RED ROSES MEAN LOVE

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Turning, he watched her adjust her clothing. She looked vulnerable, confused, and more beautiful than any other woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, and her cheeks abraded from his whiskers. Her chestnut hair fell in artful disarray around her shoulders. The glow of the fire cast a golden halo around her. He had to get away from her. Now.

  Standing, he extended his hand. "Come. I'll walk you to your chamber."

  Before she could reply, the study door burst open. Callie stood in the threshold, tears streaming down her face. "Hayley! There you are!"

  Hayley dropped to her knees and Callie launched herself into her arms. "What's wrong, darling? Are you hurt?"

  Callie clung to Hayley and sobbed into her neck. "I had a bad dream. The kind with hairy monsters who eat little girls. I looked for you everywhere and couldn't find you. I was so scared."

  "Oh, poppet. I'm so sorry. I'm here now."

  Hayley raised stricken eyes to Stephen, and he easily read the guilt and self-disgust in her gaze. He could almost hear her thoughts … Look what I've done. I was acting the wanton with you and Callie needed me. I failed her. What a terrible mistake I've made. And what would have happened if she'd interrupted us five minutes earlier?

  She looked pointedly at the door and he knew she wanted him to leave before Callie noticed him. Without a word he left, closing the door silently behind him, knowing he'd left a piece of his soul behind.

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  "Am I interrupting something?" Justin asked the next afternoon. He stepped onto the patio at Albright Cottage, an amused, incredulous look on his face.

  Stephen tried to glower at his friend, but it was damned hard to look threatening while pinching a tiny teacup between his fingers. It was even more difficult considering he sat at a tiny child-size table, his frame nearly bent double, his knees bumping his chin and his ass wedged into a teensy chair. He shot Justin the harshest glare he could manage under the circumstances.

  "Why, no, Justin. You're not interrupting at all. In fact, you are just in time to join us." He indicated a tiny empty chair with a nod. "Please sit down."

  Stephen almost laughed out loud at the expression of horror that crossed Justin's face.

  "Oh, no," Justin said, "that is not necess—"

  "Nonsense," Stephen broke in. "We insist. Justin, may I present Miss Callie Albright, the finest hostess in all of Halstead. Callie, this is Mr. Justin Mallory, a dear friend of mine."

  Callie peeked up at Justin from beneath the brim of a huge hat adorned with colorful feathers. "How do you do, Mr. Mallory?" she said with a sweet smile. "Please sit down. We're just about to begin our tea party." She moved around the table and held the tiny chair out for Justin. "You may sit right here, next to Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones."

  Stephen watched Justin's gaze move from the minuscule chair to the none too clean doll, then to Callie's hopeful expression. Clearly knowing when he was defeated, Justin set his package down, moved to the tiny chair and gingerly sat down. He could barely squeeze his hips between the chair's wooden arms, and like Stephen's, his knees bumped his chin.

  "Wonderful!" Callie exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee. "I'll pour the tea while we wait for Grimsley to bring our cookies." With great ceremony, Callie poured four cups of tea and served her guests. Justin stared down at the thimble-size cup with a dazed expression, then choked back a laugh.

  Grimsley arrived with a plate of cookies, setting it in the center of the table. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mallory."

  Justin looked up from his cramped position. "Good afternoon, Grimsley."

  "How fortunate you arrived in time for the party," the footman said with a perfectly straight face. He bowed and left the patio.

  Callie passed the plate of cookies around, keeping up a constant string of chatter. She refilled the tiny cups as soon as they were emptied—one sip rendered them dry—and acted the perfect hostess. When the teapot was empty, she excused herself to refill it.

  Alone on the patio, Justin shot Stephen a sidelong glance.

  "Don't say it, Justin."

  "Don't say what?"

  "What you're thinking."

  Justin squinted at him. "Actually, I was wondering what happened to your face."

  Stephen sizzled him with a withering look. "I shaved, if you must know."

  Justin's jaw fell. "You shaved? What on earth did you use? A rusty ax?"

