“My God, you’re a hard man.”
“Those are the realities, Lydia. They don’t make me hard, only practical. You’ve never had a mate like Brigham Moore so I don’t expect you to understand. Just accept it.”
“I only thought—”
“Don’t.” He stood. “Don’t think. I’ve already told you I don’t blame you for what happened. If anything, I have you to thank for removing Brig from the picture. You helped me win.” He turned on his heel then, not waiting for her to demand that he leave, and strode out of the room.
A few minutes later Lydia watched him from her bedroom window as he took a horse from the stable and charged hell bent for leather into the darkening hills.
It wasafter midnight when Nathan returned to the room. Lydia had been drifting in and out of sleep for the better part of two hours. As quiet as Nathan was, Lydia bolted upright when she heard the door click into place.
“Who’s there?”
The question stopped Nathan in his tracks. He swayed a little, his imperfect balance the result of lifting too many beers with Irish. “It’s Nathan,” he said. “Who were you expecting?”
Lydia leaned across the bed toward the nightstand, fumbled for the matches, and lit the oil lamp. She replaced the glass globe carefully and adjusted the wick. “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she said. She drew the covers more securely around her, but it wasn’t only because the room was chilled.
Nathan sat heavily in the rocker and began removing his boots and socks. His grin was a trifle lopsided and a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. “But then I’m not just anyone.”
“I wasn’t expecting you, either,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He held up a shoe with the tip of his forefinger. It slipped off and thundered to the floor. “Should be perfectly obvious. I’m undressing.”
“I can see that. But why here?”
Shrugging out of his jacket, Nathan frowned. “I know I’m a bit tiddley, but not so much that I don’t know it would cause considerable comment if I undressed anywhere else. Where did you have in mind? One of the shearing sheds? The entrance hall? The kitchen?”
“Your bedroom,” she answered.
“Thisismy bedroom.” He got up and went to the armoire, opening it with an exaggerated flourish. “You see? My clothes are—” He stopped, brows drawn together in perfect puzzlement. “—are not here.” He remembered the trunks and valises and swiveled around, looking for them. They weren’t in the room. “What have you done?”
Lydia drew a deep, calming breath. “What I’ve done is unpack my belongings. I had yours removed to another room, not without some protest from the housekeeper, but I persevered. You’ll find them at the end of the hall, in the room that once was Irish’s before his accident confined him to the first floor. It looked entirely satisfactory.”
“The hell it is.” He sloughed off his alcoholic haze as if he were molting a too tight skin. He suddenly felt very sober.
Lydia watched as he disappeared into the hallway, a little shaken by the cold resolve she had seen in his predator eyes and in the hard set of his features. He was back in less than a minute, carrying two valises stuffed haphazardly with his clothes. He left again, and this time the bumping and scraping of one of the trunks being dragged along the hallway announced his return.
Lydia ran to the door, trying to shut it before he and the trunk came through. Nathan stopped her, bracing his shoulder against it. He held it there, pushing back against her strength, proving that she couldn’t shut him out. “I don’t want you here,” she said, yielding the entrance to him.
“You’ve made that clear.” He dropped the trunk and caught her by the waist as she made to go past him into the hall. “I, on the other hand, want to be here, and I want you with me.”
Lydia’s movement was not so much a struggle as it was a wriggle frought with frustration. “Let me go.”
“Certainly.” He kicked the door shut.
At her sides Lydia’s hands clenched. She was about to say something, thought better of it when Nathan’s glance gave no quarter, and marched back to the bed. She scooted to the side farthest away from him and sat there stiffly, the covers tucked thickly around her. Lydia made every effort to address him calmly. “I suppose there’s no chance of you sleeping anywhere but in this bed?”
“Hardly.”
“Turn back the lamp then when you’ve finished unpacking.” Lydia lay down and curled on her side, giving Nathan her back and forcing an even cadence to her breathing.
He had no intention of emptying either the trunk or the valises tonight. He had wanted to make a point and he’d made it. Nathan finished undressing, put out the light, and crawled into bed naked. Stretching his arm across the wide mattress, he could feel the warmth left by Lydia’s body on the flat of his palm. Reaching further, his fingers could almost touch the curve of her back.
“You don’t have to sleep there, Lydia,” he said, a certain husky weariness in his voice. He withdrew his hand and tucked it under his pillow. “I’m not going to touch you.” She said nothing for so long that Nathan thought she was ignoring him or had fallen asleep.
Lydia had done neither. She was thinking. “Why are you doing this, Nathan?” she asked at last.
“You’re my wife, Liddy.” He stared at the faint outline of her in the darkness. It was the only explanation he was prepared to offer.
