In truth, he was stunned by her little speech. It seemed he was destined to receive severe trimmings from the Albright women. But his surprise was overshadowed by the acute sense of loss he felt. It bothered him no end that Pamela was looking at him as if he were horse dung in the road. She must be very angry indeed, for such a display of temper.

And the thought of Hayley hurting because of him, of her no longer holding him in high esteem, constricted his chest with regret. It truly pained him to think that either of these women felt badly toward him. Especially Hayley.

"You were not mistaken," he said softly. "I assure you I hold your sister in the highest regard and I would never intentionally hurt her."

Pamela's gaze did not soften a bit. "Then why did you-"

"I don't know." A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "I'm an ass."

Pamela regarded him steadily, her eyes unforgiving. "You won't hear an argument from me," she said with brutal honesty. "But you're telling the wrong Miss Albright." She pulled her arm from Stephen's fingers. "Please, excuse me."

Stephen watched Pamela walk over to Marshall. The orchestra struck up another tune, and the two headed for the dance floor. Stephen strode into the foyer and quickly left the house.


* * *

The forty-five minute walk back to Albright Cottage afforded Stephen a much-needed opportunity to think.

He knew that for Hayley's sake he'd done the right thing this evening, but he still felt like a bastard. She'd looked so beautiful, her face flushed and shining with happiness, so incredibly lovely in her new gown. He'd wanted so badly to touch her, to kiss her, to sweep her up in his arms and carry her off to a private place where they could be alone.

But how could he do that when he was leaving in the morning? He was a bastard, but not that much of a bastard.

The thought of his imminent departure filled him with emptiness, and his heart pinched in his chest. He'd grown very fond of the Albrights in his brief stay with them. All of them.

But especially fond of Hayley.

Bloody hell. To say "fond" was an understatement that bordered on the ridiculous. He admired her. Respected her. Genuinely liked her.

Deeply cared for her.

He entered the house. Grimsley was not at the door, so Stephen assumed the footman had gone to bed. He looked in the library and study for Hayley, but both were empty so he assumed she'd retired. He'd wait and talk to her before he left in the morning. That way he'd have tonight to find the right words to say, although he doubted they existed.

Climbing the stairs, he loosened his neckcloth. When he entered his bedchamber, he quickly removed his jacket, tossing it and his cravat on a wing chair next to the fire. He was in the process of unfastening his shirt when he glanced toward the bed. His fingers stilled, and he stared.

The gown he'd given Hayley lay across the coverlet.

As if in a trance, he approached the bed. The beautiful gown was carefully spread out, a single sheet of paper on top of the material. In a neat pile next to the garment lay the chemise, stockings, and slippers. Reaching out, he picked up the note.

Mr. Barrettson,

Thank you very much for the lovely gown and accessories, but upon second consideration, it would be improper for me to accept such an elaborate and personal gift.

I must travel to a neighboring village tomorrow to visit with a friend of the family who is ailing, and I will be gone overnight. As your injuries appear quite healed, I believe it would be best if you left before I return the day after tomorrow.

It was my and my family's pleasure to care for you, and we are happy for your recovery. Please accept my felicitations on your good health, and my most heartfelt wishes that you remain so.

Sincerely,

Hayley Albright

Stephen read the note again, the pressure in his chest increasing until it felt as if a pianoforte lay on top of him. She was dismissing him. She had given him back his gift and wanted him gone before she returned from her visit to another village.

His head knew she was doing the wise thing. It was better this way. When she returned from her journey, he'd be gone. No painful goodbye. No admitting his lies.

His heart, however, knew he couldn't leave like this.

Without knowing what he was going to say to her, Stephen scooped up the gown and accessories, left his bedchamber, and closed the door softly behind him.

SHAPE \* MERGEFORMAT

Chapter 21

He heard the weeping as soon as he neared her bedchamber. Stephen knocked softly, but when his knock went unanswered, he gently turned the knob. The door was unlocked. He let himself into the room, closing the door behind him.

Hayley stood by the window, her back to him, her face buried in her hands.

