Revenge Wears Rubies (41 page)

“To marry me?” She put a hand up to her lips. “I had no idea.”

“I met him there, you know. We were all strangers to each other before the Troubles. Before we were each captured and brought to some sahib’s hidden fortress to be held until he could decide how best to demonstrate his power, or use us to trade to the British to appease them, or . . . Hell! None of us ever really knew what the insane fiend intended. We just knew we were there to rot and suffer at his every whim and will. And after I lost track of the weeks and months, it was John who kept talking about you and England and how there was still hope.”

She sighed but said nothing, simply listening now as if she knew he couldn’t stop.

“He died in my arms just after we escaped, and I thought you were engaged to be married. And when I made a few inquiries, others confirmed that you were ‘sweethearts’ since childhood and I never thought to question it. So when I saw in the
Times
that you were already betrothed again so quickly to Trumble, I was . . . You hadn’t mourned him and I hated you for appearing to have simply gone on without a single black crepe ribbon to show for it. I hated you as I have never hated another human being.”

She shook her head at the horror of it, seeing now where the tale was heading.

“We’d suffered so much. And I’ll never know why, but it twisted me into something else inside—something unfeeling and numb—until I saw your name in that article. I felt alive again, but only because I suddenly had a purpose: revenge.” He took a slow shuddering breath. “I’d never met you when I decided I was going to teach you a lesson about love and loss. But once I had met you, it was I who seemed to keep learning things. It was I who learned about love. And now, it’s I who have finally tasted my worst loss of all.”

“Oh, Galen!”

“All at my own doing, Haley. Every blind step of it. And here’s the final little cutting bite of irony. For all my righteous indignation about honoring the dead, here I am, barely a month after my brother Trevor’s death, making the unlikeliest of proposals and giving very little thought to anything to do with convention. My father was furious, but as I’m the last surviving child he has, his heir apparent, and now Lord Winters . . . I don’t think he’ll hold a grudge for too long.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. Michael said it must have been a family tragedy to take you away from London.”

“Even a family tragedy almost didn’t do it.” He attempted a smile, but he couldn’t manage it. “But it was Trevor, and I had to go.”

“And so, all of this”—she opened her hands—“you did it for John?”

But all he managed to say was, “Yes.”

“I see.” Her voice sounded hollow, and Galen began to wish she were yelling at him again, for this was far worse.

“But there’s still a chance, Haley!” He reached for her hands, but she pulled away and he forced himself not to press her. Instead, he pulled from his pocket a slim case, opening it so that she could see the fire and flash of the ruby and diamond necklace he’d commissioned just for her. He’d meant it as a token of his sincerity, but also as the symbol that could turn vengeance into healing. “There’s still a chance for us. You know everything now, and as misguided as I’ve been, I can still set things right. I have a title of my own and an income, and in time, I’ll be the Earl of Stamford and that should please your father. I can take care of you and your family and you’ll never want for anything for the rest of your days! Every luxury, every desire, fulfilled beyond your dreams, if only you can see your way to forgiving me and allowing me to care for you as you deserve to be—”

She stood without touching the jewel-filled case, retreating to put the chair between them. “I’m not a fortune-hunting whore, Galen.”

“God, no! You never were!”

She shook her head sadly. “Perhaps. I did agree to marry Herbert Trumble, and it was for his money alone. But as you can see”—she gestured to the room—“I’ve mended my ways.”

“Haley, I—”

“And I have a plan of my own,” she went on, her voice growing stronger. “Since I am no longer eligible for matrimony in light of my family’s situation and my own flawed character, I’m going to save what funds I can and start a dressmaking venture. My mother left me a substantial amount of materials that I’ve been able to hoard, enough to fill two shops, I should think. Lady Pringley and a few other ladies in London made quite a point of admiring my designs, and I think I can manage a going concern. Of course, at first, I’ll simply make what I can for the ladies of the country.”

“A seamstress?” He was stunned. “But it’s such a . . . grueling profession. And not necessary that you kill yourself bent over a sewing table for—”

“I’ll determine what is necessary for me, Mr. Hawke. I have the right to make my own choices! You, sir”—her hands gripped the chair so tightly that her knuckles lost their color, and tears once again threatened to choke her—“you don’t get to make any more choices on my behalf! You’ve done enough for me already!”

He couldn’t look away, sure that if he bowed his head she would see it as defeat, as if he’d accepted her refusal. “Haley.”

“But I have to accept responsibility, Galen, for my own part in all of this. You want to absorb all the guilt and then ask for absolution, but I’m not sure that’s possible. Because

I was the one who broke my engagement with Herbert, because I couldn’t live a lie as easily as you could. Because once I’d kissed you in Hyde Park . . . once I knew what was possible . . . I forgot to think of anything else. I didn’t see Aunt Alice’s frayed sleeves, or my father’s account books. I didn’t pay attention to anything but you. And that was all
my
own doing. Every blind step.”

“No.”

“It’s too easy to cast blame on the seducer, but I was . . . eager, wasn’t I?” She began to shake. “I was so desperate to know passion and to feel wanted—I never stopped to question your motives or even examine my own. You were right, Galen, when you caught me at the exhibit staring at that couple. I was starving for love.”

“And I fed you poison.” Galen tasted the bitter truth and almost groaned.

“I . . .” She fought against her tears and stiffened her spine. “I need you to leave now. I need to think. And I can’t seem to think with you standing there looking at me like that! Galen, please . . . just go.”

