Galen seemed to ignore the question and held up a hand of refusal, even as Herbert eagerly took a glass. “I don’t drink, but thank you.”
Rand’s hand hesitated for a moment, but then he also took a goblet. “Are you a religious man, then, Mr. Hawke?”
Galen shook his head slowly. “Not at all.”
“Don’t tease him, Mr. Bascombe!” Mrs. Shaw chimed in. “Besides, I never saw why God would object to a good glass of sherry now and again!”
“Mr. Melrose said he never trusts a man who doesn’t demonstrate a good command of his faculties after a bottle or two,” Herbert added cheerfully. “But he must not trust too many men then, for I swear I don’t know any man who demonstrates any good sense after two bottles of distilled spirits! I hardly make sense after two glasses, and where’s the reason in that?”
“Reason to try temperance, I’d say,” Mrs. Shaw said softly enough that only Haley could hear her.
“You are a music lover, then, sir?” Mr. Bascombe readdressed Galen. “Is that what draws you back out from hiding in your hermit’s cave?”
“I wasn’t aware I was hiding,” he said. A small twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Haley knew he was thinking of their first encounter on that dark balcony.
“You were a fixture in Town before you went to India, and no one has seen a breath of you since your return—until these last two weeks, that is! I cannot help but wonder what brings you out so late in the Season,” Bascombe said, openly speculating. “Dispelling rumors, Mr. Hawke? Or are you trying to create new ones?”
Haley’s shock at this rude line of questioning ended her silence. “Mr. Hawke is too gentlemanly to pay any heed to wagging tongues, I’m sure, Mr. Bascombe.”
“Is he?” Rand looked at her as if he’d just noticed her standing in their midst. “Yes. Yes, of course he is, Miss Moreland. I meant to jest.”
“A pitfall of befriending all those politicians,” Aunt Alice said with an innocent smile. “No one can ever tell when you’re jesting, or what you mean when you do.”
Herbert laughed. “Then almost everyone I meet in London is a politician, for I swear I can’t make out what anyone means by anything in this town.”
“You should hire a translator, Trumble,” Rand said, his warm smile not touching the ice in his eyes. “Though you may be better off in ignorant bliss.”
Galen stiffened, neutrality fading from his expression. But Herbert spoke before Galen could give his displeasure a voice. “You jest, again! But we mustn’t give the ladies the impression that we aren’t the best of friends, eh?”
Bascombe nodded and snatched another glass of champagne from a passing servant’s tray. He held it out to Galen. “Yes. Come, Hawke. Drink to friendship.”
Galen didn’t move. “As I said, I don’t drink.”
“Make an exception! How can you not for such lively company and on such a night?” Herbert said merrily, unaware of the disastrous tension in the air.
“Good evening.” He somberly turned to Mrs. Shaw and Haley, dismissing the men outright. “I look forward to seeing you again.” He took Haley’s hand and bowed over it, his eyes rising to meet hers one last time. “Soon, I hope.”
He released her fingers and turned away without another word.
A long, awkward pause was ended with Aunt Alice’s sigh. “How gallant he is!” She fanned herself, ignoring Rand’s disgruntled look of disappointment. “He reminds me of my husband, God rest his soul.”
“Why? Was your husband a dreary teetotaler?” Mr. Bascombe jibed, but then seemed to remember his audience. “Forgive me. It’s just that I am most curious about Mr. Hawke’s experiences in India during the Troubles, and he is extremely uncooperative and reticent about the affair . . . to everyone apparently.”
“He is quite happy to talk to Miss Moreland,” Herbert volunteered. “They share secrets as readily as children share mud cakes.”
“Oh, really? And what secrets are those?” Bascombe asked, holding out the unclaimed goblet of sparkling champagne to Haley. “Do tell, Miss Moreland.”
Haley had had enough. With a look to her aunt, she knew she had an ally for whatever rebellion she wished to attempt. She snapped her fan closed. “If I had Mr. Hawke’s confidence, I hope you would think better of me than to expect me to simply betray him at your command, Mr. Bascombe.” She stepped away from Herbert, frustrated and furious at the confusion on his face. “I’m feeling a little fatigued and I wish to retire.”
