Revenge Wears Rubies (9 page)

“Ah, yes! Catastrophe.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate growl. “I think a man in love with you would sacrifice anything to keep you from, as you so eloquently described it, catastrophe.”

Haley nearly jumped from her place as his hand casually moved into the voluminous folds of her skirt so that just the tips of his fingers grazed the outside curve of her hip. Layers of cloth did little to lessen the imprint of the heat of his fingers at her thigh, and worst of all, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move away.

“I wouldn’t—”

He withdrew his hand to shift on the bench, making the touch seem entirely accidental, and Haley lost her train of thought.

“Yes?” he prompted gently.

“I wouldn’t want someone to sacrifice anything on my behalf. I don’t need—” She couldn’t make herself say “love,” and then she wasn’t sure what to say at all. She was drowning in needs and fighting every instinct to seize onto Galen and beg him to never stop looking at her this way, to put his hand back and to do more—to do all the things that the beautiful caged creature behind his eyes would do if there were no consequences. “Not everyone is interested in such things, Mr. Hawke.”

He shook his head, lessening the spell but not breaking it. “You hide more than any woman I have ever met.”

“I’m hardly hiding, Mr. Hawke.”

“No?”

“No.” Haley did her best to look cavalier and close the subject. “I am entitled to seek a few moments of quiet, if I wish to.”

“To catch your breath,” he amended playfully. “I can see how one might mistake the practice for something else.”

“You are an expert on the matter, Mr. Hawke.” Haley smiled, enjoying the banter in spite of herself.

“May I see your hand?”

“Whatever for?” Her smile vanished at the unexpected request.

“For science, Miss Moreland.”

“Science,” she echoed, completely caught off guard. “I’m sure I shouldn’t allow a stranger to hold my hand in public.”

“I’m hardly a stranger, Miss Moreland. We’ve been formally introduced, and I’m not trying to make love to you in front of a display of philodendrons. I’m just trying to satisfy a small and innocent curiosity.”

Nothing about you is innocent, Mr. Hawke.
She repressed the quick rejoinder by a narrow margin. “A curiosity about what, exactly?”

“Your hand, please.”

Haley held out her gloved hand, unsure of exactly what the man intended.

He shook his head. “I’ll need to see your bare palm for this to work, Miss Moreland.”

Well, this certainly qualifies as mischief. . . .
Haley tugged at the tip of each finger to pull off the glove on her right hand and then deliberately held it up, palm outward, fingers splayed to show him her hand. She silently congratulated herself on complying with his outlandish request without any risk of an onlooker mistaking it for anything inappropriate.
Odd, perhaps, but not scandalous!

His gaze shifted to her palm, and he looked at it as if she were holding up a pamphlet for him to peruse. Haley felt a stab of uncertainty. “Mr. Hawke?”

“In the east, I met a man who claimed that each experience leaves a mark on the hand, and that there was wisdom in each line if a man knew how to read it.” Galen reached up to extend his own index finger to trace an almost invisible groove along the fleshy and sensitive topography of her palm. The touch was electric and so light, evoking pleasure that she hadn’t expected. “If you were ever in love, Miss Moreland, it would be here.”

“Would it?” she whispered.

“Love should leave a mark, don’t you think?” His finger continued its journey, a magic that kept her spellbound. “Something that powerful, with that kind of passion. There should be a sign of some kind, some indelible scar that is unmistakable—or it wasn’t love. But then, a scar likens it to something that you would avoid. A catastrophe to be warded off, instead of a quest for completion.”

“You’re a romantic, Mr. Hawke.”

“Not at all.” He withdrew his fingertip, leaving only the echo of sensation on her skin. “And we’ve proved our eastern friend wrong.”

“Oh?” She lowered her hand slowly, surprised at the taste of disappointment.

“Not a trace to be seen, but you undoubtedly know what it is to love.”

“I do?” Haley gasped at her own mistake. “I do! Yes, undoubtedly!”

A look of pure sin rewarded her confession as he leaned forward as if to make a confession of his own. Haley’s heart pounded at the prospect of it, and she began to incline her own face to better hear him when—

Herbert’s hail boomed along the corridor. “Just where I left you! But look, you found a friend without my aid. What a relief!” Mr. Trumble approached with every sign of pleasure at finding Mr. Hawke at her side. They stood to greet him, and Haley had to swallow a miserable lump of guilt at being caught in so foolish a position. She did her best to smoothly replace her glove, praying that Herbert wouldn’t ask about its removal.

“I’ve been striding about looking for a familiar face and now learn that I had only to leave it to the Fates! How are you, Mr. Hawke?” Herbert said, extending his hand.

Galen offered his hand with a friendly grace to counter Herbert’s eager grip. “I am well.”

“Have you seen the exhibits, sir? I’m sure we’d be glad of the company if you care to take the part of chaperone. Miss Moreland’s aunt has left us unaccompanied and we couldn’t—”

“I’m afraid I’ve already seen what I desired most to see, and I have another appointment, or I would gladly do my best to keep you at arm’s length from your lovely fiancée.” Galen’s smile was the essence of charm, but Haley had to bite her tongue at the soft undercut in his words.

