Chapter 7
Waking was painful.
She’d been right. He’d drunk far too much. It had been a downfall of his people before.
And last night…
He didn’t think, in the whole of his life, that he’d ever felt more ashamed of himself. He groaned, wishing that his eyes didn’t burn, his head didn’t hurt, and he didn’t feel such complete and utter self-disgust.
Dawn had become day. Light fell into the room, causing a riotous dance of dust motes.
He could see them falling from the ceiling, playing in the air above her naked shoulder.
A shoulder that lay against his chest. His arm encircled her, drawing her against him.
Her silky blonde hair was tangled beneath his nose.
Her back was curved to him, her buttocks against his groin, her legs entangled with his.
His hand, dark copper against the pale ivory of her flesh, lay upon her abdomen. They slept like a long-married couple.
Married.
Indeed, he’d done it now. It was unlikely he could entice her into filing for an annulment at this point.
Did he really want an annulment? Didn’t he feel, just on awakening, on feeling the softness of her against him, that she was not so bad a creature to possess?
He quickly disentangled himself from her, determined that his actions would not be ruled by his anatomy again.
Naked, his head pounding, he stumbled to the tub by the fire, glad to use the now icy cold water to sluice his face and body and give him a truly rude awakening.
He toweled himself dry quickly, eschewed the clothing he had scattered over the floor, found a pair of Mr. Levi’s button-fly jeans and a cotton shirt in his trunk, and dressed quickly.
He kept his eyes from the still-sleeping woman all the while, until he had started coffee perking, and drew up a chair at the table to wait until it had brewed.
Then he found himself staring at her once again. She was really exceptionally beautiful.
With the devil’s own temper, he thought wryly.
And now…
She was his. He still didn’t know a damned thing about her. He didn’t know what had happened between her and David. Of course, he did know that she hadn’t slept with his father.
Maybe she’d been willing to do so, just as she had been willing last night. But maybe David had expired before they’d gotten to the point where they’d gotten last night.
And maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t caused David’s heart attack at all.
Skylar opened her eyes to see the white of the sheets.
She started to move, but even as she did so, she became aware that she was sore from head to toe.
She winced, shifting just slightly, then met the steady green eyes staring at her from across the room.
She went still, watching him in turn, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze.
He was up and dressed, hair queued back.
He wore a white cotton shirt, just slightly open at the throat, and blue pants that hugged his muscled form.
A form that she now knew very well. Broad, uncompromising shoulders, powerful arms and chest. The copper flesh of his chest marked by several unusual scars.
Waist lean and taut as a drum. Trim hips…
She stopped, her breath catching. She didn’t want to think about the rest of him. It brought too much color to her face. Made her remember. Not that he had pinned her to the bed. Not that he had forced her to choose. Not that he had insisted on their playing their roles as man and wife.
Rather it made her remember the way he had made her feel, the hunger she had found in turn. The longing to touch his body in turn, explore it, taste it. Move with it…
Indians were supposed to do nothing more than couple, like wild animals. She had heard it said among cavalry wives, whose husbands had said that it was so.
This Indian was an extraordinary lover. As wild as any creature on the plain, but adept as well, she was certain.
Yet David Douglas had told her that Indians were just as human as white men, and all men, red, white, and black, were the same when taught the same things.
David had actually taught her quite a bit about the Plains Indians.
He had simply neglected to tell her that he had a son who happened to be one.
Or that he was really marrying her to that son.
He’d neglected to tell his son as well. And so he was now studying her, watching her with those deep, fire-green eyes that seemed to promise he’d have much preferred slitting her throat and scalping her to taking her as a wife. No matter what expertise he had brought to the undertaking.
“You’re awake. Good. Get up. Get dressed. We need to move on,” he told her, rising from his chair and going to the fire. “I’m afraid I slept late myself, but we’ve things to do, and we’re going to reach Mayfair tonight, no matter how late.”
She gazed at the floor. It remained strewn with clothing, her robe where it had so fatefully fallen the night before.