  Stephen's lips thinned. "I used a razor. And I'll have you know, I think I did a damn fine job. It's not easy shaving yourself. I recommend you not take your valet for granted. I intend to double Sigfried's salary the moment I return to London."

  "Why not simply grow a beard?" Justin asked, his amusement evident.

  Stephen mentally sighed and wished Justin would just be quiet. "Aunt Olivia prefers me clean-shaven," he mumbled. "So does Callie."

  "Ah, I see," Justin said, nodding. He peered at Stephen's hand. "What is that scratch on your hand? Another shaving debacle?"

  "It's a memento from my fishing trip with the boys."

  Justin raised his brows. "Fishing?"

  "Yes. I caught eight fish and only fell in the stream twice."

  Justin's eyes nearly popped from his head, then he burst into laughter. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. "Dear God, Stephen," he finally said, brushing his cheeks with a tiny linen napkin. "What has happened to you? Tea parties with little girls? Fishing with young boys? Shredding your face? Good God, man, you don't know the first thing about shaving. Or fishing for that matter. You're lucky you didn't slit your throat. Or drown in the stream. Do you even know how to swim?"

  Insulted, Stephen said, "Of course I know how to swim."

  Justin burst out laughing again.

  "Justin." The warning in Stephen's voice was unmistakable.

  "Yes?"

  "The only reason I haven't flung you head first into the vegetable garden is because my ass is permanently wedged in this goddamn tiny chair. I may never rise again. However, if I do, rest assured I'll make you sorry for your disrespect."

  Justin bit into his cookie, clearly unconcerned with Stephen's threats. "I doubt it. I could blackmail you for every pound you're worth with what I've seen today. These are delicious cookies, by the way." He tossed a broad wink at Stephen.

  Callie returned with a fresh pot of tea, and the group polished off cup after cup, or sip after sip, of the hot brew and another plate of cookies. When the teapot was finally drained, Callie stood. "Thank you so much for coming to my tea party," she said with a curtsy. She lifted Miss Josephine Chilton-Jones from her chair, hugging the doll to her chest. "I must put Miss Josephine in for her nap now. Good afternoon, gentlemen." With a polite nod, she left the patio.

  Stephen and Justin looked at each other. Finally Stephen sighed and spoke. "I have to get out of this chair. I feel an incredible cramp coming on."

  Justin wiggled his bottom experimentally. "My ass is stuck between the armrests."

  Stephen tried to stand and couldn't. "Well, this is a devil of a mess," he grumbled. "And to top it off, I desperately need to relieve myself. I must have drunk forty-three cups of tea."

  Justin laughed. "Forty-seven, but who's counting?"

  "Why are you sitting there like that?" Andrew asked, stepping onto the patio. He gaped at the two men, a look of horror coming over his face. "Ye Gods! Callie got you at one of her tea parties, didn't she?"

  A rueful grimace tilted one corner of Stephen's lips. "I'm afraid so."

  Justin leaned forward and peered up at the boy. "I say, Andrew, what on earth happened to your face?"

  Andrew touched his scab-dotted cheek and shot Stephen a shy smile. "Mr. Barrettson taught me how to shave."

  "Mr. Barrettson taught you?" Justin shook his head. "Good God, boy, you're lucky you lived to tell the tale. Stephen doesn't know the first thing about—"

  "Ahem!" Stephen shot his friend a silencing, killing glare then turned to Andrew. "How about helping us
up?"

  "Glad to," Andrew said. He leaned over and helped first Stephen, then Justin to extricate their hips from the tiny chairs, taking care not to break them.

  Justin held one of the chairs aloft after it was removed from his bottom. "Sturdy little chair. It's amazing it withstood my weight."

  "Thank you, Andrew," Stephen said, rubbing a cramp from his thigh.

  Andrew shot both men a knowing grin. "Glad to help. I've attended more than one of Callie's tea parties. I'm quite familiar with those ghastly little chairs." He picked up a cookie from the nearly empty plate, stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, and sauntered off into the house.

  Justin picked up his package and urged, "Come along, Stephen. Let's get away from here before anything else happens to us."

  Stephen nodded his agreement, and they headed down a stone path away from the house. After walking a good distance, they stopped and sat down on a wooden bench.

