She buried her face in her hands in shame. Dear God, I was such a fool. She'd thought she'd loved Stephen, but how could she when she obviously didn't know him at all? The man she'd loved never would have behaved like that cold, bitter stranger in the garden. I will not allow him to destroy me. He is a liar unworthy of my thoughts. I have a family to love—a family who loves and needs me.
But as hard as she tried, Hayley could not stop the tears that filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Fruitless, heartbroken tears over an illusion, over a man whom she'd loved for a brief time.
A man who didn't really exist.
* * *
Nearly all the guests were engaged in dancing or conversation. Champagne and brandy flowed freely, and more than half the company were on their way to inebriation. A lone figure slipped stealthily from the ballroom through the French windows. Walking quickly, head down, the figure disappeared into the garden. Soon you'll be gone, you bastard. Then it will all be mine. As it always should have been.
* * *
Stephen remained staring into the darkness long after Hayley disappeared from view. His insides felt raw, his nerves battered, his soul bruised. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never, ever forget the stunned disillusionment on her face. Or her final scornful glare.
Deep in thought, he finally continued down the garden path, veering off in a direction leading away from the house. It was nearly time for him to meet Justin, but he needed a few moments to gather himself and calm down. He spied a marble bench and decided to sit for moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried, unsuccessfully, to erase the image of Hayley from his mind.
How the hell had Victoria and Hayley met? Was Justin somehow involved? Stephen had no idea, but he was going to find out before this night was over. Hayley's stricken expression flashed in his mind, and he dropped his aching head into his hands.
"Hello, Stephen." A voice spoke from the darkness.
Stephen raised his head and peered into the shadows. A figure approached him. His entire body stilled when he saw the pistol aimed at the center of his chest.
* * *
Justin's anxiety grew with each passing minute. Stephen was late. The trap was set, the Bow Street Runners in position, but there was no sign of Stephen in the shadow-shrouded garden. Five more minutes passed, but the garden path remained silent and empty. Justin's pulse pounded with slow, heavy dread.
Damn it all, Stephen, where are you?
* * *
Stephen stared at the gun pointed at him, then slowly raised his gaze. Hate-filled eyes stared back at him. He supposed he should have been surprised, but instead he felt oddly detached, as if he were somehow watching from a distance. A spectator to a bizarre scene in a macabre play.
"I must say, this isn't quite what I expected," he remarked in a neutral tone. He glanced down at the gun. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you're pointing that pistol at me? Or better yet, perhaps you'd care to point it somewhere else?"
Thin lips curved into a humorless smile. "I like it pointed right where it is. As to why I'm pointing it at you, that should be obvious. I'm going to kill you."
"I see." He quickly calculated the distance between them, and decided he wouldn't be able to successfully grab the gun.
"I wouldn't advise you to try disarming me. I'm an excellent shot. You'd be dead before you ever touched me."
"Indeed?" Stephen drawled. "I had no idea you were so talented, but I believe your confidence is misplaced. You've already taken more than one shot at me and missed."
"That wasn't me, you stupid fool." Each word dripped venom. "Those imbeciles I hired couldn't do anything right. That is why I'm going to do it myself. So I'll be sure you're really dead."
Stephen made a great show of looking around. "And where is my dear brother? Come on out, Gregory. Are you skulking about in the bushes?"
A bark of bitter laughter filled the air. "Your brother is nothing more than a drunken parasite feeding off me. He hasn't the brains to kill anyone."
"Then you're not doing this for him?" Stephen watched her closely, waiting for his opportunity to grab her weapon.
She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Why on earth would I do anything for Gregory. I loathe him. This is for me. Me! Once you're dead, Gregory will inherit the title and the estates and I shall be a marchioness. And when your father finally dies, I shall become a duchess. The members of Society will no longer scorn and dismiss me as the inconvenient, unattractive, mousy, nobody wife of the second son of a duke."
