"Hayley. I'm not the paragon you seem to think I am. In fact, I…"His words died when she reached out and touched his hand.

"Yes, you are, Stephen." She raised shining eyes to his. "Yes, you are."

Groaning, he gathered her into his arms, clutching her to his pounding heart. He buried his face in her fragrant hair and closed his eyes against the shame eating at him. She'd just looked at him the same way Callie had the night before, with admiration shining from her wide aqua eyes. Admiration that made him feel, for the first time in his life, that maybe he wasn't such a bastard after all. And by God, he liked the feeling.

He liked it a great deal.

But he didn't deserve it.

Step away from her. Tell her you're leaving tomorrow.

Instead he held her close. He clasped her tight and tried to absorb some of her goodness into himself, knowing that tomorrow, after he was gone, the look of admiration would fade from her eyes. A sense of profound loss swept through him, and he hugged her closer, enjoying her sweetness for another fleeting moment.

After tomorrow it would all be gone.


* * *

"You look lovely, Miss Albright," Stephen said that evening to Pamela when she entered the drawing room. His gaze swept her from head to foot, taking in her pastel green gown and becoming chignon. "You're certain to turn every male head at the party."

A pink blush suffused her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Barrettson. You look exceptionally dashing yourself."

"Thank you…" Stephen's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hayley standing in the doorway, a vision in the pale aqua gown. The dress exactly matched her luminous eyes. The low scooped bodice hugged her breasts, leaving an enticing amount of creamy flesh bare. Her chestnut tresses were gathered in an artful array of curls on top of her head, with shiny tendrils surrounding her face. A pale aqua ribbon wound through the soft strands.

God! The air left his lungs in a whoosh. She literally took his breath away. He walked toward her, his gaze fastened on her flushed face. When he reached her, he captured her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her gloved fingers.

"You're exquisite," he said softly. "Utterly exquisite."

Her blush heightened. "The gown is beautiful, Stephen."

"The woman wearing it is beautiful." Unable to stop himself, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

She gasped softly. "You don't think the bodice is a bit scandalous?"

Stephen's eyes drifted downward. The bodice was indeed low-cut, but not unfashionably so. In fact, it was modest when compared to the gowns the women of the ton wore. Hayley's creamy skin glowed above the pale aqua muslin, the swell of her breasts captivating his gaze. He longed to brush his fingers over those enticing curves, and only a great deal of determination kept him from touching her.

"It's perfect," he assured her, his voice husky with suppressed desire. "You look like an angel."

"I love the pansies. They're so elegant."

"Yes, well, 'you occupy my thoughts.'" As you have from the moment we met.

"Are we ready to leave?" Pamela asked from across the room

"Indeed we are," Stephen said, forcing his gaze away from Hayley. He held an elbow out for each woman, and led them out to the waiting gig. Grimsley held the reins while Stephen helped the ladies get seated. He settled himself between them and took the reins. The vehicle was really built for two, and the three of them were squashed together thigh to thigh. He'd never driven such a vehicle, and he hoped his ignorance wouldn't show. Setting the gig in motion, he hoped for the best.


* * *

Hayley entered Lorelei Smythe's elegant manor home, her heart pounding in anticipation. The way Stephen had looked at her-was still looking her, his green eyes dark and stormy, his gaze so warm and compelling, made it difficult to breathe.

She'd always dreaded parties. The few she'd attended had resulted in nothing but acute embarrassment. She was too tall, no one asked her to dance, and her clothes always seemed out of fashion.

But not tonight. Tonight she felt like a princess. Her dress was beautiful, and the handsomest, most wonderful man in the world was her escort.

"Hayley and Pamela," Lorelei gushed, extending her hands. "How nice to see you. And Mr. Barrettson. How divine you're here." She graced Pamela with a cursory nod, then her eyes settled on Hayley.

"Goodness! What a lovely gown, Hayley," she said, her sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Hayley's appearance. "I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so nicely attired." Snaking her arm through Stephen's with an unmistakably proprietary air, she continued, "Hayley usually dresses in drab brown and covers herself with lake water. It would be quite scandalous if everyone wasn't used to her … eccentricities. Now, you must allow me to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. Barrettson." She turned back to Pamela and Hayley. "Will you please excuse us?" Pressing herself close to Stephen's side, she led him into the house.