Her quiet sobs shattered his heart. "Hayley."

With a startled sound she turned around, her drenched eyes widening with shock. She wiped away her tears, with shaking fingers. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to return your gift."

She stared at the clothes for a moment, then her face hardened and she turned her back. "I told you I cannot accept your gift. Now, please leave."

He placed the bundle on a chair. "You've already accepted it."

"That was before," she said in a tight voice.

"Yes," Stephen agreed, coming to stand directly behind her. "That was before I behaved like an ass. Before I ignored you. Before I hurt you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She resisted him at first, but he applied firm pressure until she finally turned. Although she faced him, she continued to stare at the floor.

"Look at me, Hayley." Placing his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face. Tears had left silver tracks down her creamy cheeks, and her eyes were awash with a fresh supply.

His throat tightened as a single tear traveled down her face. "I behaved badly this evening. Please forgive me. I swear I never meant to hurt you."

She took a deep breath and swallowed. "I don't understand," she whispered in a shaking voice. "Why did you go to her?" A broken sob escaped her throat. "I wore a proper gown. I dressed my hair, behaved in a proper manner. Yet I still wasn't good enough. What is wrong with me?"

A tortured sigh escaped him and he gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her soft, rose-scented hair.

"Hayley… Hayley," he whispered against her ear. "God. There is nothing wrong with you. You're the most extraordinary woman I've ever known. You're sweet and kind and generous…"He pulled back and cradled her face between his hands, gently brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "You're an angel. I swear to God, you're an angel."

"Then why-"

"I was thinking of you, of your happiness. I didn't want to spoil your chances with Popplepuss."

"Popplemore."

"Indeed." His gaze probed hers and he forced himself to say the words he knew would hurt her. "We both know I have to leave here. Soon." Dear God. If you only knew how soon.

"I know," she whispered.

"I didn't want to spoil your chances with another man. Trust me when I say the effort nearly killed me. I wanted to be with you, Hayley. I swear it. Lorelei Smythe cannot hold a candle to you." He shook his head. "The first time in my life I acted in a noble manner and I made a royal mess of things."

"Did you… kiss her?"

"No. I had absolutely no desire to kiss her." Relief swept through him when some of the pain faded from her eyes.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly. You wanted to be with me, but you wished to behave nobly by stepping aside and allowing Jeremy to pay attention to me because you're leaving Halstead soon and you didn't want to interfere with my chance for happiness with another man." She looked at him, her brows raised questioningly. "Is that correct?"

"That just about sums it up, yes."

She shook her head. "Good heavens, what a convoluted plan. How did you ever concoct such a ridiculous scheme?"

"It seemed like a capital idea at the time," Stephen murmured. "In fact, it might very well have worked, except for one thing."

"What is that?"

He took her hands and raised them to his lips, tasting the salty tears clinging to her fingertips. "Every time Popplepart touched you, every time he looked at you, spoke to you, I wanted to throttle the bastard."

"Popplemore."

"Indeed. It was all I could do not to cross the room, pick him up by his scrawny throat and fling him into the punch bowl."

Her eyes grew round. "Truly?"

Stephen nodded solemnly. "Truly." Knowing he was playing with fire but unable to stop himself, he kissed her fingers and touched his tongue to her rose-scented skin. Stop it! Tell her you're leaving. Tell her now and get out of her bedchamber. Before it's too late. Before you do something you'll both regret.

"Then would you … would you consider staying?"

He slowly raised his gaze to hers. Her cheeks burned with color, and her eyes, still damp with tears, were huge aqua pools reflecting a heartbreaking combination of uncertainty and hope. "What?"

"If that's truly the way you feel, then don't leave Halstead. You can seek a position in the village, or somewhere nearby as a tutor. If all else fails, I'll hire you to tutor the boys and Callie." A hesitant smile trembled on her lips. "The children are all very fond of you, and Aunt Olivia thinks the sun rises and sets on you alone. You've even managed to charm Pierre, not an easy feat, let me assure you. We all want you to stay." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I want you to stay."