Red Roses Mean Love

kept her locked against him with one arm wrapped around her waist and brushed a dark curl from her flushed cheek with his other hand.

'So thrilling. So intoxicating.' She sighed. 'So absolutely wonderful.'

'Has no one ever kissed you before?' Her unguarded, tremulous response convinced him she was innocent, but she was hardly fresh from the schoolroom. Surely someone had kissed her.

'Only Jeremy Popplemore.'

'Who is Jeremy Popplemore?'

'A young man from the village. We were betrothed for a short time.'

He felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water on him. 'Betrothed?'

'Yes.'

'And he kissed you?' Stephen asked, growing more inexplicably annoyed by the minute.

Hayley nodded. 'Oh, yes. Several times, in fact.'

'What happened to him? Why didn't you marry?'

She hesitated before answering. 'When my father died, I informed Jeremy I wouldn't leave the children once he and I wed, and he experienced a change of heart. He made it clear that while he cared for me, he had no desire to take on my entire family. He urged me to leave the children in Aunt Olivia's care, but I refused.' She shook her head. 'Good heavens, Aunt Olivia requires nearly as much care as Callie does. After my refusal, Jeremy traveled to the Continent. I have not seen him since, although I understand he recently returned to Halstead.'

'I see.' Stephen's gaze probed hers. Her eyes clearly expressed her feelings, and he easily read the hurt reflected in them.

A sudden desire to smash Jeremy Pop-whatever in his selfish face washed over him. The thought of another man kissing her, his hands touching her, filled Stephen with an unwelcome but no less powerful rush of jealous possessiveness.

'He certainly taught you how to kiss.' The bastard. His frown tightened into a glowering scowl and hot anger pumped through him. Had the bastard taught her anything else?

Her eyes widened. 'Oh, but Jeremy didn't …I mean, he never. We never…'

'Never what?'

'Jeremy never kissed me as you just did,' she blurted out.

The violent urge to smash Jeremy Pop-whatever's face lessened considerably. 'No?'

'No. You're the only one who…' She dropped her chin.

Compassion tightened his chest as he thought of her sweetly offering her heart to a callous fool, who refused her because she was too kind and loving to abandon her young siblings to the care of a dotty aunt.

He was just about to tell her that Jeremy Popincart was a fool when she gasped.

'Heavens! My shirt!' Turning her back on him, she immediately set about adjusting her clothes. 'Dear God, what you must think of me.'

I think you're wonderful. The thought sprang unbidden into Stephen's mind, catching him off guard. He'd never thought such a thing about any woman. Wonderful? Damn it, he must be losing his mind.

When she turned around, Stephen stifled a groan. She'd fastened her shirt incorrectly, and her hair lay about her shoulders in wild disarray. The urge to kiss her again slammed into his midsection, rendering him speechless.

'I must go,' she said, her voice sounding one step from panic. 'Good night.' She ran down the path as if the devil himself pursued her.

Stephen expelled a pent-up breath. Her scent still surrounded him. He could still feel the imprint of her body on his.

Damn.

He'd gone out in the garden to relieve his troubled mind. Now his mind was more troubled than ever, and on top of that his body ached with relentless need. What the hell was I thinking?

But he knew what he was thinking.

And now that he'd tasted her, touched her, he didn't know how to stop thinking about it.

As far as he was concerned, resting and relaxing in the countryside was highly overrated.

In fact, all this relaxation would probably kill him.

SHAPE * MERGEFORMAT

Chapter 10

Knowing sleep was out of the question after his interlude in the garden with Hayley, Stephen walked slowly back to the house and entered the library. He lit a lamp then headed directly for the brandy decanters where he tossed back two drinks in quick succession.

The potent liquor stole through his veins, relaxing him somewhat. Relieved, he poured another generous drink and flopped down in one of the wing chairs near the fire. What the hell am I doing?

He took another sip of the brandy and realized with no small amount of chagrin that his hands were not quite steady. He felt hot, bothered, and damned uncomfortable in his tight breeches.

He'd known kissing Hayley was a mistake, but for some unfathomable reason he had been unable to stop himself. There was something about her-something he could not define-that attracted him like a moth to a flame. Bloody hell, the woman left him shaking.

He sipped his brandy, trying to banish the memory of her in his arms. He failed miserably. She was soft. So incredibly soft and responsive. He could almost hear her sighing his name, her eyes darkening with budding passion.

With a groan, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the memory of their kiss to wash over him. He had never kissed such a tall woman before, and he had to admit that it was a unique experience. All her curves fit his frame like perfectly formed puzzle pieces. If she had not left the garden, God knows what would have happened between them.

She excited him more than any other woman he had ever known. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, she had nearly brought him to his knees.

Where he had found the strength to refrain from stripping her bare and burying himself in her warmth, he would never know. He knew many men who were ruled by their passions and made unwise decisions based on their physical needs rather than their brains. Stephen normally didn't suffer from that problem, but kissing Hayley was a decision that definitely had physical needs written all over it.

Even though his head told him not to kiss her, even though logic screamed it was an unwise decision, he hadn't heeded his own better judgment. And now look at me. Drinkingbrandy in the middle of the night, still uncomfortably aroused, and unable to sleep. And all because of an on-the-shelf spinster. If the members of his club could see him like this-all but mooning over an innocent country chit-they would laugh their collective asses off.

But she's not just an on-the-shelf country chit, his inner voice interrupted. Except for Victoria she's the only truly good person you have ever met. She shares herself with everyone-her family, friends, even strangers-yet asks nothing in return. What the hell sort of person is that?

An angel.

But look at all her flaws. Her behavior, her clothing, her family, would cause Society matrons to dash for their hartshorn. Still, she somehow struck a chord deep inside him. And damn it, he didn't like it. Yet it also bothered him to no end that she'd been upset when she left him.

Frustrated, Stephen tossed down the remainder of his drink and stood. He paced back and forth. He had to face the facts. The only reason he was staying at Albright Cottage was because someone was trying to kill him. He was going home to London in a few weeks time and would undoubtedly never see Hayley again. His time in the country should be spent thinking of ways to capture his killer, not kissing in the garden. But he seemed to be having a