Naturally, Mr. Trumble was less astute. “A shame! Next time, eh?”

“Yes.” Galen bowed gallantly, deliberately not looking at her. “There will most definitely be a next time.”

With another nod, he left, and Haley let out the breath she’d been holding as Herbert unwittingly invited the fox to watch the henhouse.

“Well! There’s a gentleman, I warrant!” Herbert’s exuberance shone on his face. “It would be rude to inquire about his clubs, but I’d say he wouldn’t mind it if I mentioned him as an acquaintance when I make my own foray at the coffeehouses.”

She wasn’t sure if she could answer. What kind of gentleman was so forward and stirred a woman’s blood until she was an inner storm of fire and muddled emotions? What kind of gentleman looked at a woman with raw desire when he knew she was spoken for? What kind of gentleman ignored the rules of civility but made her feel as if the rules needn’t apply?
I don’t want rules when he looks at me like that.

“Don’t you agree, Miss Moreland?” Herbert prompted when she failed to respond.

“Yes, of course.” Haley did her best to reoccupy the present moment and ignore thoughts of Mr. Hawke. “But you have acquaintances that know you far better and would offer a word on your behalf if you wished it. I’m sure you have no need to mention Mr. Hawke to gain entrance to any gentleman’s club that interests you, Mr. Trumble.”

He shook his head and smiled, patting her hand as if she were a child to be indulged. “You are a dear thing and have been sheltered in the country, quite rightly, from all this nonsense. Men have a better head for these matters, business and introductions and such. A friendship with the son of an earl is no small thing, and I won’t be the man to miss the opportunity.”

“Mr. Trumble, I don’t think it—”

He cut her off, his smile still friendly, but his voice firm. “I won’t have anyone saying I can’t hold my own with those born a notch or two above. I’m not oblivious to the advantages of a blue-blooded wife, but I won’t have anyone doubting that I can’t make ties and connections of my own—and on my own merit!”

The last lingering pleasure she had in the outing dissipated. He’d never spoken so frankly about his ambitions, or her role as a well-bred pawn, but if any part of her had hoped that affection might also play a part in their relationship, he’d just rough-handedly destroyed it.
Destroyed it with a smile on his face and a simpering look afterward to make sure I’m not distraught at his tone. Oh, God.
“No one will ever say such things, Mr. Trumble.”

“Let’s make an early afternoon of it. I don’t think your aunt would approve of you being out in this crush, and of course, better to make it a brief outing since we are unfortunately on our own, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I think that’s best.” Haley took his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the hall.

I’m not trying to make love to you
, Galen had said. Haley wasn’t sure what to think. She’d been off balance through every turn of the conversation, and at each instant where she was sure he’d trespassed, she’d never mustered the momentum to stop him. Instead, she felt more like a restless child trying to play a game without knowing the rules. And now, there was only one thing she knew of Mr. Galen Hawke for certain.
I don’t think he’s the kind of man who needs bells.

Chapter
5

Sleep was like an elusive dragon he could just catch sight of but never quite capture. Galen wrestled with the wisps of tantalizing rest that promised restoration only to fall into a maze of images that wounded and bruised his spirit and provided no peace.

He was awakened by his own strangled cry of distress, a rush of shame nearly choking him. He hated this weakness that made him cry out like a child in the dark. It had been a senseless dream, and he was nauseated by the lingering heat of his still stiff cock from the macabre and erotic images of Miss Haley Moreland.

He kicked against the twist of sweat-tangled sheets that trapped his legs and took long, shaky breaths to try to regain his senses. He stood from the bed to distance himself from the visions that haunted him and began to pace, naked as the day he was born, about his bedroom.

Exhaustion gave an edge to his thoughts, but Galen wasn’t sure how a man remedied such things when he dreaded his dreams more than he craved sleep. A glance at the clock on the fireplace’s mantel told him that it wasn’t even midnight. He raked his hand through his hair, marveling at how a woman could present such a puzzle.

He’d studied her that afternoon at the exhibition hall, searching for any flicker of guilt or remorse at the choices she’d made. Instead, she’d dismissed love as a foolish business with a naïve mercenary streak that took a man’s breath away. And when he’d made his advances, she’d been all innocent blushes and clear, sweet looks of curiosity and awakening interest in his presence. He’d flirted outrageously and risked frightening her away, but the reward of experiencing her subtly leaning into his touch had been worth it. And when dear Mr. Trumble had stumbled over to interrupt their tryst, Galen had indulged in a moment of triumph at the flash of pure disappointment in her eyes.

Galen pulled on his robe and made his way over to a small writing desk near the windows. “Time to step out of the shadows, Haley.” He spoke his thoughts aloud as he lit the lamps. “Let’s see if we can’t let your aunt think she’s in on the game.”

He pulled out a piece of personalized stationery and began his composition. After only a few moments he was calmed by the mental exercise. The sound of the pen against the paper seemed like a quiet anchor, tying him again to the waking world and dismissing the last echoes of his nightmares.