He’d made coffee again, this coffee straight, she was quite certain.
This morning, he was all business and impatience.
Not that he had been anything but brusque, even at the height of passion.
The best he had offered her was his skill at taking a woman. No tenderness had entered into it.
Yet, she knew…
She hadn’t allowed herself to be tender, either. Nor would she ever allow it when she knew what he thought of her.
Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes unbidden. She blinked furiously, knowing that she’d soon be under his scrutiny once again. He would probably find them amusing, part of the payment she must make for being a gold digger.
She rolled away from him, realizing he was turning back from the fire.
“I said to get dressed.”
“I don’t give a damn what you said,” she replied. “I’ll get up—”
She broke off because his hand was on her arm, pulling her around.
Both their gazes fell upon the tangle of bedsheets that gave credence to her innocence and to the night they had spent together.
Skylar pulled free from his touch, her cheeks on fire.
God, don’t let him say anything! she prayed. Don’t let him—
But he wasn’t about to apologize for what had happened.
“I want to get back to Riley’s. My father’s body should have arrived by now. You can go with me or stay here, but I’ll be gone in twenty minutes.”
“I can’t get dressed!” she hissed at him.
“Why not?”
“You ripped up the only clothes I had!”
“So I did,” he responded. Again, there was no hint of apology in his tone whatsoever.
He walked around to the foot of the bed to the trunk and looked through it.
She drew the furs around her, watching him.
His features were burnished a true copper.
They were so cleanly defined, the cheekbones broad, his nose strong and straight.
She bit her lips, intrigued at the combination of heritages that had created his face.
He looked both white and Indian. The Sioux in him was clearly apparent in his ink-dark hair.
But his eyes were indeed his father’s. It seemed amazing now that she hadn’t recognized his eyes immediately.
When he looked up at her, she flushed, unnerved that he had caught her studying him so intently.
“I hope that these will do,” he said, handing her a pile of clothing. “I’m not quite sure what exactly is required of women’s fashion these days but…your trunk will be back at Riley’s, and you can change there if you desire.”
Skylar looked at the clothing on the bed: pantalettes, chemise, shirt, skirt.
She couldn’t help but wonder where the clothing had come from and whom it had belonged to.
The style of the shirt was that of the simple frontier clothing sold in many stores in the East for those planning to take on the hazardous journey west. It had remained the same for many years.
She looked up at him.
“I do suppose your gown was much grander. You are, after all, Lady Douglas.”
“This will do just fine. In fact, it’s absolutely lovely, and I would have adored it had you given me this to wear rather than that robe.”
He smiled slightly. “If you are determined to stay, what difference does it make that your marriage was consummated last night? You were given a choice. You couldn’t have assumed that you would remain any man’s wife and not shared his bed.”
Her eyes fell. “It just…”
“What?” he demanded. He lowered himself before her, his face angry, his voice completely hostile once again.
“Do you think that things will change? You are an interloper in my life. You came here thinking that you could take everything. Well, you cannot do so, and I will not suddenly forget that you came here to claim my father’s estates.
You wished to take on a role. You’ve taken it on.
What’s done is over. We are both spared the discomfort of discovery again.
Now, if you are coming with me, get dressed. ”
“You are not just despicable. You are mean. You are cruel!” she hissed at him.
“Yes, well, you have made your bargain with the devil, haven’t you?” he demanded.
So she had. She turned her back on him, rising and dressing as quickly as possible. She longed for a bath. To soak in hot water until…
Until she could wash away the past. How many years could she wash away?
That wasn’t really the question. How much time did she have left to save Sabrina? No matter how horrid Hawk might be to her, he could not be as bad as what had nearly ensnared her. They were, after all, a married couple.
As soon as she’d donned the clothes, she turned. The skirt was a little short, a tiny bit loose. Otherwise, it fit well.
Hawk was back at the table, finishing his coffee. She ignored him, searching through the remnants of her clothing for her stockings. She was startled when he joined in her search, offering the stockings to her. She snatched them from his hands.