For a moment, he considered refusing, but it was too much, the sight of her in such terrible pain and knowing that he alone was the cause. He closed the case and put it back inside his coat pocket. “For now, Haley. I’ll go for now.”

He bowed and left to show himself out, aware that it would take nothing short of a miracle to win her.

And he was patently out of prayers.

Chapter
29

In less than twenty minutes, the bell rang again, and Haley almost fainted. She wasn’t sure she could withstand another encounter with Galen so quickly. Already her entire world felt as if it had tilted off its axis, and she was too close to the edge. From the instant she’d seen him, clothes wet and plastered to his body, his curls wet and every glorious line of his face and body beckoning for her touch, she’d been awash in lust, and too horrified at her body’s betrayal to even think. And then when he’d begun to beg her forgiveness, to tell her the horrifying truth, to share the nightmares of his past—it was too much too quickly.

She reached the door, unsure of whether to scream at him for not going as he’d promised or throw herself at him and give in to the madness that demanded he make love to her in the rain. She turned the handle and—

“Mr. B-Bascombe?” She looked past him for a moment, but there was no sign of Galen. Only the sight of Bascombe’s carriage and rain-soaked driver and footman, awaiting their orders. “What a . . . surprise!”

“You never sent word,” he announced, then pushed past her easily as she instinctively gave way. He started to take off his coat and hat and then held them out to her. “I would have sworn we had an understanding, Miss Moreland.”

Haley took his things, her fingers numb. “Mr. Bascombe, I have no memory of any agreement between us, and frankly, none of an invitation for you to come to Mayfield.”

“My goodness!” He ignored her, staring up at the high blank walls. “It’s disastrous! I’d envisioned a few faded spots on your wallpaper, but this—this is unbelievable! Is that . . . is that a bucket on the floor?”

“The roof leaks.” She held his things back out to him. “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Bascombe, but my father is upstairs resting and we’re not seeing—”

“Don’t be stupid, Miss Moreland. I saw your father in the village making a call on friends, and he won’t be returning home before there’s a break in the weather.” He gave her a knowing smile that sent a chill across her skin. “Not that your dear father needs any excuses to linger over his cups. And Mrs. Shaw has gone off to stay with an old friend in the Cotswolds. Word has it you’ve had to dismiss your servants, so that means you are alone, and I am sure that I am one caller you’ll make an exception for.”

“You seem sure of so many things, Mr. Bascombe, that I begin to wonder if you’re correct about anything.” Haley continued to hold his wet things out. “I am not a housemaid. I am the lady of this house and you should recall that on your ride home, sir. Good day.”

“I’m not going anywhere. We have business, you and I. And I think you’ll be grateful for this remarkable second chance that Providence has given you”—his eyes cast about the hall—“in light of your current circumstances.”

She dropped his things without ceremony on the floor by the doorway, then crossed her arms defiantly. Haley had no idea what he was talking about, but she had no choice but to let him have his say since she lacked the physical strength to throw the man out into the rain. Hopefully, once he’d finished he would leave. “Very well. Let me show you to my sitting room.”

Unlike Galen, Mr. Bascombe was hardly polite with his silence upon first seeing the room. Haley had done her best to make it a comfortable nest, and it wasn’t as if they were receiving formal calls anymore. “Disastrous!” He eyed the chairs with suspicion and refused to take the risk of placing his weight on any of them. “You’ll freeze to death come winter.”

She bit the inside of her lip and simply stood still to wait for the man to say something more to his point.

“May I remind you that we are allies, you and I? I thought that you would have at least made an effort toward that small task I mentioned in regard to Mr. Hawke.” He began to pace the room, openly inspecting the meager objects in his path as he went. “Especially since I, who could have filled in so many of the blanks for the social reporters who were trying to work out the story surrounding your broken engagement and sudden departure from London, held my tongue . . .”

“How very kind of you!” she said, her sarcasm impossible to mistake.

“I have been kind!” He turned quickly, his face reddening. “You were a guest in my home when you first arrived in London! I have been nothing but gracious to you and your family! And when I realized that Hawke had taken notice, I did nothing to spoil your little love affair! I would certainly call that kind, wouldn’t you?”

“Kind?” Haley felt a new flash of annoyance at the man’s audacity. “I don’t understand why, but it’s clear you were hoping that I was going to become some sort of . . . accomplice in a game involving Mr. Hawke. But as I told you in London, I am no spy, and whatever your interest in Mr. Hawke, I would suggest you make your inquiries directly to him.”

Rand shook his head. “You have no idea what is at stake, Miss Moreland!”

“And I have no idea what you expect me to do for you. I no longer enjoy Mr. Hawke’s confidences, sir.”
And even if I did, I certainly won’t change my mind about sharing them with the likes of you, Rand Bascombe!

“And that is where Providence has intervened!” He took a quick step forward, and Haley flinched at the strange light in his eyes. “I have it on good authority that Mr. Hawke is on his way here to see you! What do you say to that?”

It was easy to feign surprise. The entire conversation had been so strange, she wasn’t sure what to say. But every instinct insisted that she keep Galen’s visit to herself, for his safety and perhaps for hers, too. “W-why would he come here?”

His eyes raked over her figure, openly enjoying her feminine charm. “He’s missing your company, I’d say. And ready to make another proposition, this time, no doubt, to set you up as his mistress. I’m betting good odds he’ll offer you a house and carriage.”