Revenge Wears Rubies (23 page)

“Nonsense.” Haley retrieved a small pan of water from the table by the door where the maid must have set it before retreating to fetch her, and she returned to see about wetting a small cloth to put over his eyes. “Here, this will soothe.”

He took the cloth, sparing her a grateful glance before returning to his laments. “I was a fool to drink with that Mr. Hawke.”

“Mr. Hawke doesn’t drink.” Haley swallowed hard, surprised to hear Galen’s name.

“True! Wretched soul!” he moaned, pressing the cloth against his eyes. “What torture for him to walk this miserable earth without allowing himself even the solace of spirits!”

“Father, I hardly think Mr. Hawke’s soul is wretched from a lack of drinking. And as for torture, the only soul who looks to be in agony at the moment is you.”

“Don’t mock me,” he whispered dramatically. “This could very well be the end of me.”

She sighed. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying of a hangover, unless, of course, they were smothered by a daughter who was furious at her father for not keeping his word—they may note that differently in the papers!”

His pout was usually endearing, but Haley had seen too many of them to find the childish gesture anything but repugnant under the circumstances.

“You’re being cruel.” He stuck out his lower lip, lifting the cloth to give her a pitiful look. “I was . . . overwhelmed at the ball. All those couples only reminded me of my solitary state and I . . . couldn’t help myself.”

She dropped a fresh cloth in the pan of cold water and forced herself to look at him again. This time, to see him as a stranger might see him. Sprawled on his silk sheets, eyes sunken and his face drawn from a night of endless indulgence, his nose almost permanently stained a comical tint of red, the handsome man she’d once adored was like a phantom with his pale skin and shaking hands.

“Father”—she took one of his hands, stilling it and warming it with her own—“what do you think Mother loved about you best?”

He smiled. “She always said she loved my heart best.”

“And now?”

His smile faded, the question confusing him. “Now?”

“Now, what would she love about you best? If she were to come into the room, what would she say?” Haley tried to tighten her hold on his hand as he started to pull away, but petulance lent him strength and he churlishly retrieved his fingers from her touch.

“I’ll not be lectured by my only child as if I am in short pants!”

Tears filled her eyes. “I love your heart best, too! It’s no lecture to tell you that, Father. It’s no lecture to beg you, one last time, to stop looking backward and using her as an excuse. If you loved her, I cannot believe that
this
is the way you choose to remember her.”

She laid her hand over his briefly and stood to leave the bedside. But she stopped at the door, her back to him. “And you’re right. I apologize. You are not in short pants and I am not the parent. In the future, I will do my best to hold to my place and for better or worse, leave you to your own devices.” She turned back, letting the tears fall as she looked at him, his jaw dropped open in shock as he sat dumbfounded in the middle of the bed in his nightshirt. “I will never again ask you not to drink.”

Haley threw herself onto her bed, exhaustion finally taking its toll. She felt as if she’d been through the strangest storm of her life within a single night and day—with highs and lows she could never have anticipated. She’d lost her heart and taken the ultimate risk with Galen, but knew for the first time what her life could be, what happiness might yet be hers to claim. She’d severed her engagement and now faced an uncertain future. But the relief of knowing that Herbert Trumble wasn’t the one holding the reins made it feel like the sweetest liberty.

And she’d finally relinquished control over her father’s choices and spoken the words she’d longed to tell him for so many years.

For the first time, she experienced a curl of delightful anticipation for the days ahead and smiled at the memory of her beautiful Hawke sweeping her into his arms as sleep began to claim her.

Chapter
13

Galen tapped his foot and checked his pocket watch for the third time. He’d meant to just send the carriage for her and wait at the house, but at the last minute, an uncontrolled restlessness had suddenly overruled him.

He tried to tell himself that it was out of a natural concern that she would be suffering from regret at giving in to him and yielding her innocence so quickly. He tried to tell himself that it was out of this practical concern that he’d insisted on seeing her again so quickly.

But the logic wasn’t holding.

He listened to the traffic and tried to keep a subtle eye on the pedestrians, watching for her. He tried to tell himself that his darkening mood had everything to do with the villainy of his plans and naught to do with an oppressive sense of guilt that had robbed him of any guise of sleep. After all, what guilt should he harbor? Galen reminded himself that no matter how sweetly she played it, she’d heartlessly cast John aside and done nothing to dispute or dissuade him from believing otherwise. She’d fallen into his hands, just as he’d predicted to Michael, and willingly thrown off her engagement at a better prospect—again just as he’d said she would.

His scheme had taken on a life of its own, and he wanted to enjoy the accomplishment, but instead he was simply left with a bone-gnawing lust and the sinking feeling that he cared less and less about the reasons behind his actions—so long as she was once again beneath him and crying out his name.

At last, he felt the footman start to descend from the back of the carriage and realized that she was just outside the door. He waved the man off and opened the door for her, his throat closing at the sight of her in a beautiful day dress of daffodil yellow with a soft green underskirt. Her delight at seeing him lit her eyes, her face framed by the simple straw bonnet she wore, and she smiled as she took his hand and gracefully ascended to sit beside him.

