Red Roses Mean Love

mistress's beautiful face. In his mind's eye, he kissed a tall, slim, chestnut haired woman who looked at him through incredible aqua eyes. Stephen imagined the feel of her full lips beneath his, the warmth of her body pressed against him.

Uttering a savage oath, Stephen shook his head to clear it and willed his body to calmness. He would be leaving here within a few weeks. Hayley Albright was nothing more than an on-the-shelf spinster. With eyes a man could get lost in, and a caring, compassionate heart she apparently opens to everyone. A teasing smile and a delightful, unexpected blush. Not to mention a lush, curvaceous body that begs to be touched…

Letting loose another growl of disgust, Stephen headed toward the door. If he stayed in this bedchamber for another minute with nothing to do but think of that, he was going to go mad. He made his way slowly down the stairs, and seeing no one about, he headed for the library. Perhaps reading would occupy his mind.

Once there, he studied the books and was about to select one when he spied a stack of magazines half hidden in a corner of the bottom shelf. The title caught his eye and he bent down. Apparently Captain Albright had subscribed to Gentleman's Weekly. This notion struck Stephen a bit odd as he didn't imagine it was the sort of periodical a sailor would enjoy. He picked up the top copy and contemplated it with surprise. It was the current issue, so clearly it didn't belong to Hayley's father.

Tucking the magazine under his arm, he continued looking around and discovered a set of crystal decanters. He poured a fingerful of what he fervently hoped was a decent brandy, although at this point even a horrid brandy would help, and tossed it back. The potent liquor coated his insides with a glowing warmth and he sighed in contentment. It was very good brandy indeed.

Pouring another, he settled himself in an overstuffed wing chair next to the fire and propped his feet up on a matching ottoman. He took another sip of brandy and opened his magazine.

It seemed like only several minutes later when he heard a knock. 'Here you are,' Hayley said with a smile, opening the door and entering the room. 'I was about to give you up for lost. Are you not hungry?'

'Hungry?' Stephen looked at the mantel clock and was astonished to discover it was nearly six o'clock.

'I went to your bedchamber to see if you still wanted to eat downstairs, or if you preferred a tray. I thought you were resting,' she said in a mildly scolding tone.

'I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take you up on your offer to borrow some reading material.' He glanced at the empty snifter in his hand. 'I also enjoyed some of your excellent brandy. I hope you don't mind.'

'Not at all. I want you to make yourself at home. My father loved brandy and only kept the best. It's wonderful to have someone enjoy it.' She plopped herself down in the wing chair opposite him. 'What are you reading?'

'The latest issue of Gentleman's Weekly.' He watched her gaze shift to the magazine opened on his lap, and her skin paled, a reaction he found most curious. 'I must admit, I was surprised to find a stack of current issues in your library.'

Her gaze snapped back to his. 'Surprised? Why is that?'

'I cannot imagine Winston or Grimsley reading this magazine, and it certainly isn't a publication for women to read.'

'The, ah, boys enjoy it.'

He raised his brows, intrigued by her sudden nervousness. 'The boys? Don't you think it's a bit sophisticated for them?'

Color rushed into her pale cheeks. 'Nathan and Andrew are very intelligent, and there is nothing scandalous about Gentleman's Weekly.'

'No indeed, but you must agree it is meant for men, not boys.' Before she could comment he continued, 'I read it faithfully myself. I particularly enjoy the serialized stories they print.'

Her color heightened further, but her gaze remained steady on him. 'Indeed? Which stories do you like the best?'

'There is a series written by a gentleman named H. Tripp called A Sea Captain's Adventures. Every week he tells a different tale about the voyages of Captain Haydon Mills, an old salt who's always in one scrape or another. Mr. Tripp's writing isn't the best, but the unique nature of the stories makes up for his lacking literary skills.'

Her brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. 'Lack of literary skills?' She planted her hands on her hips. 'I believe H. Tripp is a fine writer, an opinion shared by many others based on the popularity of his stories.'

He couldn't hide his surprise at her belligerent tone. 'And what would you know of H. Tripp's stories, Miss Albright?'

'I've read every single one of them. And I've thoroughly enjoyed them.' She raised her chin a notch, clearly challenging him to comment on her improper reading habits. Amazed though he was, he chose not to accommodate her, but at least he now understood her crimson blush.

Adopting a mild tone, he commented, 'I see. I didn't think most women cared for adventure stories.'

'I … I'm afraid I am not most women.'

'You sound sorry about that.'

She shrugged. 'Not really, although I must admit that sometimes I wish I could be more like the other young women in the village-carefree and more social.'

Stephen studied her over the rim of his snifter, assessing her and her words. She single-handedly cared for an entire brood of children and a bizarre household, saved stranger's lives, and was highly intelligent. Not to mention witty, honest, warm, and friendly, and she could shave a man's face without so much as a nick. And the fact that she could ride astride and read gentlemen's magazines fascinated him as much as it appalled him.

'No, you aren't most women,' he said softly. And believe me, that is a grand compliment.

* * *

Dinner that evening was an event unlike anything Stephen had ever experienced. He'd taken lunch with the family yesterday and had been surprised to see the younger children eating at the table with the adults, but decided such a breach of social rules must just be for the informal noon meal.

Because he'd eaten dinner in his bedchamber on a tray last night, this was his first evening meal with the Albrights. To his surprise, Andrew, Nathan, and Callie joined the adults at the table. But his jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he realized that Winston and Grimsley also ate with the family. Hayley presided at the head of the table while her aunt Olivia sat at the foot. The chatter was lively and constant, something he was most unused to.

As a child, he'd never been permitted to eat with his parents. The duke and duchess ate in the formal dining room while Stephen, Victoria, and Gregory ate in the nursery with their governess, a stern woman who didn't encourage conversation during meals.

As a result, Stephen was accustomed to quiet meals. The boisterous voices at the Albright table amazed and disconcerted him.

Once everyone's plate was filled, Hayley tapped her goblet with her fork, garnering the group's attention. 'Quiet, everyone!' When they had settled down, she stood and said, 'I have an announcement to make before we start. I just want to let everyone know that we shall have the pleasure of Mr. Barrettson's company for the next few weeks, until his ribs are healed enough for him to travel back to London without causing him pain or possible further injury-'

'Does that mean he'll be able to come to one of my tea parties?' piped in Callie, a hopeful look lighting her small face.

'And can we continue grooming Pericles?' asked Nathan. 'He's the finest horse I've ever seen.'

'And perhaps we can ride him?' came Andrew's excited voice.

'That's entirely up to Mr. Barrettson,' Hayley said in a repressive tone to the two boys. She picked up her goblet of cider and raised it, turning her eyes to Stephen, who was seated in the place of honor on her right. 'We are pleased to have you join us at our table, Mr. Barrettson. I propose a toast to your full and speedy recovery.' She inclined her goblet toward him.

Stephen picked up his goblet and touched its rim to hers. His eyes met hers, and he could not help but read the