Red Roses Mean Love

somewhat subdued. She tried several times to draw him into the conversation, but his comments were desultory at best.

Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow. If I'm alone with her tonight, God only knows what will happen. That decided, Stephen excused himself immediately after the meal, claiming a headache. He headed toward the stairs, but had only made it halfway up the long flight of steps when Hayley caught up to him.

'Are you all right, Stephen?' she asked, touching his sleeve.

Stephen looked down at her hand, then into her eyes. She looked worried. 'I'm simply tired and I have a headache,' he lied. I'm not ready to tell you I'm leaving. And I have to get away from you or else we'll end up on the study sofa again and I'll finish what I started last night. Believe me, it's for your own good. You're not safe with me.

'May I get you a draught or tisane?'

Stephen shook his head. 'No, thank you. I simply need some rest.' He turned to go.

'Stephen?'

Stephen paused and looked down at her and almost lost his resolve. The look of concern on her beautiful face nearly changed his noble intentions. 'Yes?'

'About our conversation this afternoon…'Her voice trailed off and she dropped her gaze to the floor. 'I hope you don't think badly of me.'

If only I did, this would be so much easier. Tilting her chin up with two fingers, he smiled at her. 'I could never think badly of you, Hayley. As far as I am concerned, that conversation is forgotten.'

Her relief was evident. 'I'm glad. Sleep well.'

'Thank you.' He continued up to his bedchamber and closed the door behind him.

Sleep well? Not bloody likely.

* * *

Not bloody likely had proven prophetic. At two in the morning sleep was still nowhere in Stephen's immediate future.

He restlessly paced the length of his bedchamber, tossing back Tripp Albright's excellent brandy at an alarming rate. He felt tense and totally out of sorts.

And sexually frustrated as hell.

He longed to leave the confines of his bedchamber but hesitated to do so, fearing he'd run into Hayley in the study, the drawing room, or the garden. Stephen knew without a doubt that if he happened upon her, his battle with his conscience would be completely lost. He wanted her too damn much. Muttering a savage oath, he stoked up the fire and poured himself another brandy.

Just as he lifted the snifter to his lips, he heard a quiet knock on his door. Thinking he was mistaken, Stephen stood, his drink arrested midway to his lips, and listened.

The knock sounded again.

Damn it, if she'd come to him, how would he ever find the strength to send her away? His heart thumping, he went to the door and pulled it open.

And saw no one.

Then he heard a sniffle. He looked down.

Callie stood in the hallway, clutching her doll to her chest, tears streaming down her small face. A combination of relief, disappointment, and alarm washed over him.

Crouching down, he brushed a curl away from the child's brow and asked, 'What's wrong, Callie? Aren't you supposed to be in bed?'

She raised tear-filled eyes to him. 'It's Miss Josephine,' she whispered in a quavering, watery voice. 'She's had a terrible accident.'

'Indeed? What sort of accident?'

Callie handed over the doll with a teary sniff. 'Look.'

Stephen gently cradled the doll in his hands. Miss Josephine had indeed met with an accident. A very serious accident. Her dress was torn and both her arms were pulled off. Her face, never really clean, was utterly filthy. And she stunk to high heaven.

'What happened to her?' Stephen asked.

'Stinky must have gotten hold of her,' Callie said, her chin trembling. 'I woke up and couldn't find her. Then I remembered I'd left her on the patio. I went to get her, and this is how she was. I know Stinky didn't mean to hurt her, but I don't think Miss Josephine will ever be the same.'

Callie sobbed as if her heart would break. Stephen stared at her, holding her doll, feeling utterly helpless. He awkwardly patted her back.

'Well, why don't you lay her down and perhaps in the morning Hayley or Pamela or your aunt can fix her up,' he suggested, at a complete loss as to how to handle the situation.

Callie shook her head. 'I can't let Miss Josephine go to bed like this. She's miserable. And how could she sleep, with her arms torn off?' A sob broke from her chest. 'She's in terrible pain. We must help her.'

We? Stephen panicked at the very idea. 'Why don't you see if one of your sisters is awake…' Stephen's words drifted off as Callie raised tear-filled aqua eyes to his.

'Hayley doesn't like it when I wake her up. Pamela either.'

'Nonsense. I cannot imagine either one being angry.'

'I know they'll tell me to wait until morning, and I just can't.' She raised hopeful eyes to his. 'Will you help us?'

Stephen stared at the child. 'Me?' What he knew about dolls could be carved on the head of a pin with room to spare. He wondered if he looked as horrified as he felt.

Tears streamed down Callie's face and another heartbreaking sob racked her small frame. 'Please, Mr. Barrettson? Please?'

Stephen swallowed and suppressed a desperate desire to flee. The sight of Callie crying, her eyes huge with tears, completely undid him. He knew defeat when it stood in front of him.

'Please, don't cry, Callie.' He yanked his hand through his hair. 'I suppose I could help you set Miss Josephine back to rights-'

'Oh, thank you, Mr. Barrettson!' Callie launched herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely, nearly knocking him over. His arms automatically went around the child. She was so small. And trusting. And sweet. He inhaled, and a smile touched his lips. She smelled like what he imagined children were supposed to smell like-warm sunshine and fresh cream.

She pulled back and raised teary eyes to his. 'Do you think we can fix her?' she asked, her voice filled with hope.

'Absolutely.' He had no idea how to accomplish such a task, but he'd do whatever necessary to make her smile again. 'Let's see. Why don't we take her into your chamber and clean her up a bit? I'm sure she'd feel better if we washed the dirt off her.'

'All right.' She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Stephen reached into his pocket and extracted a white hanky. Callie took the piece of linen and gave her nose a gusty blow.

'Feel better?' he asked with a smile.

She nodded. 'Yes.'

'Excellent.'

Callie slipped her tiny hand into his and led him down the hall to her bedchamber. Once there, she removed the doll's torn dress and handed it to Stephen, who gingerly dipped it in a pitcher of water. He used a bit of soap on the cloth, rubbed it vigorously, wrung it out and placed it near the fire to dry.

Then Callie held Miss Josephine in her small hands while Stephen gently washed the filth from the doll's porcelain face. When they finished, Stephen carefully dried her off with a towel.

'What now?' Callie asked, cradling the towel-wrapped doll in her arms. 'Miss Josephine's clothes are still wet, and her arms are still ripped off.'

'Does she have any other clothes?' Stephen asked, totally at sea.