“You’re late.” He almost winced at his own words as he closed the carriage door and drew the curtains, but he couldn’t take them back and he couldn’t say why he was suddenly choking on his own desire. It flared through him in an irrational flash, and a small part of him wondered if he weren’t about to deliberately scare her away. He knocked on the wall, and the carriage pulled smoothly away down the lane.

“I came as soon as I could,” she demurred shyly. “You can’t imagine how—”

“Take off your bonnet.”

“Galen?”

All he could do was look at her, knowing that the hunger in his face would be impossible for her to mistake. And without another word, she reached up to untie the green silk ribbon of her bonnet, setting it aside on the seat next to her.

Her lips parted and her pink tongue nervously darted out to wet the soft wedge of her lower lip, and Galen’s grip on the cushions tightened until his knuckles showed white.

Without another spoken word, she moved toward him, awareness in her blue green eyes, like a doe approaching the hunter, a willing and eager sacrifice. And his body mercilessly responded, every nerve ending insisting that he take all that she offered and more.

“Damn it!” he muttered involuntarily.

Her eyes widened at the quiet curse, but he reached for her, averse to waiting for a protest. For time had lost its meaning since she’d left his bed and Galen was half-convinced she’d bewitched him somehow. He felt compelled to prove that he was still master of his own will and that he truly had the upper hand with her. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her against him, kissing her as if he’d waited a century to taste her again. As if she alone possessed the nectar of life, he drank it from her lips with an insatiable thirst. She responded with an enthusiasm that incinerated the last vestige of his self-control.

He cradled her face in his hands, his fingers sliding into her hair and fisting in her curls as if he could absorb her into himself. This was a kiss meant to conquer, and Haley surrendered to him. He inhaled the scent of her skin and detected a trace of honeysuckle, but beneath the flowers there was something earthier, and he knew instantly it was the scent of her arousal. His hand slid up her skirt, over the alluring curves of her calves and thighs to slip through the open seam in her underclothes. Galen’s fingers found her soaking wet and ready for him. He shifted his fingers up to tease her clit before pushing one of his fingers up into the slick of her quim, and Galen was struck again by how tight she was—

He couldn’t wait any longer. At the first thought of how close he was to having her again, he was in danger of wasting himself in his clothes. Galen was furious at himself for this new weakness, but helpless to deny it.

He pushed her away, only to instantly turn her around so that her back was to him, awkwardly perched for a moment in between the seats.

“Galen?” she asked breathlessly.

He held her hips to hold her steady with alternating hands as he quickly worked her skirts up over her hips and untied her drawers to bare her tantalizing bottom. She gasped but made no protest, instinctively leaning forward to place her hands on the seat cushions for balance, as he spread her legs apart so that she stood across his lap. Galen’s cock jerked against his breech buttons at the sight of her ass, like a ripe peach spread before him, with the wet pink of her sex just waiting for him.

He made quick work of his buttons and freed his cock, holding the head with one hand and reaching up to start to pull her back down onto him. Galen grit his teeth as he guided her hips until their flesh touched in a unique damp kiss. He pushed the swollen tip of his cock into the searing hold of her channel’s slick opening and then bucked upward as he gripped her hips to pull her down in a merciless stroke.

She cried out softly, and he could feel the muscles of her body seizing onto him, accommodating him with a hold that made him want to weep at the glorious embrace on his cock-stand. Galen held onto her hips and bucked up, again and again, driving up into her as she moved with him to deepen each touch, increasing the friction and length of every pounding caress. Faster and faster, he worked his body into hers, until he knew he couldn’t prevent his climax.

He came so hard, he groaned at the force of the cascade of ecstasy that shimmered and exploded out from the base of his spine and throughout his frame. Galen felt each pulse as his crème rushed into her, rocking his hips into each spasm to prolong his pleasure. After a few minutes, he gently kissed the back of her neck while the rest of his sensibilities finally began to function again.

If he’d meant to assure himself that his memory had enhanced their first encounter, he’d only succeeded in proving that she was capable of reducing him to a mindless rutting bull after a single glimpse of her tongue. She’d matched him perfectly, yielding to the raw onslaught of a searing, bruising passion, responding to his every move and equaling his desire. But he wasn’t sure her reaction excused him, or if any excuse could save a small shred of his pride.

He gingerly disengaged himself from between her thighs, drawing his breath through his teeth at the sensation of cool air against his sensitive wet cock. As quickly as he could he refastened his pants, then assisted her in pulling her skirts and petticoats back down, attempting to restore some order to her appearance. She began to blush as he reached to turn down the hem of her underskirt.

“Galen?”

He pulled her back into his arms, this time to gently tip her back to cradle her against his chest. He dipped his tongue into the sensitive corner of her lips, making her gasp before he gave her what he knew she deemed “a proper kiss.” He did everything he could to soothe where before his kisses may have bruised, until she sighed her pleasure and sagged against him. He lifted his head, unsure of what a man could possibly say after losing control as he had.