Her gaze burned into Stephen, her hatred palatable, her voice shaking with fury. "I shall be the reigning queen of the ton. Everyone will seek my friendship, curry my favor. No one will overlook or ignore me. Never again will I be subjected to the humiliation of being Gregory's ugly wife, a woman to be pitied. I will wield power and influence." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "And I shall no longer be forced to endure Gregory's indifference. Instead I'll have many lovers, all of them vying for my favors, eager to please me."
Stephen realized his best chance of survival rested in keeping her talking. "Tell me, Melissa, if you were so bloody eager for a title, why didn't you just marry one? Why settle for Gregory?"
"I had no choice in the matter. My father arranged the union. At first I was ecstatic, grateful to finally escape my family. Did you know I have three older sisters?"
Stephen shook his head. "No."
"Of course you didn't know. No one knows. No one ever takes the time to speak to me. I'm not beautiful. I don't possess a sparkling wit or musical talent. I'm ugly and clumsy and shy and therefore easily dismissed. Insignificant."
She fastened glittering eyes on him. "My three sisters are all very beautiful. Beautiful and talented. Men flocked to them in droves and my parents afforded them all wonderful debuts and opened the house to their scores of suitors. They each had their pick of men.
"I have been ignored, pushed aside, shoved away, ridiculed and hidden my entire life. I thought my life would change when I married Gregory, but it's become worse. I knew he only married me for my money, but I'd hoped…" Her voice trailed off and Stephen thought he detected a glimmer of tears in her eyes. But when she resumed talking, her tone was hard as granite.
"Gregory despises me, and he takes every opportunity to tell me so. He humiliates me by flaunting his women in front of me, as if I don't matter—as if I am nothing. I'd hoped for a child, but your brother refuses to touch me." She took a step forward. "He's made a mistake. You've all made a mistake. And after tonight, everything I've always wanted, everything that's always been denied me, everything I deserve will be mine." Gripping the pistol in both hands, she leveled it at Stephen's chest.
Stephen remained perfectly still, his mind curiously blank. She was far enough away that he couldn't disarm her, and close enough to easily kill him if her aim was true. He noted her hands were perfectly steady.
"Any last words?" she asked in a mocking voice.
An image of Hayley flashed in his mind. She was the only good thing that had ever happened to him, and she was completely lost to him. The thought of fighting for his life, a life that was meaningless and empty, filled him with a resigned weariness. Why fight for a life that wasn't worth living?
A bitter half-smile tugged at his lips. "I hope the titles and prestige bring you more happiness than they've brought me."
Melissa aimed the pistol. "Goodbye, Stephen," she said in a pleasant voice, the same voice she might have used to ask if he wanted a cup of tea.
Then she pulled the trigger.
Chapter 27
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Hayley stood and began the long trek back to the house. She'd been walking several minutes when she heard muted voices. At first she thought nothing of it, feeling only annoyance that she might run into someone and be forced into conversation, something she was definitely not feeling up to at the moment. All she wanted to do was leave this horrid party and get back to Halstead as quickly as possible.
She walked quiet
ly down the path, hoping not to disturb the people she heard talking nearby. As she drew closer, however, snippets of words reached her ears. Surprise. Care. Pistol. Obvious. Kill.
The word kill brought her up short. She paused, straining her ears. The voices were coming from the other side of the hedge. She crept closer, realizing that one voice belonged to a woman and the other to a man. Her eyes widened when she heard the man speak again. And where is my dear brother? Come on out, Gregory. Are you skulking about in the bushes?
Hayley immediately recognized Stephen's voice. Crouching down, she peered through the bushes, straining her eyes against the darkness. Stephen sat on a bench, perhaps twenty feet away. He was speaking to a woman whose back was to Hayley.
She listened to their conversation, her horror growing with each passing second. Dear God, if I don't do something, that woman will shoot Stephen. She stood and desperately looked around. The house was too far away for her to run to get help. This madwoman could pull the trigger any second. She tried to calm her breathing and keep her wits about her while racking her brain for a plan. Peering through the bushes again, she saw the woman level the pistol at Stephen's chest.