“S-so early?” Herbert asked. “But you haven’t even tasted the salmon!”
“By all means, stay, Mr. Trumble, and enjoy Marchfield’s hospitality,” Aunt Alice offered, taking Haley by the arm. “I can take her home in the carriage and you can find your own way later. Besides, it’s sweet of her to offer me an excuse to get these aching bones home before midnight, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course!” Herbert said with relief. “I shall stay then, if you don’t mind, Miss Moreland, and you can rest as you wish. You are looking a little drawn and pained.”
Haley winced, unwilling to admit that her “pain” might be the dawning realization that when Mr. Hawke had walked away, she’d struggled not to simply follow him. “Yes, I don’t mind. Enjoy yourself, Mr. Trumble. Good evening, Mr. Bascombe.”
She managed an unsteady curtsy and then made as graceful a retreat as she could with her Aunt Alice in tow.
Aunt Alice was remarkably silent until they were well away from Marchfield’s manor home. But Haley knew better than to expect it to last.
“Well, that was an interesting evening,” Aunt Alice finally said inside the dark confines of the carriage.
Haley just nodded, unsure how to voice her agreement without giving too much away.
“I like Mr. Hawke,” Aunt Alice continued, undeterred by Haley’s lack of response. “Not just for those striking eyes, mind you! But I swear, there was a fleeting moment when I thought he was going to punch Mr. Bascombe; and that must count in the boy’s favor!”
Haley’s mouth fell open for a moment. “Aunt Alice!”
“Oh, come now! You saw it, too, and must have felt a small shiver of hope that that pompous fop was going to have his due.”
“You do this on purpose.” Haley couldn’t stop the smile that interrupted her well-worn speech. What a sight that would have been! Bascombe landing on his oversized bottom with all the world watching! “I don’t want to talk about Mr. Hawke.”
“I understand,” Aunt Alice said, readjusting her wrap with a sigh. “A young woman has every right to keep her thoughts to herself.”
Haley almost pointed out that she wasn’t going to think about the man either, but she caught herself. “Thank you.”
The silent respite was fleeting. “I think Mr. Hawke is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And mind you, I wasn’t without a good eye in my youth!”
“Didn’t we just agree not to talk about him?”
“No, we agreed you wouldn’t talk about him. I made no such promises.” Aunt Alice reached up to touch her curls and adjust her feathers. “I am a woman of a certain age, and I have the privilege of talking about whatever I wish.”
Haley crossed her arms and pushed back into the cushions, refusing to argue and encourage her any further.
Aunt Alice smiled in the darkness. “Oh, come now! Admit that you like him.”
“I’ll admit no such thing! I’m engaged to be married! Or had you forgotten that minor detail?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing, dearest,” Aunt Alice said quietly, her tone changing softly and losing its reckless cheer. “I’ve not forgotten what a joyous sprite you used to be, and I still long to see a glimpse of that girl who used to tie up her skirts and run about the countryside with such happy abandon. What a mischief maker you were!”
“If this is another request for mischief, I—”
“But my brother robbed you and made more mischief than any man has a right to, Haley.” Aunt Alice refused to relent. “And
you’ve been paying for it ever since by being so responsible and practical that I swear it makes my bones ache just to look at you.”
“Oh.” The sound came on a single exhale.
“And so you’re engaged. And I’ll carry banners and stand on my head if you ask me to on your wedding day, my love. But”—she shifted over in her seat and drew Haley over to nestle next to her—“what if on your wedding day, you could be as happy as that barefoot girl without a regret in your head?”
Haley put her cheek on her aunt’s shoulder. “You’re like Father, Aunt Alice. You’re a dreamer.”
“I’m a chaperone, and I’ve made a few inquiries as any proper companion would. So dreamer or no, I’m old enough to give a little guidance when it’s needed.”
Haley lifted her head, instantly wary. “What kind of inquiries?”
