Red Roses Mean Love Read Free Page B

then gave exact directions to the location.
    "Excellent."
    Willie leaned forward. "The job's done, so we'd be likin' our blunt now."
    A hand swathed in a black leather glove reached out the window and dropped a bag into Willie's outstretched hand. Without another word, the curtain closed. A signal was given to the driver and the carriage disappeared into the night.
    A satisfied smile curved the lips of the occupant of the hack.
    He was dead.
    Stephen Alexander Barrett, eighth Marquess of Glenfield, was finally, finally dead.

 

    Chapter 2
    « ^ »
    S tephen was dreaming.
    Hands, many hands, were carrying him, buoying him as a boat bobs along a sparkling stream. He felt weightless, like a cloud floating in a bright blue summer sky, drifting in a warm breeze. Something deliciously cool touched his brow. The scent of roses filled his nostrils. Voices surrounded him … soft, comforting voices. And then suddenly all was quiet.
    With an effort he dragged his eyes open. He saw a woman. A beautiful woman with shiny chestnut-colored hair. She smiled at him.
    "You're safe now," she said, gently squeezing his hand, "but you are seriously ill. You must try very hard to get better. I'll stay right beside you until you are healed. I promise."
    Stephen stared at her, transfixed by her lovely face, her gentle touch, her soft voice. The look of deep concern in her eyes confused him. Where was he? And who was she? And why the hell did he feel so bloody awful? His head throbbed. His shoulder felt as if it were on fire and it seemed a huge boulder sat on his chest. He tried to move his arm and gave up when a blinding flash of pain sizzled through him.
    The woman pressed something wonderfully cool to his forehead. The soothing sensation felt like heaven against his burning skin.
    Heaven.
    Of course. He must be in heaven. She must be an angel.
    The welcome coolness touched his brow once more and his eyes drifted closed. He was dead, but what did it matter?
    He'd been touched by an angel.
    * * *
    "Has his condition improved, Hayley?" Pamela's soft, feminine voice asked from the doorway.
    Hayley turned toward her sister and read the concern in her eyes. "I'm afraid not," she reported to the pretty eighteen year old. "His fever hasn't broken, and he keeps drifting in and out of delirium."
    Pamela crossed the room and laid a comforting hand on Hayley's shoulder. Hayley squeezed her sister's hand and summoned up a smile, hoping to erase the worried expression from Pamela's face.
    "Is there anything I can do?" Pamela asked, her brow furrowed. "Shall I take over for you? It's been a week, and you've hardly rested."
    "Perhaps later, but I would dearly love a cup of tea. Would you bring me one?"
    "Of course. I'll also bring a dinner tray for you. You must remember to keep up your own strength."
    "I'm as strong as a horse," Hayley reassured her. In truth, she felt decidedly weak at the moment, but she would never admit it to Pamela. Her sister would only worry more, and that was the last thing Hayley wanted. Pamela had only recently recovered from a stomach ailment herself. She looked much too pale and fragile for Hayley's peace of mind.
    "You'll fall over if you keep this up," Pamela warned. "I'm going to get your dinner, and you'll eat every bit. Or else."
    "Or else what?"
    Pamela leaned closer. "Or else I'll tell Pierre you didn't like the meal he prepared."
    A genuine smile touched Hayley's face for the first time in days. "Good heavens, not that! Such an insult to our esteemed French cook would bode very badly for me."
    "Indeed. So when I return, you shall eat. Or suffer 'zee consequences.'" After casting a warning frown in Hayley's direction, Pamela left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Alone with her patient, Hayley gently bathed his face again and again with a cool cloth. His wounds were no longer life-threatening, but the fever he'd contracted was. His body felt like an inferno beneath her fingers. For the past week she had ached for him,