Red Roses Mean Love

God, who are you?'

A bitter laugh escaped him. 'As you said, I'm the Marquess of Glenfield. And as such, I have neither the desire nor the inclination to continue this discussion. Any association we may have had in the past is long over. I suggest you remember that and stay away from me.'

She stood perfectly still for several seconds. Then she raised her chin, fury spewing from her eyes. 'How on earth could I possibly have been so wrong about you? You're a cold, horrible man. A stranger.' After shooting him one final glare, her expression eloquently stating her disdain and scorn, she turned on her heel.

Doubt suddenly assailed him. Her hurt, her anger, seemed so genuine. Had he made a mistake? His hand shot out and captured her upper arm.

'Hayley, I-'

Her palm connected with his cheek with a resounding smack. Jerking free of his grasp, she rubbed her arm where he'd touched her as if trying to wash away the feel of him from her skin.

'As you said, you are the Marquess of Glenfield,' she threw his own words back at him, her chest heaving, her eyes smoking with fury. 'And as such, I have neither the desire nor the inclination to continue this discussion. Any association we may have had in the past is long over. I don't ever want the misfortune of seeing you again.' The contemptuous look she sizzled at him could have set a forest on fire. 'I suggest you remember that and stay away from me.' With that, she turned on her heel and stalked down the path, her fists clenched at her sides.

His face burned from the stinging imprint of her hand, but the pain was nothing compared to the raw agony flaying him to the very bone. His insides withered up and died with the realization that he had indeed made a terrible, unforgivable mistake. After only two weeks back in London, surrounded by his superficial peers, he'd forgotten that people like Hayley really existed.

She'd looked at him as if she hated him. And he certainly couldn't blame her. He hated himself.

Immobile with anguish, he stared after her.

And watched her walk out of his life forever.

SHAPE * MERGEFORMAT

Chapter 26

Hayley was so angry, so disillusioned, so incredibly out of sorts, she didn't pay any attention to where she was going, intent only on getting as far away from Stephen as quickly as possible. She stalked down a garden path, steaming, fuming, until she felt as if her head would explode. But she was glad for her anger. It kept her from dropping to her knees in a ball of humiliated agony, for surely her heart had a hole in it.

After several minutes she slowed down and actually took stock of her surroundings.

She had absolutely no idea where she was.

Tall hedges surrounded her. She craned her neck and saw the lights from the mansion blinking in the distance. Blast it all, she'd wandered quite a distance from the house. Spying a marble bench several yards away, she gratefully sat down for a moment. She wasn't in the least bit prepared to reenter the house.

In fact, after a moment's thought she decided she wouldn't enter the house. Why subject herself to the humiliating possibility of running into Stephen again? And she had no desire so speak to Victoria. What could she possibly say? She could barely stand to think of the hateful things Stephen had said to her, let alone repeat them.

She buried her face in her hands in shame. Dear God, I was such a fool. She'd thought she'd loved Stephen, but how could she when she obviously didn't know him at all? The man she'd loved never would have behaved like that cold, bitter stranger in the garden. I will not allow him to destroy me. He is a liar unworthy of my thoughts. I have a family to love-a family who loves and needs me.

But as hard as she tried, Hayley could not stop the tears that filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Fruitless, heartbroken tears over an illusion, over a man whom she'd loved for a brief time.

A man who didn't really exist.

* * *

Nearly all the guests were engaged in dancing or conversation. Champagne and brandy flowed freely, and more than half the company were on their way to inebriation. A lone figure slipped stealthily from the ballroom through the French windows. Walking quickly, head down, the figure disappeared into the garden. Soon you'll be gone, you bastard. Then it will all be mine. As it always should have been.

* * *

Stephen remained staring into the darkness long after Hayley disappeared from view. His insides felt raw, his nerves battered, his soul bruised. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never, ever forget the stunned disillusionment on her face. Or her final scornful glare.

Deep in thought, he finally continued down the garden path, veering off in a direction leading away from the house. It was nearly time for him to meet Justin, but he needed a few moments to gather himself and calm down. He spied a marble bench and decided to sit for moment. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried, unsuccessfully, to erase the image of Hayley from his mind.

How the hell had Victoria and Hayley met? Was Justin somehow involved? Stephen had no idea, but he was going to find out before this night was over. Hayley's stricken expression flashed in his mind, and he dropped his aching head into his hands.

'Hello, Stephen.' A voice spoke from the darkness.

Stephen raised his head and peered into the shadows. A figure approached him. His entire body stilled when he saw the pistol aimed at the center of his chest.

* * *

Justin's anxiety grew with each passing minute. Stephen was late. The trap was set, the Bow Street Runners in position, but there was no sign of Stephen in the shadow-shrouded garden. Five more minutes passed, but the garden path remained silent and empty. Justin's pulse pounded with slow, heavy dread.

Damn it all, Stephen, where are you?

* * *

Stephen stared at the gun pointed at him, then slowly raised his gaze. Hate-filled eyes stared back at him. He supposed he should have been surprised, but instead he felt oddly detached, as if he were somehow watching from a distance. A spectator to a bizarre scene in a macabre play.

'I must say, this isn't quite what I expected,' he remarked in a neutral tone. He glanced down at the gun. 'Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you're pointing that pistol at me? Or better yet, perhaps you'd care to point it somewhere else?'

Thin lips curved into a humorless smile. 'I like it pointed right where it is. As to why I'm pointing it at you, that should be obvious. I'm going to kill you.'

'I see.' He quickly calculated the distance between them, and decided he wouldn't be able to successfully grab the gun.

'I wouldn't advise you to try disarming me. I'm an excellent shot. You'd be dead before you ever touched me.'

'Indeed?' Stephen drawled. 'I had no idea you were so talented, but I believe your confidence is misplaced. You've already taken more than one shot at me and missed.'