“Mr. Galen Hawke is the second son, as you know, of an earl. And I discovered that he has a fair little income from his generous older brother, a Lord Winters, who has probably enjoyed living vicariously through Galen’s London adventures.” Alice beamed. “But even better, it seems the family’s investments in India must have done well, because there is suddenly talk of repairs and improvements at their estate, new horses in the stables, and increases all around.”
“Oh, dear.” Haley straightened her back. “Mr. Hawke’s financial status is nothing to me, Aunt Alice. It doesn’t matter if he’s as rich as Croesus or—”
“It does matter! Because no one would fault you, Haley, if he’s sincere. If he’s sincere in his interest, then a match to a family of noble blood and strong financial accounts could also be the remedy your family desperately needs.” Aunt Alice caught Haley’s hands in hers. “The advantages are as plain as the handsome nose on his face.”
“You’re urging me to do the unthinkable, to betray Mr. Trumble and cast aside—”
“Unthinkable? If you haven’t thought of it by now, I’m terrified for the state of your heart! I know you have your honor to consider, but changing your mind is not a capital offense and these things happen every day, Haley.”
Speech deserted her. It was an outrageous conversation, but it was impossible to ignore. Is he sincere? Is it really possible that there could be a happier solution to all our worries? Wait—how can I even think of it after everything that Herbert has done for my father?
“Life is risk, my dearest, even for the most practical creatures in our midst. But if you have a chance for true passion and happiness in this brief lifetime, then you must be courageous and seek it with both hands!” Alice gave her fingers a warm squeeze and then let them go. “Or you can spend a lifetime with your hands in your pockets. I shall leave the choice to you.”
Haley moved back to the seat across from her aunt, withdrawing with her thoughts. The memory of the look in Galen’s eyes haunted her, and she wasn’t sure if contemplating their dangerous depths made her feel any better about what her aunt had said. She allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to be publicly on Hawke’s arm, or in his arms privately . . . and a rush of longing brought tears to her eyes. So much for the practical Miss Moreland. But I don’t think I can follow in my mother’s footsteps, not knowing the tragedy and suffering that can come of it all. Aunt Alice speaks of passion as if it’s a happy achievement and not an unstoppable force that turned my father into a stranger and ended up destroying the life I’d known. Yet here I am, wishing for the moon. . . .
Of one thing she was entirely certain: Mr. Trumble wouldn’t see it the same way her aunt did; and he wasn’t going to appreciate an impractical bride. It’s too easy to feel the lure of Alice’s fantasies and the heat in Mr. Hawke’s eyes. . . . It’s time to make my choice.
Chapter 7
The next morning, the weather was too fine not to draw out London’s elite to Hyde Park to show off their latest fashions and see what other acquisitions and acquaintances could excite interest. As usual during the social season, invitations would be made, alliances created, and a few relationships severed.
Haley adjusted the sheer veil across her face as she rode along the path, wishing that Mr. Hawke had selected a more private place for conversation. But his note had requested a meeting here, and after their encounter last night and the sleepless hours that had followed, she’d decided that it was better to meet him quickly and be done with it while her courage lasted.
“Most people come here to be seen, Miss Moreland. But I think I would know you anywhere, even if you were swathed from head to toe.”
She barely managed to swallow a squeak of surprise as he seemed to appear out of thin air on a stallion at her side. “Mr. Hawke, I . . . I would prefer not to be seen.”
“Then you should have foregone the veil. It’s easier to hide in plain sight if you look as if you have nothing to hide at all,” he said, his wry humor ringing softly in his tone.
She smiled. “Once again, you seem to be an expert on the topic.”
“I seem to get more practice since meeting you, Miss Moreland,” he countered.
She tried not to laugh. “Why am I having trouble believing that?”
“I can’t imagine.”
Haley shook her head and looked away from him. It was harder to recall her purpose if she looked at him, so dashing in the tailored cut of his riding clothes. The dark coat over his white shirt accented his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the flex of his thighs was all too visible beneath his doeskin pants as he controlled his mount. Can a man be that good-looking and not be vain? Haley seized on the thought, as if hoping to find fault in a flawless picture. But when she glanced over to scrutinize him, the hope died as she took in his crooked cravat and the obvious lack of time he’d taken with those black curls.