"Any last words?" the woman asked in a mocking tone. Hayley took a deep breath. It was now or never.
She plunged into the hedges.
* * *
"Oof!" The air rushed from Hayley's lungs as she hit the grass, the woman beneath her. The spent pistol flew from the woman's hand as they hit the ground. The woman grunted and tried to move, but Hayley held her down.
"Get off me," the woman growled, struggling to move.
"I don't think so," Hayley said through gritted teeth. She sat on her prisoner's back, holding her shoulders down with her arms. Looking around, she was relieved to see the pistol laying several yards away. Her gaze moved to the bench where she'd last seen Stephen, and her heart stopped.
He lay unmoving, face down in the grass.
"No! Dear God, no." Her agonized plea filled the air. She immediately forgot about the woman underneath her. She jumped to her feet and ran toward Stephen. Dropping to her knees, she gently turned him over and gasped. His face was covered with blood, and more blood poured from a wound on his temple, filling her nostrils with a metallic stench. Afraid even to breathe, she laid her hand on his chest and almost swooned with relief when she felt his heart beating against her palm.
"Stephen, dear God, Stephen, can you hear me?" She gently touched his face with trembling fingers. He stared at her for several heartbeats, his gaze searching her face, then his eyes slowly drifted closed.
"Stephen!" Hayley shouted, her voice an anguished cry. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement. She whipped her head around and saw the madwoman advancing toward her, pulling a small gleaming pistol from the folds in her skirt. A black wave of hatred, like nothing she'd ever felt before, engulfed Hayley. She gently lowered Stephen's head to the ground, then stood and faced the woman approaching her.
"I don't know who you are, but you've made a very serious mistake," the woman said, advancing until only several feet separated them. She aimed the pistol at Stephen.
Hayley didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, pushing the woman backward with all her strength. Hayley's size, combined with her fury, left the woman sprawled on her back in the grass, disarmed once again and stunned. Grabbing the pistol from the ground, Hayley stood above her, and leveled the pistol, fully prepared to pull the trigger if necessary. "I don't know who you are," she said with deadly calm, "but you've made a very serious mistake. If you move, you shall die."
Shouts and the shuffle of running footsteps sounded from behind Hayley. Momentarily distracted, she took her eyes off the madwoman for a split second.
It was enough time.
The woman threw herself forward, catching Hayley off guard. Hayley stumbled to the ground, the pistol flying from her fingers. The other made a desperate grab for the weapon, her fingers curling around the handle. Laughing triumphantly, she leveled the pistol at Hayley's chest.
The sound of gunfire filled the night air.
* * *
Justin crashed through the bushes, panting, his eyes scanning wildly. He surveyed the scene around him and his blood froze in his veins. A woman lay sprawled on the grass, covered in blood. Another sat several yards away, her face buried in her hands. A man lay half hidden by a marble bench.
"What happened?" he asked Weston, the Bow Street Runner who knelt beside one of the women.
"She's dead," he reported in an emotionless voice. Justin knelt down next to Weston and looked at the woman's face. "Dear God," he whispered, shocked. He looked over at the other woman, and executed a double-take. His eyes nearly popped from his head. "Miss Albright?" He could not have been more astounded if God Almighty had appeared before him. "What on earth are you doing here?" He looked again at Weston. "What the hell happened?"
Before anyone had a chance to answer, Nellis, the other Bow Street Runner, called out, "It's Lord Glenfield. He's been shot."
Justin jumped to his feet and ran to Nellis. He took one look at Stephen's bloody face and his heart sank. "Is he alive?"
"Yes, but he needs a doctor immediately."
"Go and fetch Doctor Goodwin at once—he's a guest at the party," he instructed Nellis, who ran to do as he was bid. Justin quickly removed his jacket and laid it over Stephen, praying his friend would live.