"I cannot tolerate the way that woman treats you," Pamela fumed in a hushed tone. "I'd like to smack that supercilious smug look right off her face. How dare she commandeer your Mr. Barrettson like that. Why she-"

"Pamela, he is not my Mr. Barrettson," Hayley whispered, trying to tamp down the jealousy flooding her. The sight of Lorelei's hands on Stephen made Hayley want to break something. Perhaps that gaudy porcelain shepherdess on that expensive cherrywood end table.

But she had Pamela to think about, and a scene would never do. Pulling herself together, she said, "Wipe that frown from your face, Pamela. Marshall just caught sight of us and is headed this way."

"Miss Hayley, Miss Pamela," Marshall said when he reached them. He bowed to Hayley. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Hayley."

"Thank you, Marshall."

Marshall turned to Pamela and Hayley watched him visibly swallow. "And you, Miss Pamela," he said in a reverent tone, "you look very beautiful." He bowed formally over her hand, then extended his arms to both of them. "May I escort you ladies into the party?"

"Perhaps Hayley would allow me the pleasure?" a deep voice behind them asked.

Hayley turned and found herself face-to-face with Jeremy Popplemore. He smiled in a friendly manner, and Hayley responded in kind. She bore Jeremy no ill feelings. If he wished to be friends, she harbored no objections.

"Good evening, Jeremy. That is very kind, but Marshall-"

"Has already escorted your sister into the drawing room, I'm afraid," Jeremy said wryly. He extended his elbow. "May I have the honor?"

Left with little choice, Hayley lightly rested her gloved hand on Jeremy's sleeve and allowed him to escort her into the well-appointed drawing room. Axminster carpets dotted the polished marble floors, and tasteful cherrywood and mahogany tables accented the half dozen brocade sofas. Perhaps forty people roamed the large room, standing about in small groups, sipping Madeira or punch served by footmen.

"You look lovely this evening, Hayley," Jeremy said, his eyes sliding over her, lingering on her décolletage. "Very lovely indeed."

Hayley couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. "Thank you, Jeremy, although I must say, everyone who says that to me has the most astounded look on their face. I must look quite dreadful most of the time."

Jeremy threw back his head and laughed. "Not at all, my dear," he assured her, his eyes once again sweeping over her. "Not at all."


* * *

On the other side of the room, Stephen heard Jeremy Poppleport's laugh. He'd covertly observed the other man escort Hayley into the drawing room and then watched his eyes travel over her with a look Stephen recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who liked what he saw. The look of a man who wanted what he saw.

Stephen's fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass. He fought hard to banish the overpowering desire to pummel Poppledink into dust. And to make matters worse, Lorelei Smythe was once again plastered to Stephen's side, and angling him to a private corner of the room. Because he was distracted and didn't wish to be rude to the people Hayley and her family had to socialize with, he allowed himself to be led. But he'd already decided he was going to give this annoying woman exactly two more minutes of his time, then depart her bothersome company.

"How do you like my home, Mr. Barrettson?" Lorelei asked when they stood in relative privacy near the windows.

He couldn't even say what color the room was. "It's lovely, Mrs. Smythe."

"You must call me Lorelei. My husband, may he rest in peace, bought me the house several years before his untimely death."

"My condolences on your loss," Stephen murmured, his attention fixed on the couple across the room.

"Oh, it was two years ago now," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm quite out of mourning now."

Stephen forced himself to look directly at her. She was undeniably attractive, with light brown hair and knowing hazel eyes filled with sexual promise. Her body was lush, a fact attested to by the voluptuous breast pressed against his arm, and the eye-stopping amount of cleavage showing above her bodice. There once was a time, not very long ago, when he probably would have returned her interest, and the evening would have culminated in a mutually satisfying sexual encounter.

But not anymore.

He looked at Lorelei Smythe with a dispassionate gaze, experiencing nothing but mild annoyance at her cloying attention. He felt tense and bothered, and wanted nothing more than to stalk across the room and fling Jeremy Popplepuss out the window. The damn man was practically disrobing Hayley with his eyes.