He guided his horse off the path and then reined in to make sure she was following. “Come, Miss Moreland. We’ll escape public eyes and ears and see if we can’t have a private conversation.”
Haley hesitated. An audience of curious peers represented great risk if they were overheard, but they also meant security if she stayed within earshot of them. If he intended to take advantage . . .
Mr. Hawke gave her a knowing look full of challenge. “We can always talk on the main circle and then you’d have a hundred chaperones, or a hundred witnesses, depending on your point of view.”
She pulled on the reins and urged her horse to follow him. “I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Hawke.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He spurred his horse into a gentle canter, and for a few minutes, the pair simply rode through the trees until they found a private copse where the ground dipped lower, making it a completely secluded location.
“There, you see?” he commented as he dismounted and secured his horse’s reins to a branch. “We’re in a public park and yet entirely alone.”
She dismounted as well, determined not to let him see how nervous she’d become, and lifted her veil to push it back onto the brim of her riding hat. “Your note was . . .” Haley squared her shoulders and began again. “I agreed to meet you only because I need to entreat you privately, and in earnest, to cease and desist!”
“Cease and desist what, exactly?”
The lecture she had rehearsed in her head all night long faltered in one unsteady breath. “Y-you know perfectly well!”
He shook his head, his look a mockery of innocence. “I’m afraid I can’t cease doing something if I don’t know what it is, Miss Moreland.” He raised an eyebrow, the very image of a challenge. “Can you not be more specific?”
“You . . .” She stamped her foot in frustration. “Your outrageous flirting and attention! If people haven’t noticed, they soon will, and I don’t want—”
“Flirting?” he asked nonchalantly. “I can’t remember ever being accused of outrageous flirting before. Is there a circumspect level of flirtation that I wasn’t aware of? Should I ask Mr. Trumble? I don’t think I’ve even seen the man attempt to kiss your hand, so perhaps he would know.”
“You’ll ask him nothing of th
e kind!”
“I’ll ask him whatever I wish, unless you agree to answer one question honestly.” He stepped away from his horse, closing the distance between them. “Not that I often practice blackmail, but you, Miss Moreland, force a man to think creatively.”
“One truthful answer? I suppose it’s a small price to pay, but if you were a true gentleman you would agree to be discreet without demanding anything in trade.” Haley crossed her arms. “What question then?”
“Why Herbert?”
Haley’s cheeks burned with humiliation, but she finally answered him as honestly as she dared. “I will never lose my head with Mr. Trumble. I will never . . . be swept off my feet. And for all the endless verses of the poets, I am fairly sure that a practical life without blinding passion is not the tragedy they would have you believe. It is dangerous to want more than the world is capable of giving, Mr. Hawke.”
“You need to be swept off your feet. You of all the women I have ever met, Miss Moreland, need to be thoroughly and dangerously blinded by passion. And I think you want to be, more than anything else.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
He drew even closer, standing within arm’s reach, but made no move to touch her. And she realized that she was all too aware of him, of every physical detail, every button on his coat, every glorious angle of his face and the emerald fire in his eyes. She was close enough to smell the soap on his skin and suddenly her knees were numb and unresponsive. Too close. Oh, God, not close enough!
“Call me a liar, Miss Moreland.”
“You are . . .” Whatever accusation she’d intended faded at the maelstrom of her thoughts. Who is he? This impossible man . . . making my insides spin fire and ice . . .
“I am . . . ?”
“You’re a sinful, depraved man and I want nothing to do with you.”
His response was a single look of wicked regard. “Really? Are you so sure?” He shifted forward, in one graceful movement asserting his dominance, her view filled only with the wall of his chest as he was mere inches from her nose, the heady male scent filling her nostrils. “And what about you, Miss Moreland?”
Revenge Wears Rubies Page 9