Several yards away, Hayley rose shakily to her feet and brushed her hair from her eyes. She saw the madwoman lying on the ground, a man kneeling beside her. The man stood and approached Hayley.
"She's dead," Hayley whispered. An icy chill swept through her and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"She is," the man agreed.
"You shot her." Hayley drew a deep breath and swallowed. Her entire body started to shake. "You saved my life," she said quietly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Miss…?"
"Albright. Hayley Albright."
"My name's Weston," he said in a kind voice. Taking her arm, he added, "Why don't you let me escort you back to the house, Miss Albright, and—"
"No." Hayley shook her head and turned toward Stephen. "I want to stay." She shook off Weston's hand and moved to Stephen's side, kneeling beside him. "Is he alive?" she asked Justin, terrified to hear the answer.
Justin glanced at her. "Yes. Barely."
At that moment the doctor arrived, followed almost immediately by Victoria and another man. Based on his resemblance to Stephen, Hayley assumed this was his brother, the madwoman's husband, Gregory. The doctor immediately began examining Stephen, and Justin cradled Victoria against his chest.
Gregory stared down at his dead wife, his face pale.
"What the hell happened here?" he asked in a strained voice.
"That is what we are going to determine," Weston said quietly. He instructed Nellis to send the guests home and call for the magistrate. As Nellis went off, the remainder of the group moved a distance away from the doctor, giving him room.
Weston asked Hayley what had transpired in the garden, and she gave a clear account of the happenings. Everyone listened to her, their faces registering shock. When she finished, Weston took up the tale.
"I heard voices on the other side of the hedges. I looked through and saw Lady Melissa pointing the pistol at Miss Albright. I took aim through the thicket and fired." His eyes strayed to the dead body on the grass. "I came through the bushes, followed by Lord Blackmoor and Nellis. We found Lady Melissa dead, Miss Albright stunned, and Lord Glenfield wounded."
"I cannot believe this," Gregory murmured, shaking his head, his eyes haunted.
Victoria turned her tear-streaked gaze to Hayley. "How can we ever thank you?" she asked in a trembling voice. "You saved Stephen's life. Again."
"I pray to God you are right," Hayley whispered in a choked voice. "I pray to God you are right."
* * *
Hayley stared out the drawing room window, watching the sky turn pale with the coming dawn.
An hour ago the doctor had finally announced Stephen would survive. The bullet had only grazed him, but he'd lost a great deal blood, thus his lengthy unconsciousness. His family had gone to his bedchamber, but Hayley remained in the drawing room despite Victoria's invitation to join them. She wasn't a member of the family, and she preferred to be alone.
She felt a touch on her arm and turned. Victoria stood next to her. "I've just come from Stephen's room," she said.
"How is he?"
"He's sleeping. The doctor dosed him with laudanum."
Hayley squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled with relief. "Thank God."
Victoria smiled. "And thank you. He would be dead if not for you."
Hayley looked down, her fingers nervously clutching the folds of her plain brown gown. She'd brought a change of clothes since she'd planned to spend the night after the party. "Thank you for allowing me to stay, Victoria, but I really must go home."
"You cannot be thinking of leaving now? Why, it's only just dawn. You haven't slept."
"I must get back to my family." I must get away from here.
Victoria gave her a searching look, but Hayley stood her ground. Finally Victoria said, "If that is your wish. But wouldn't you like to see Stephen? Everyone else has visited him."
"No," Hayley said quickly, shaking her head. "That's not necessary."
A puzzled frown creased Victoria's face. "Why don't you want to see him? Did something happen in the garden you haven't told me?"
Hayley dropped her chin and stared at the carpet. I am the Marquess of Glenfield … I have neither the desire nor the inclination to continue this discussion. Any association we may have had in the past is long over. Hayley blinked back the tears hovering close to the surface. "No. Nothing happened."
"Go see him," Victoria urged, squeezing Hayley's hands. "He needs you."
If only that were true. "No, he doesn't."
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