This is better than the musicians’ gallery, and this time, I have ensured that I won’t run into a certain gentleman with emerald eyes!
Not that she’d seen him in the ballroom, but the man did have a way of turning up when she least expected him.
With one last look back through the glass doors to ensure no one was watching, Haley made her way as quickly and quietly as she could down the dark steps leading into the garden. It was slower going on the gravel paths, as her eyes adjusted and she had to force herself not to look back at the bright windows since it made the garden seem almost pitch-black for seconds afterward. But at last, she’d reached her little haven, and just as she’d hoped it housed a convenient teak bench with cushions, though probably intended for an afternoon’s reading rather than an errant guest trying to escape conversations on blights of cotton weevils.
She sat down carefully and drank in the fairylike atmosphere. The garden was covered in a light mist suspended in the night air, and the music from the ballroom drifted out to echo across the hedges. Haley sighed at the beauty of it.
Her eyes dropped to the folds of her overskirt, and her throat tightened as she remembered Herbert’s proclamations about what he deemed improper work for his future wife. She’d always secretly taken pride in her designs, gaining a sense of pleasure and accomplishment at turning closets of raw materials into things of beauty—sure that her mother would have approved of her industry and thrift. It was a talent that turned her father’s previous impulsive purchases into a better legacy, redeeming some of the past with the pull of each thread and creation of each lovely piece.
But Herbert had apparently made up his mind and insisted that he knew better regarding the things she should enjoy. Just as her father always insisted that he knew best how his daughter should be spoiled . . .
Everyone, even her Aunt Alice, seemed to have an idea of what would be best for her, or how she should be. Everyone except . . . Galen Hawke.
She felt warmer at the very thought of him and smiled down at her idle hands. Whenever he looked at her, she forgot all the things that she was supposed to be. Exposed to the heat in his eyes, every practical restriction melted away. It was as if whatever hidden siren lurked inside of her, longing for all the impossible and wicked things in this world, came to life when Galen was near. And none of her internal warnings about the inevitable disaster of yielding held any sway.
A part of her seemed to not only know he was dangerous, but to revel in it, to be drawn to that fire and hunger for it, even if it meant the end of her.
She’d met him in the park to end their friendship and instead had ignited a longing for so much more. Haley sighed. A part of her wanted to become that practical woman who could truly dismiss such men from her mind and take the correct and proper course without looking back and wishing for everything she couldn’t have. But more and more, as the Season began to wane and her marriage with Herbert loomed, she was thrilled to think that Galen might have meant what he said—that he might not give up his pursuit.
She looked up and indulged in a childish game of summons, wishing for Mr. Hawke to come. It was a trick one of her early governesses had taught her, to think of someone and try to bring the person to you without uttering a word. It was only later she’d realized that it was probably just a way to make a boisterous pupil sit still for several minutes and afford her poor teacher some quiet—but even so, she remembered thinking it was a secret talent she possessed to draw her father to her side or explain an unexpected visit from a friend.
So where are you, Galen Hawke? Here I am . . . alone in the dark . . . and is this not the perfect place for you to make one of your unexpected appearances? I wish you would. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Because I wore the hyacinth, and as I was dressing, I wondered what you would think of it. Because I put my hair up and thought of you. Because there seems to be nothing that I do, no ordinary act, that doesn’t summon you to mind since that kiss.
Her heartbeat careened out of control as she recognized his silhouette, the width of his shoulders and the pantherlike steps that carried him out onto the verandah. The silly game took an exciting and terrifying turn as he appeared to scan the garden as if looking for something . . . or someone.
This is ridiculous! I can’t wish for a man and make him appear! It’s a coincidence, and in just a moment, he’ll turn back around and head inside for—
He started down the steps, and Haley stood, fighting an impulse to run. She’d wished for him with all her heart, but seeing the reality of the man coming toward her in the dark now made her feel an odd mixture of excitement and pure panic.
I should run.
But it was too late, and she wasn’t sure how it would look, to flee from him like a coward. Would it give too much away to let him realize how much he unsettled her? Would it not be better to hold her ground and demonstrate that his arrival didn’t affect her in the slightest? It was a paper-thin lie, but by the time she decided that her first impulse to run may have been wiser, it was too late.
He was walking directly toward her, and Haley held onto one of the columns praying that the dark would hide her expression—since she could feel the heat in her cheeks and the flush across her skin.
“Miss Moreland?” He was a dark shadow in the frame of the gazebo steps, drawn against the light of the house behind him. She couldn’t read his expression at all. “Are you hiding again?”
“I was . . . admiring the garden.” The instant the words left her lips, she smiled at the audacity of the lie. “And you? Did you come out here to admire the roses?”
“I came out here to see you.”
Haley’s breath caught in her throat at his raw honesty, his voice low and level. “There must be . . . I must be blatantly flawed in my character, Mr. Hawke, that you think me so . . . I thought I told you that I wasn’t going to see you again, Mr. Hawke.”
“It’s dark enough out here, you could hardly say you’d seen me even if you wanted to.”
“Don’t be glib! You know what I meant.”
“Yes, I know. But you never said any such thing,” he said calmly.
“Didn’t I?” His outrageous claim completely distracted her.
“No. However, you did promise not to mislead me ever again, and I thought that very charming. And then there was something about requesting me not to flirt, which once I really thought about it, I decided you may have been right to require such a thing.”
“You . . . decided I was right?”
“Yes.” He took a step closer, and the scent of him once again encroached on her awareness—the sweet, smoky scent of sandalwood making her toes curl with pleasure. “Flirtation implies a frivolous attention that never truly leads anywhere, and I can assure you, Miss Moreland, that I have every serious intention of taking action where you are concerned.”