  "Where are the other Albrights today?" Justin asked, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him.

  "Hayley, Pamela, and Aunt Olivia went to the village, and Nathan is resting in his room. He took a spill from a tree yesterday."

  "Is he all right?" Justin asked.

  "Yes, but the doctor wants him to stay in bed today." A chuckle escaped Stephen. "I think the confinement is killing the lad."

  Justin eyed his friend speculatively. "You seem to be fitting in here quite well," he said, his tone nonchalant. "When we last spoke you seemed to feel the Albright children were unruly, loud hooligans."

  "They are unruly, loud hooligans. I've merely grown somewhat accustomed to them." He smiled inwardly, thinking of Callie's enchanting, delighted smile when he'd agreed to attend her tea party. In spite of the tiny chairs, he'd enjoyed himself, and the child's happiness warmed him in a way he'd never before felt.

  "The children are a bit rough around the edges," Stephen remarked, "but they're all kindhearted." Actually, they're wonderful. His gaze drifted to the package resting at Justin's feet. "Are those the things I asked you to bring?"

  Justin nodded and handed the package to Stephen. "Yes."

  "Excellent. I'm in desperate need of additional clothing." He ruefully thought of his breeches with the split up the back.

  Justin cocked a single brow. "Indeed? Is that why you requested I bring you a gown? A pale aqua muslin gown? With matching slippers and accompanying undergarments?"

  Stephen blasted Justin with a frigid look. "The gown is for Miss Albright."

  An amused smirk quirked Justin's lips. "Indeed? Which Miss Albright? There are several of them, you know."

  "It's for Hayley," Stephen said in a tight voice.

  "Ah. An unusual gift. Very personal. And quite costly, for a tutor to give, that is. I'll have you know it required a considerable amount of time, effort, money, and influence to procure that gown. In fact, it damn near took an act of Parliament."

  "I will, of course, pay you back," Stephen said frostily.

  "I'd prefer you satisfy my curiosity."

  "Forget it, Justin," Stephen warned.

  "As you wish," Justin said with a smile. "I can only hope Victoria remains ignorant of my purchase. If she ever gets wind of it, I'll be neck-deep in trouble. How the hell will I explain I bought the gown for you? She's bound to think I have a mistress."

  "You're a very resourceful fellow. I'm sure you'll manage to come up with a plausible excuse. Rest assured she'll never hear the truth from my lips. Now, tell me. What is happening in London?"

  "Quite a lot, actually," Justin said. "In fact, if you hadn't sent for me, I planned to come here anyway. One of our suspects, Marcus Lawrence, is dead."

  Stephen stared at Justin. "Dead?"

  Justin nodded. "Suicide. He was found two days ago in his study. Apparently he put a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The magistrate was about to bring him up on charges in relation to his illegal cargo. That, combined with his financial ruin, apparently pushed him over the edge."

  Stephen narrowed his eyes. "How do they know it wasn't murder?"

  "Apparently several witnesses saw him the night he died. He was stinking drunk, rambling on about his losses, and totally despondent. According to his butler, Lawrence arrived home at midnight and went immediately to his study. The butler heard the gunshot several minutes later."

  "Could someone have gotten in through a window?" Stephen asked.

  Justin shook his head. "No. There was only one window and it was locked from the inside. He'd scribbled a short note to his wife, begging her forgiveness. It was definitely suicide."

  "So, if Lawrence was our man," Stephen mused out loud, "then the threat to me is over."

  "If Lawrence was our man," Justin agreed.

  Stephen looked at his friend and silent understanding passed between them.

  "In accordance with our plan, I mentioned to your staff and family that you've traveled to the Continent," Justin reported. "No one questioned the story, but Gregory has asked me several times about your specific whereabouts. I told him you preferred not to mention your exact location as you were enjoying a private holiday with your latest mistress."

  A warm flush crept up Stephen's neck at the near accuracy of Justin's story. He cleared his throat. "With Lawrence dead, Gregory is now our most likely suspect."

  "Inheriting several million pounds, along with numerous estates and titles is a powerful motive for murder," Justin agreed.

