Ah! Mr. Hawke! I didn’t see you there, sir!” Herbert stepped in front of Haley to reach out and offer his hand, the clumsy maneuver sacrificing her toes and pushing her closer to Mr. Hawke. “It was a delightful performance, was it not?”

  “Delightful,” he echoed, his eyes looking sympathetically at Haley’s struggles to keep her skirts and extremities out of her fiancé’s careless path, before he looked back to Herbert and accepted the handshake. “I cannot imagine a better performance, Mr. Trumble.”

  “Are you staying for the reception? Won’t you join our small party?” Herbert asked. “Lord Moreland leaves us a gentleman short this evening, and so I’m sure Mrs. Shaw would enjoy having an escort on her arm.”

  Haley was sure her heart was going to simply stop at the strain. Bad enough to have Herbert pawing at the man like an overeager puppy, but she wasn’t sure she could risk any more of Galen Hawke’s incendiary looks in her direction before someone else took note. “I-I think Aunt Alice might be too tired for—”

  “Nonsense! I’ve had a lovely nap and I’m feeling like a girl of sixteen!” Aunt Alice smiled, the flash of mischief in her eyes impossible to miss.

  “And tonight, you look it, Mrs. Shaw,” Galen said, giving her a quick but gallant bow and extracting his hand from Herbert’s sporadic grip.

  Aunt Alice practically giggled. “There’s a gentleman who knows how to win a woman’s heart!”

  “Well, that settles it,” Herbert said. “I believe they’ve set up refreshments in the salon. Shall we?”

  When it was clear that Mr. Trumble was going to head toward the salon at Galen’s side, it was Galen who subtly held back to offer Aunt Alice his arm, giving Herbert the chance to correct his mistake and retrieve his forgotten ladylove.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Moreland,” Herbert mumbled. “All this ferrying about is quite something to get used to, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, not sure how to answer, mortified that Mr. Hawke was witnessing every misstep. The contrasts between the two men were becoming painfully stark and difficult to ignore, and Haley felt a miserable rush of guilt for her own misbehavior. Even so, it was punishment enough to play along and hold her place in the awkward scene that was unfolding around her.

  The salon was a broad room adjacent to the ballroom and was intended for just such a party with its various seats and sofas for conversation and games of wit. At the far end, a display of food and delights was set out to impress even the most hedonistic London palate. There was even a display of sparkling champagne at the center of the long sideboard, and servants were circulating with crystal glasses to make sure that no one missed a chance to indulge.

  Herbert let go of her arm once they’d reached a few vacant chairs in one corner of the room. “There, isn’t this nice? Are you hungry, Mrs. Shaw? Can I fetch you some cake?”

  Alice shook her head. “None for me, but perhaps a bite of everything for Haley. She’s been peckish for days, and I’d hate to see her faint away and miss the best part of the evening!”

  Haley gasped. “I’m not—no one is fainting!” She flipped open her fan with a telling snap, trying desperately to signal her aunt to behave. “I do not faint. Ever.”

  “When I was young, Mr. Hawke”—Alice turned to her co-conspirator—“I used to swoon with great skill and, I assure you, great charm. It is a lost art.”

  Galen smiled. “I’d have loved to have seen it.”

  Aunt Alice rewarded him with a flirtatious blush that would have been a credit to a woman half her age. “You would have been just the kind of man I’d have deliberately overtightened my corset for, Mr. Hawke.”

  “Aunt Alice!” Haley squeaked. “You mustn’t . . . Mr. Hawke may not appreciate your rare sense of humor the way we do, Aunt Alice. Please!”

  “On the contrary”—Galen looked directly at Haley, openly enjoying her discomfort—“I find your aunt delightful, although Mr. Trumble may be the one in need of smelling salts.”

  All the talk of swooning had indeed brought out a nervous sheen of sweat on Mr. Trumble’s brow, and he looked for all the world like a man who would rather be on an inquisitor’s rack than in a discussion that mentioned ladies’ undergarments. His color had gone a little gray, but he plucked out his white handkerchief and gave his forehead a characteristic pat. “No! No! But I think I’ll head off to get a plate, after all. I heard that the earl spent a pretty penny on all of it, and I wouldn’t want to see it wasted!”

  He turned to carry out his mission and disappeared from view amidst the gathering attendees.

  Haley took a deep breath and wondered what conversation was appropriate after what had taken place between them.

  Though Alice had no such hesitations. “Doesn’t my niece look fetching in her emerald silk?”

  “Extremely fetching,” he said, a smoldering look at Haley underlining his words. “I would be surprised if she hasn’t fetched every heart in London into her hands by now.”

  “I am not . . . in the habit, of collecting hearts, Mr. Hawke,” Haley said.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Galen’s eyes seem to darken as he looked at her. “So many women seem to think it a game, gathering men’s hearts like trinkets.”

  “Lah! But what a lot of clutter!” Aunt Alice interrupted. “Where in the world would a person put all those trinkets? Although, if I had wisely gotten expensive trinkets instead of hearts, perhaps I’d be a wealt
hier old woman today.”

  “Aunt Alice.” Haley had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a lecture on appropriate moments to reminisce on instances of youthful indiscretion. “Please.”

  Herbert returned without the promised plate of food, startling a few nearby guests as he hailed them. “Look who I found near the sandwiches! What a jolly surprise to see him here as well!”

  Rand Bascombe smiled at his elbow, apparently flattered to be the subject of a remarkable discovery. “Common enough to see me by now, I would think, Mr. Trumble, but thank you. Is it possible that this is the elusive Mr. Hawke?”

  “It is!” Herbert beamed. “Mr. Hawke, Mr. Rand Bascombe was your host a few days ago at his home, so I assumed you knew each other well enough. Bascombe was kind enough to harbor my future in-laws and fiancée until I could find suitable lodgings for them when we first arrived in London, and I am forever in his debt.”

  “Not forever, Mr. Trumble,” Bascombe corrected him with lofty charm, “but perhaps for a Season or two until I can think of a favor you can do me in return.” He turned to Galen. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Mr. Hawke.”

  Galen nodded, his expression more neutral. “Mr. Bascombe.”

  Mr. Bascombe waved over a servant with a tray full of sparkling crystal flutes of champagne. “Let’s toast to your return, Mr. Hawke.”

  “I wasn’t aware the man had been away!” Mrs. Shaw said, only to be roundly ignored by Mr. Bascombe.

  “What a lively idea! A toast!” Herbert replied to Rand, as if never in his life had anyone proposed a toast in his presence.

  “Yes, back from . . . where in India was it?” Bascombe asked Galen, his gaze intent.