“Mr. Hawke”—Haley slowly let go of the column, determined to stand on her own—”as much as I would love to . . . discuss the implications of your decision, I’m afraid I have to rejoin the ball before anyone misunderstands the nature of our private conversation and . . .” Her words trailed off as she realized that it had begun to rain, effectively sealing them off from the party and complicating her return.
There would be no mistaking it if they were the only two rain-soaked attendees at the ball, and the speculation that followed could destroy her reputation in a single evening.
“Oh,” he went on, the humor in his voice impossible to miss, “I almost forgot. I also came to see you to tell you that I thought it might rain.”
“How unfortunate that it slipped your mind until this moment!” She did her best not to smile.
“It’s your fault.”
“Mine?”
“You distracted me. It’s too potent talking to you in the dark, Miss Moreland—especially when you whisper hints that only a woman with a flawed character would feel desire or draw my attention.” He shifted over to the bench and took a seat. “So, I’m afraid it falls to you to come up with distracting small talk until the rain lets up.”
She almost argued, but his point was too well made. She’d intimated just that—that it was a flaw of hers to draw him to her side, to wish for him or to want him. And he’d just matter-of-factly stripped her of the notion and then offered to let her steer the conversation in any direction she liked.
Impossible man to be so reasonable and unreasonable at the same time!
“Very well.” She took a seat on the bench at its opposite end. “Are you a recluse, Mr. Hawke?”
“No.”
“Yet so many people seem to be under that impression,” she informed him, relaxing as this odd game of small talk took shape in the darkness. She felt freer to ask whatever she wished, the rain closing them off from the rest of the world. “How is that possible?”
“I wasn’t in the mood for society for a few months, and I think it gave people something to talk about,” he speculated. “Perhaps I should feel flattered that anyone missed me at all to even notice.”
“Well, you’re a terrible hermit from what I can see, since I seem to run into you everywhere I go.”
He laughed softly. “There! It’s all perception, and my career as a recluse is at an end!”
“What altered your mood, Mr. Hawke?” she asked.
It took him a little longer to answer, the light wit in his manner bleeding away. “A friend died.”
“I’m so sorry!” She instinctively reached out to touch his hand, the need to offer him comfort overriding everything else. “How could anyone question your need for solitude? It’s terrible!”
“Let us speak of something else, Miss Moreland. The night is gloomy enough without inviting a ghost to our small party.” His own hand briefly covered hers, tracing the fingers she’d placed on his wrist, and a tendril of electricity moved up her arm and across her breasts, her heart racing to outrun it before he withdrew his touch.
“Yes, very well.” She did her best to think of a more cheerful topic, marveling at the power his lightest caress wielded. “How did you know I would be out here?”
“It suited your pattern.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve never seen a woman avoid crowds so actively as you do, Miss Moreland. From hiding in musicians’ galleries to clutching at walls whenever the room is full of a crush of partygoers, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the center of a room.” He began to take off his evening coat as he went on, “And then at the theatre, you explained everything.”
“Did I?”
“You confessed you didn’t like tight places.” He moved to gently place the coat around her shoulders, and Haley was grateful for the warmth, the heat of his body still imprinted on the cloth that now enveloped her. “So when I saw how crowded it was this evening, I kept an eye on the verandah since it was the most likely and least populated place I could think of, and just happened to see you slip out.”
“Do you remember
everything
I say, Mr. Hawke?”
He nodded solemnly, sitting closer to her, shielding her body from a breeze that had come up with the rain. “Every single word, Miss Moreland.”
“Then I should attempt to pay greater attention to what I say.”
“Not at all.” The bass of his voice resonated through her. “I like you better when you simply speak your mind without censure, even if it’s to order me into the rain.”
Haley reached up to draw his coat closer, savoring the comfort as the revelation of his words struck her.
It never even occurred to me to banish him! How is it that it’s the devil himself who is pointing out what a more prudent woman would have done?
“I would hate to see you catch your death, Mr. Hawke.”
“Ah! I knew you liked me.”
She opened her mouth to protest but decided against it. It was getting harder and harder to lie—and the world that held debts and obligations seemed further and further away. “I would be a terrible person if I wished anyone pneumonia, but I suppose it’s safe to say, you are a difficult man to dislike, Mr. Hawke.”
“Careful, Miss Moreland.” He lowered his voice and Haley drew closer almost without realizing it so that she could catch his words over the patter of the rain on the roof overhead. “You’ll profess your adoration, and then there will be nothing to stop you.”
“To stop me from what?” She pulled back, attempting a prim retreat more out of habit than desire.
“From dancing with me.”
Haley’s mouth fell open for a moment, unsure that she had heard him correctly. She’d expected another audacious proposition or some sly invitation to repeat the kiss they’d shared in Hyde Park. Before she could think of a witty response, he stood, and even in the semidarkness, she could see the hand he outstretched toward her.
“Dance with me, Miss Moreland.”
As if the orchestra inside the grand house was in league with him, it struck up a new tune, and Haley began to suspect that the man had a touch of the magician in him. She reached out and took his hand, and the last tenuous thread that held her to the world outside their small haven disintegrated in a small sigh.
Galen gently guided her into his arms, amazed anew at how naturally she moved against him, gracefully matching his steps as they began to dance slowly in the confines of the gazebo. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman to dance, but certainly never before in such a manner and without a soul to keep a watchful eye.
The simple act of leading her in the steps of a waltz took on a primal and powerful new meaning, as she yielded to him at the slightest pressure of his fingertips on her back, following him and turning at his unspoken command. At first, it was innocent enough, but with each sweeping circle around the confines of the miniature temple, Galen drew her closer and closer until there was no space at all between them. Within seconds, it was if they were entirely attuned to each other, and he marveled at the pleasure of it, even as the erotic consequences began to ignite his every nerve ending.