  "But Gregory doesn't need the money."

  "I would not be so sure about that, Stephen. I heard he owes a substantial amount at White's, and he's been seen frequenting some disreputable gaming hells. But regardless, I think it's time you returned to London. If Lawrence was our man, the threat to your life is gone. If Gregory is the culprit, we need to find out." He eyed Stephen's midsection. "Are your ribs sufficiently healed to allow you to travel on horseback?"

  Stephen nodded absently. "I suppose. What if it's someone else altogether? Not Lawrence or Gregory?"

  "Then we need to know that as well," Justin said. "As much as I don't wish to place you in danger, we're not going to accomplish anything with you out here. It's time to come home."

  Home. Reality struck him like a bolt of lightning. Over the past two weeks he'd become so involved with Hayley and her family, he'd nearly forgotten his life in London. A life that included a cold-blooded killer.

  Home. A large, perfectly run town house on Park Lane

  in London. The epitome of elegance, with a perfectly trained staff who catered to his every need. No children underfoot, no unruly dogs, deaf aunties, or irreverent servants.

  Stephen slowly nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is indeed time to go home." The words brought with them an aching emptiness.

  "Excellent. Shall I wait while you gather your things? Or perhaps I can lend you a hand?" Justin asked, standing up.

  Stephen looked at him blankly. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Do you require help getting your clothes together?"

  Stephen slowly rose to his feet, a frown tugging between his brows. "I cannot leave with you today, Justin."

  Justin's brows rose in surprise. "Why not?"

  "There are some things I must take care of here before I leave," Stephen said vaguely, disgusted when he felt his face grow warm.

  "Such as?" Justin peered at him. "Egad man! Are you blushing?"

  "Of course not," Stephen denied hotly, walking down the path toward the house. "I simply cannot depart today."

  "All right. Tomorrow."

  "I cannot leave until the day after."

  "Why?"

  "None of your damn business," Stephen bit out, but then he relented. "I promised to escort Hayley and her sister to a party tomorrow evening, hence my request for the dress. I cannot break my promise."

  "I see," Justin said, eyeing him up and down. "And how are you getting along with Miss Albright?"

  "Pamela Albright is a lovely young woman," Stephen said, purposely misunderstanding the query. He started
walking faster.

  "Pamela is not the Miss Albright I was referring to, as you very well know," Justin said, falling into step beside him.

  "Hayley and I are getting along fine," Stephen answered in a terse tone that discouraged further questions. Justin completely ignored his tone.

  "I'm sorry I didn't get to see her on this visit."

  "She didn't know you were coming."

  "Really? Why didn't you tell her? Did you purposely hope to keep me from running into her?" Justin asked. "Were you afraid I'd notice something in her demeanor? Or yours perhaps?"

  Stephen halted and leveled an even look on his friend. Damn Justin and his deadly accuracy. "I have no intention of discussing Hayley with you, Justin."

  Justin paused and studied him carefully. Stephen schooled his features into blandness. He didn't understand his own feelings regarding Hayley, and he sure as hell wasn't going to try to explain them to Justin.

  "As you wish, Stephen," Justin said with a bow of his head. They resumed walking. "Of course, as you don't wish to discuss Miss Albright, I suppose you wouldn't be interested in the fact that I found out something rather interesting about her."

  "About Hayley?" Stephen asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

  "Umm hmm," Justin said, ambling along as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  "Well?" Stephen asked impatiently when his friend remained silent.

  "I thought you didn't want to talk about her."

  "I changed my mind," Stephen all but growled. Damn it, sometimes Justin was a cursed pest.

  "Ah, well in that case, I shall tell you. I made some inquiries, very discreetly, mind you, and I discovered Hayley's father left the family in debt when he died."

  A frown pinched Stephen's brows. "He did?"

  "Yes. Apparently, after the sale of his ship, there was just enough money to pay off Tripp Albright's debts. The family inheritance amounted to less than a hundred pounds in total."

  "Then how have they managed to live?" Stephen asked, confused. "They must receive an income from somewhere. Perhaps from the mother's family? Or her grandparents? Maybe Aunt Olivia?"