Revenge Wears Rubies

by Renee Bernard

  “And after I break it off with him, what then?”

  “We wait until the dust settles and I will set things right and publicly see to your honor.”

  She looked at him with tender relief. “I’m looking forward to that, Galen.”

  “As am I,” he said solemnly, his expression serious. Galen stood up. “But if we rush, then the sharp eyes of society may still put the puzzle pieces together, and we’ll be right back where we started.” He smoothed out her hair, moving the curls back from her forehead. “I won’t have you suffer a single harsh look, my dear—not on my behalf.”

  On John Everly’s behalf is another matter, Miss Moreland, but we’ll leave that for now.

  He could guess her thoughts. She’d given herself to him, and gone too far to turn back now. . . . Her situation was precarious, at best, but Galen was doing his best to give her the assurances she needed. He held out his hand to her.

  At last, the storm in her eyes subsided, and she looked back at him, calm and serene, and reached for his hand so that he could pull her up from the chair. “It’s not forever, this arrangement.”

  “No, not forever.” He kissed her again, tasting her more deeply and sealing their bargain. “And perhaps you’ll find something to enjoy, something to please you about our secret. What do you think?”

  She melted into him, “I think I may already have an inkling of an advantage, or two.”

  “For now, just trust me.”

  “Yes, Galen. I trust you completely.”

  And I have you, Miss Moreland. I have you.

  The carriage ride home through the dark and deserted streets of London was like a dream. She kept wondering when she would feel shame or terror at her actions, but instead she felt only a wild kind of liberation and happiness. She had seized her chance for joy with both hands and thrown caution to the winds. And she just knew it would all work out as it should.

  He’d all but proposed to her that very night, but for his sensitivity and thoughtfulness when it came to her current predicament. He’d proven his affections beyond anything she’d ever imagined possible, and—they would meet again soon!

  It was illicit and forbidden, and so intoxicatingly romantic, this taboo passion! Aunt Alice would be strangely proud, if she knew what Haley had done, but Haley hoped to keep it from her as long as possible. Dear Aunt Alice wasn’t known for her discretion.

  And now I have a naughty tale of my very own to shock a grandchild with one day. Haley leaned back against the cushions and almost cried with happiness.

  The man dropped his cheroot and extinguished it at his feet, then watched the woman’s carriage pull out of sight. If Galen Hawke was truly one of the members of this secret circle called the Jaded, as Bascombe seemed to think, then there were many possibilities. But the Jaded were strong, looking out for one another and trusting no outsider with their secrets—so far the Company hadn’t even been able to ascertain their membership roster. But a woman could change everything—and she already had. She’d brought Galen into the public eye, and now he wouldn’t be as careful.

  For now, they would just wait and see if Galen would lead them to the others before some sahib’s assassins could spoil everything.

  And Bascombe had promised he’d be able to use the girl to their advantage.

  But if not . . . they had their own ideas about how Galen Hawke could be brought to heel.

  Chapter 12

  “There’s a note for you, Miss.” Emily brought it in on the little silver tray. Usually it was the butler, Mr. Weathers, who brought the cards and notes in, but the housekeeper had already informed her that the poor man was terribly ill this morning.

  “Emily, will you ask Mrs. Biron to send for a doctor for Mr. Weathers, please?”

  “Yes, Miss.” Emily grinned as she curtsied, and then left to carry out her mistress’s bidding.

  Haley studied the sealed note for a moment, admiring the strong, graceful handwriting—unfamiliar to her, but undoubtedly Mr. Hawke’s. Then she turned it over to lift the seal and unfold the paper.

  It has been hours since we parted and I have decided that I am impatient to be in your company again. Come out to Bell Street to the market square tomorrow morning at ten under the guise of needing some feminine trifle from the shops and my carriage will be waiting.

  Come to me.

  G

  Relief flooded through her and she pressed the paper to her pounding heart. It wasn’t a dream! I’m to see him again, and he was true to his word!

  “I’ve been invited by Mr. Melrose’s secretary to see to a bit of local color!” Herbert announced, flopping onto the broad padded cushions of the sofa of the downstairs sitting room. He’d entered the room with the informal familiarity of a man so used to calling that he hadn’t even bothered to pause in the doorway. “A dog show! I hear they’re notoriously dangerous and seedy, but what a chance to gather for myself what the common man thinks he’s up to with the most popular breeds!”

  Haley tried not to let her anxiety at his sudden appearance show and tucked Galen’s note away into a hidden pocket in her skirt. She could still smell Galen on her skin, and since she’d miraculously gotten back into the house undetected for only a few hours of restless sleep, her morning had all but evaporated as the rest of the house demanded her attention. All the promises she’d made to Galen echoed in her head, but the sight of Mr. Trumble’s sweat-covered brow and his cheerful belligerence made it hard to hold her place. “Herbert, there’s something I wanted to—”

  “I heard they have bred dogs so small that they can sit in a man’s beer mug! But,” he leaned forward earnestly, “I think they’re shaving guinea pigs and trying to pass them off to win a few coins from idiots who don’t know any better!”

