“What do you mean?”
“If I am depraved, as you say, then what are you?”
“You go too far.”
“What should I think of a woman whose eyes met mine last night at Marchfield’s? You never moved to alert anyone else. You didn’t look away from me, my dear.”
“I was . . . too shocked.” The words sounded feeble, even to her, and Haley knew that the lie wouldn’t hold. Even now the memory of it—reinforced by the way he was looking at her now with raw, potent, shameless desire—made something inside of her begin to tighten and ache with a hunger equal to his.
“And now? I’m close enough to have earned a slap by now, Miss Moreland. But you aren’t running away.” He leaned down, his breath sweeping across the bare skin of her throat. “We are the same, you and I. And I suspect you realize that you have met your match.”
She gasped, struggling to recover her composure. “You presume too much! I am engaged to be married, Mr. Hawke. I am—”
“You are here, with me, and we can argue presumptions another time.” His hands reached out to pull her close against him, the gentle heat of his hands on her arms enough to tip her easily into his embrace, effectively punctuating his argument about her willingness. “Kiss me, Haley, and then should you command me to, I’ll obediently retreat forever.”
“What makes you think that I would . . . do such a thing and not insist that you retreat now?”
“Because obedience comes at a price, and because my insolence gives you the perfect excuse to prove that you are immune to my charms—with a single kiss.”
Galen watched the storm in her eyes crescendo and subside, and he knew she’d given up on the inevitable feminine debate of yes or no. Yes! Miss Moreland, to me, you will always say “yes.” He lowered his head slowly, savoring this moment of fleeting victory, and kissed her for the first time.
For a first kiss, it was remarkably indolent. He let her dictate the pace, and discovered immediately how potent Miss Haley Moreland could be. Unlike so many women, she made no rushed, nervous grab at his arms for balance, nor pressed into him to “accidentally” ensure he was aware of all of her charms. This was not the practiced kiss of a woman playing the maiden; this was a maiden practicing her arts on a man for the first time, and Galen was completely at her mercy.
Never before had he allowed a woman to take charge, but with Haley, every instinct insisted that he give her this chance. Even so, his body began to fight against the logic of self-control as the fire she evoked started to rage through his veins.
This kiss held no trace of a tremble of haste or a push for a quick end. Not this kiss. This kiss was the slow and leisurely exploration of every soft corner of his mouth, of every variation of his touch and taste until he’d thought he’d die from the pleasure of it.
Her tongue was velvet, and he mirrored each movement, suckling and guiding her, tasting her as she had him, but with a gentle force to try to draw out her trust and build her virginal confidence in the power of her actions.
One kiss became a dozen, and one of Galen’s hands slid up her back to cradle her against him, the other tracing the sweet lines of her face and throat, sampling the silk of her skin and the intoxicating tangle of her soft hair in his fingers. She yielded to let him take control with a sigh, and Galen’s palms itched to explore more of her, to remove the layers of impractical feminine clothing that kept her body from his; but he knew better than to pop a single button. The knoll’s isolation wasn’t impenetrable by any measurement, and if they were discovered too soon, it would foil his greater plan. As bold as Miss Moreland was, Galen knew that her courage would evaporate the minute he went further than reason allowed.
But reason was abandoning them both.
She moaned softly and he drank it in, marveling at its sweetness, the vibration resonating through his body and tightening the knot of heat between his legs until his cock was stiff and heavy with it.
He guided her backward until they were halted by a giant oak, and Galen tried to ignore the thought that he now had whatever physical leverage he needed to take her if he chose to. An erotic image of the serene Miss Haley Moreland with her legs wrapped around his waist while he rode her into oblivion against a tree was so sharp and sweet he almost spent himself in his pants.
He finally pulled back from the kiss, but only to blaze a trail with his mouth down her chin to the wild pulse at her throat, flickering his tongue along her skin while his hot breath made her writhe against him. She arched her back, her breasts pressed against him, and he held her as close as he could to savor the hot curves of her body against him. His thigh instinctively slid in between the yielding haven of hers, and even with the barrier of her skirts and his riding breeches, he could feel the scorching heat of her most intimate flesh. He shifted his leg up, deliberately adding to the friction and pressure against her clit, and returned to her mouth to deepen his kiss at the same time to drive her further down the sensual path that would give him what he most desired.
And then without warning, she was pushing him away. Every fiber in his body protested, but Galen released her instantly. It wouldn’t pay to play the bully now, no matter how much she’d heated his blood.
“I can’t! I won’t do this, Mr. Hawke!” Her breath was coming quickly, and she staggered away, forcing him to hold out his hand to steady her on her feet.
“You’ll forgive me if I point out that your kisses didn’t seem so equivocal,” he said softly, adjusting his coat to make sure she wouldn’t be alarmed at the sight of his swollen cock outlined by his tight breeches.
She looked up at him, her expression full of pain, fresh and raw, and Galen experienced a mixture of concern and vindication. I’ve wounded her . . . so quickly . . . and all I can feel is a sense of power and . . . desire.
“I owe you an apology, Mr. Hawke.”
“Do you?” It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.
“I wanted—to know what it was like, to kiss you. To experience what it could be to . . .” She hesitated, her eyes gaining a sheen of unshed tears, but her voice grew stronger and steadier as she spoke. “I apologize if I misled you. It won’t happen again. I have to protect Herbert and my reputation—no matter how much of a temptation you present. I am not some stupid ninny to be ruled by passion and risk ruin.”
“I see.” He struggled to keep his expression neutral, as if he truly believed a single word of it. Though there was one truth in all of it—she was most definitely not a stupid ninny. As for the rest, it was too comical to take in, but he did his best to nod. What a beautiful liar you are, Miss Moreland. “As you wish.”
She walked to her horse and then made one or two unsuccessful attempts to remount before Galen crossed behind her. “Please, Miss Moreland. Allow me to help you.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, without looking at him.
Galen smiled behind her. You can’t look at me because you’re afraid you’ll kiss me again, and then what will have happened to that delightfully prim speech you just managed?
He knelt to let her use his thigh as a step, but then made sure he reached his hand up to firmly give her pert little backside an extra boost. She squeaked in surprise, but the maneuver was complete before she could really protest, and Galen stood to dutifully see to her saddle and make sure her skirts were clear of the straps.
He enjoyed the role of groomsman, taking a few liberties as he allowed his hand to slide up her calf while he placed her foot in the stirrup and along the outside of her thighs to make sure she was properly seated. He was just careful enough not to give her the excuse of indignation, but firm enough with his caresses to keep her off balance.
“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.
Or am I?
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.
This is ridiculous! I’m not the first bride to marry without passion. And before Aunt Alice became so enamored of Mr. Hawke, she told me a hundred times that my heart was bound to follow my head at some point. Of course, now her advice is all about wearing bells on my breasts and throwing all caution to the winds. . . .
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 wish
ful 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!”
Revenge Wears Rubies Page 10
