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."

"That wasn't me, you stupid fool." Each word dripped venom. "Those imbeciles I hired couldn't do anything right. That is why I'm going to do it myself. So I'll be sure you're really dead."

Stephen made a great show of looking around. "And where is my dear brother? Come on out, Gregory. Are you skulking about in the bushes?"

A bark of bitter laughter filled the air. "Your brother is nothing more than a drunken parasite feeding off me. He hasn't the brains to kill anyone."

"Then you're not doing this for him?" Stephen watched her closely, waiting for his opportunity to grab her weapon.

She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Why on earth would I do anything for Gregory. I loathe him. This is for me. Me! Once you're dead, Gregory will inherit the title and the estates and I shall be a marchioness. And when your father finally dies, I shall become a duchess. The members of Society will no longer scorn and dismiss me as the inconvenient, unattractive, mousy, nobody wife of the second son of a duke."

Her gaze burned into Stephen, her hatred palatable, her voice shaking with fury. "I shall be the reigning queen of the ton. Everyone will seek my friendship, curry my favor. No one will overlook or ignore me. Never again will I be subjected to the humiliation of being Gregory's ugly wife, a woman to be pitied. I will wield power and influence." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "And I shall no longer be forced to endure Gregory's indifference. Instead I'll have many lovers, all of them vying for my favors, eager to please me."

Stephen realized his best chance of survival rested in keeping her talking. "Tell me, Melissa, if you were so bloody eager for a title, why didn't you just marry one? Why settle for Gregory?"

"I had no choice in the matter. My father arranged the union. At first I was ecstatic, grateful to finally escape my family. Did you know I have three older sisters?"

Stephen shook his head. "No."

"Of course you didn't know. No one knows. No one ever takes the time to speak to me. I'm not beautiful. I don't possess a sparkling wit or musical talent. I'm ugly and clumsy and shy and therefore easily dismissed. Insignificant."

She fastened glittering eyes on him. "My three sisters are all very beautiful. Beautiful and talented. Men flocked to them in droves and my parents afforded them all wonderful debuts and opened the house to their scores of suitors. They each had their pick of men.

"I have been ignored, pushed aside, shoved away, ridiculed and hidden my entire life. I thought my life would change when I married Gregory, but it's become worse. I knew he only married me for my money, but I'd hoped…"Her voice trailed off and Stephen thought he detected a glimmer of tears in her eyes. But when she resumed talking, her tone was hard as granite.

"Gregory despises me, and he takes every opportunity to tell me so. He humiliates me by flaunting his women in front of me, as if I don't matter-as if I am nothing. I'd hoped for a child, but your brother refuses to touch me." She took a step forward. "He's made a mistake. You've all made a mistake. And after tonight, everything I've always wanted, everything that's always been denied me, everything I deserve will be mine." Gripping the pistol in both hands, she leveled it at Stephen's chest.

Stephen remained perfectly still, his mind curiously blank. She was far enough away that he couldn't disarm her, and close enough to easily kill him if her aim was true. He noted her hands were perfectly steady.

"Any last words?" she asked in a mocking voice.

An image of Hayley flashed in his mind. She was the only good thing that had ever happened to him, and she was completely lost to him. The thought of fighting for his life, a life that was meaningless and empty, filled him with a resigned weariness. Why fight for a life that wasn't worth living?

A bitter half-smile tugged at his lips. "I hope the titles and prestige bring you more happiness than they've brought me."

Melissa aimed the pistol. "Goodbye, Stephen," she said in a pleasant voice, the same voice she might have used to ask if he wanted a cup of tea.