  “Herbert,” she tried again. “I was hoping to—”

  “No women allowed!” Herbert put up both of his hands, nervously waving her off. “I’ll be lucky to leave without getting my wallet pinched, much less with my dear life, from what Melrose’s man told me! So, there is no possibility of your attendance for—”

  “I don’t want to go.” Haley resorted to his own method of speech and interrupted his tirade. “I need to tell you something, Herbert.”

  He seemed to realize his mistake, instantly appearing contrite. “Yes, of course.”

  Haley took a slow, steadying breath to compose her thoughts. No matter what Galen had said, she did trust him and she knew that everything he’d said made perfect sense; but she couldn’t keep Herbert in the dark—or misuse his engagement. And she was sure there was a way to break it off with him without throwing her future with Galen away. Hopefully, Galen would understand her decision to give in to her own instincts and be as truthful as she could be.

  “I need you to please . . . forgive me, Mr. Trumble. I’m afraid that I can’t marry you after all. I’m relying on your good nature and mercy, and hoping that you’ll understand.”

  “What is there to—but I don’t understand, Miss Moreland! What could possibly have changed? Unless . . .”

  “Unless?” Haley prompted him breathlessly, suddenly afraid that he’d guessed the truth.

  “Unless it’s that nonsense about my investing in Miss Langston’s next production. I was afraid you wouldn’t approve, but I can assure you that it’s a respectable business arrangement! I even asked a few colleagues and they said that the royals have been known to support the arts!” His face was flushed as he spoke, and Haley held up a hand to stop him from saying any more.

  “My mind, Herbert. I changed my mind.” She took his hand, trying to reassure him, but speaking as honestly as she could. “The more time we spent together, the more I began to doubt that I could ever make you truly happy. I am . . . not an ideal match for you, Mr. Trumble.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” He shook his head. “You are well-bred and your family is well-respected. You are exactly what I want in a wife and exactly the kind of wife who can help me make my way in the world and improve my station. I
know I may not be the most polished bloke in the Empire, but you have quality enough to make up for my shortcomings! We are a perfect match!”

  She pulled her hand away, wishing there had been another way to protect her ragged conscience without hurting the poor man. “You don’t love me, Herbert.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I’ve spent hundreds of pounds! I’ve opened credit lines for—”

  “And I don’t love you, Mr. Trumble,” she whispered, the quiet truth finally reaching him.

  He stood, turning his back on her to stare out the window onto the street below. “Affection can grow over time.”

  “I don’t think so. Every instinct tells me . . . no, Herbert.”

  He turned back, confusion giving way to a strange look of belligerent challenge on his face. “This may be a feminine impulse of the moment, Miss Moreland. My sisters are notorious for changing their minds and then tearfully changing them back as soon as they realize their mistakes.” He straightened his coat, pride lifting his chin a small fraction. “I’ll await a note from you within the next three days before I say anything to anyone. That should spare you the embarrassment of explanations and hold off any misunderstandings.”

  “Mr. Trumble, I don’t need three—”

  “Three days! I do hope you’ll reconsider all the advantages I have to offer, Miss Moreland. I am a generous man, and can promise that I’m not going to hold this sudden and uncharacteristic change in temperament against you after we are wed.”

  He made an awkward bow and turned, leaving without saying another word.

  Haley sat for a few minutes, stunned by the strange turn of events. She’d expected him to protest but not to completely deny her breaking off of the engagement.

  Still, once his deadline had passed, she was more hopeful that he would, in fact, be kind when it came to voiding their contract.

  As for now, he’d given her the gift of three days to catch her breath and not be forced to make any decisions at all. Three days without dreading any more confrontations, three days to brace herself for the inevitable disaster of telling her father that his financial security might have to wait for just a while longer.

  “Miss?” One of the maids spoke from the doorway. “Miss, your father is asking for you. He’s . . . feeling a little poorly this morning.”

  Haley stood up, setting her shoulders for the task ahead. “Feeling poorly” meant his head was still bothering him after drinking far too much at last night’s ball, and she would have to put off her own chance to rest for just a while longer to attend him. “I’ll be right there, Emily, thank you.”

  Haley headed up the stairs to the second floor and her father’s rooms. It was nearly noon, but the draperies were still drawn, robbing the room of all light. She was familiar enough not to trip over the furniture to reach him, mildly concerned at his soft moans.

  “Father? Can I get you anything?” she asked softly.

  “A shroud,” he mumbled. “A burial shroud.”

  She smiled, leaning over to light an oil lamp by his bed stand, only to suffer his complaints.

  “No lights! My eyes will burn out of my head!”

  “Nonsense.” Haley retrieved a small pan of water from the table by the door where the maid must have set it before retreating to fetch her, and she returned to see about wetting a small cloth to put over his eyes. “Here, this will soothe.”

  He took the cloth, sparing her a grateful glance before returning to his laments. “I was a fool to drink with that Mr. Hawke.”

  “Mr. Hawke doesn’t drink.” Haley swallowed hard, surprised to hear Galen’s name.

  “True! Wretched soul!” he moaned, pressing the cloth against his eyes. “What torture for him to walk this miserable earth without allowing himself even the solace of spirits!”

  “Father, I hardly think Mr. Hawke’s soul is wretched from a lack of drinking. And as for torture, the only soul who looks to be in agony at the moment is you.”

  “Don’t mock me,” he whispered dramatically. “This could very well be the end of me.”

  She sighed. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying of a hangover, unless, of course, they were smothered by a daughter who was furious at her father for not keeping his word—they may note that differently in the papers!”

  His pout was usually endearing, but Haley had seen too many of them to find the childish gesture anything but repugnant under the circumstances.

  “You’re being cruel.” He stuck out his lower lip, lifting the cloth to give her a pitiful look. “I was . . . overwhelmed at the ball. All those couples only reminded me of my solitary state and I . . . couldn’t help myself.”

  She dropped a fresh cloth in the pan of cold water and forced herself to look at him again. This time, to see him as a stranger might see him. Sprawled on his silk sheets, eyes sunken and his face drawn from a night of endless indulgence, his nose almost permanently stained a comical tint of red, the handsome man she’d once adored was like a phantom with his pale skin and shaking hands.

  “Father”—she took one of his hands, stilling it and warming it with her own—“what do you think Mother loved about you best?”

  He smiled. “She always said she loved my heart best.”

  “And now?”

  His smile faded, the question confusing him. “Now?”

  “Now, what would she love about you best? If she were to come into the room, what would she say?” Haley tried to tighten her hold on his hand as he started to pull away, but petulance lent him strength and he churlishly retrieved his fingers from her touch.

  “I’ll not be lectured by my only child as if I am in short pants!”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I love your heart best, too! It’s no lecture to tell you that, Father. It’s no lecture to beg you, one last time, to stop looking backward and using her as an excuse. If you loved her, I cannot believe that this is the way you choose to remember her.”

  She laid her hand over his briefly and stood to leave the bedside. But she stopped at the door, her back to him. “And you’re right. I apologize. You are not in short pants and I am not the parent. In the future, I will do my best to hold to my place and for better or worse, leave you to your own devices.” She turned back, letting the tears fall as she looked at him, his jaw dropped open in shock as he sat dumbfounded in the middle of the bed in his nightshirt. “I will never again ask you not to drink.”

  Haley threw herself onto her bed, exhaustion finally taking its toll. She felt as if she’d been through the strangest storm of her life within a single night and day—with highs and lows she could never have anticipated. She’d lost her heart and taken the ultimate risk with Galen, but knew for the first time what her life could be, what happiness might yet be hers to claim. She’d severed her engagement and now faced an uncertain future. But the relief of knowing that Herbert Trumble wasn’t the one holding the reins made it feel like the sweetest liberty.

  And she’d finally relinquished control over her father’s choices and spoken the words she’d longed to tell him for so many years.

  For the first time, she experienced a curl of delightful anticipation for the days ahead and smiled at the memory of her beautiful Hawke sweeping her into his arms as sleep began to claim her.

  At last . . . I know what my mother had with my father, and I’m not afraid to seek it with Galen, and risk everything for his love. And if all of it was just a dream, then I don’t ever want to wake up.

  Chapter 13

  Galen tapped his foot and checked his pocket watch for the third time. He’d meant to just send the carriage for her and wait at the house, but at the last minute, an uncontrolled restlessness had suddenly overruled him.

  He tried to tell himself that it was out of a natural concern that she would be suffering from regret at giving in to him and yielding her innocence so quickly. He tried to tell himself that it was out of this practical concern that he’d insisted on seeing her again so quickly.

  But the logic wasn’t holding.
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  He listened to the traffic and tried to keep a subtle eye on the pedestrians, watching for her. He tried to tell himself that his darkening mood had everything to do with the villainy of his plans and naught to do with an oppressive sense of guilt that had robbed him of any guise of sleep. After all, what guilt should he harbor? Galen reminded himself that no matter how sweetly she played it, she’d heartlessly cast John aside and done nothing to dispute or dissuade him from believing otherwise. She’d fallen into his hands, just as he’d predicted to Michael, and willingly thrown off her engagement at a better prospect—again just as he’d said she would.

  His scheme had taken on a life of its own, and he wanted to enjoy the accomplishment, but instead he was simply left with a bone-gnawing lust and the sinking feeling that he cared less and less about the reasons behind his actions—so long as she was once again beneath him and crying out his name.

  At last, he felt the footman start to descend from the back of the carriage and realized that she was just outside the door. He waved the man off and opened the door for her, his throat closing at the sight of her in a beautiful day dress of daffodil yellow with a soft green underskirt. Her delight at seeing him lit her eyes, her face framed by the simple straw bonnet she wore, and she smiled as she took his hand and gracefully ascended to sit beside him.

  “You’re late.” He almost winced at his own words as he closed the carriage door and drew the curtains, but he couldn’t take them back and he couldn’t say why he was suddenly choking on his own desire. It flared through him in an irrational flash, and a small part of him wondered if he weren’t about to deliberately scare her away. He knocked on the wall, and the carriage pulled smoothly away down the lane.

  “I came as soon as I could,” she demurred shyly. “You can’t imagine how—”