“Of course!”
“My God!”
She kept her head lowered. She brushed her cheek as if to take away tears of shame.
“You did not tell me!”
“I could not—I could not speak of it at first. But now you have to know so that you need not be saddled with me, or with this farce of a marriage. Lord Cameron! I free you to find a proper and innocent bride.”
“How ghastly!”
“Yes!”
“How very deplorable!”
“Yes!” She dared to turn, looking up at him at last. Shadows seemed to have fallen over the room, and she felt the silver probe of his eyes deeply upon her. She leaped up, lowering her head once again. “I shall see my things are moved. I will sign anything necessary to free you—”
“No, my love,” he said very softly.
“What?” she gasped. He came toward her, taking her shoulders. Her head fell back. His eyes sizzled, and she wondered at his thoughts. “Your—honesty—is commendable, my love. But can you truly think so poorly of me? You are my wife, sworn to me before God. I will not cast you from my side, no matter what your generosity. So, go, my love, back to our room. When my business is done, I will join you there, and most gladly still!”
In disbelief she stared at him. His eyes danced in lamplight and shadow. He lowered his head slowly to hers, and she was too amazed to move. His mouth covered hers with passion and fire, his lips molding tight to hers, his tongue probing and ravaging past all barriers with fervent demand. Warmth filled her, as shocking as the invasion that seemed to fill the whole of her body. Laps of flame seemed to lick within her stomach and all along her spine, and spin and swirl to the very heart of her desire at the juncture of her thighs.
She wrenched away from him, gasping and desperate, despising herself, despising the very passion he could elicit and evoke within her. He watched her, his hands on his hips, his eyes knowing.
She backed away from him, trembling.
He smiled, and she felt as if she faced the very devil.
“Go to our room, love. To our bed. I will follow you swiftly, I swear it.”
She wanted to deny him; she wanted to rage and tell him that she despised him completely.
But it wasn’t the truth, and so she said nothing.
She no longer wished to fight; only to run.
And escape.
XII
Skye turned swiftly and fled.
Outside Lord Cameron’s door she knew that she had little choice left but to run. Where in God’s name was her father?
She fled up the stairs and back to his room, frantically digging through her belongings until she found a skirt and jacket more serviceable than the gown she wore. She changed nervously, ever watching the door lest he should appear. He did not. Leaving all of her belonging behind, she left the room. She sped down the stairway, then backed against the wall, certain that she heard Roc Cameron talking with Peter. She ducked into the dining room, her heart thundering. Footsteps passed by on the hardwood floors. Their echo dimmed. Skye thrust open the door and checked out the hallway, then tore through the hallway and out to the porch.
The outbuildings stretched before her.
She had no difficulty locating the stables, for the building was large and impressive and the painted doors were open to the afternoon sun. She hurried along the path until she came there. A young groom, raking up hay, paused and bobbed her way.
“I need a mount, please, Reggie, is it?”
He smiled his vast pleasure and quickly nodded. “We’ve Lady Love, she mild and sweet—”
“Oh, no!” Skye allowed her eyes to flash with laughter. “I ride very well, Reggie, and would have a fleet mount to show me much of the property while it is still daylight.”
“There’s Storm then, milady. But he’s Lord Cameron’s stallion, and a wild one at that.” His gaze was skeptical, and she felt sorry for the lad. He had long obeyed one master, but now he had a mistress, too, and he didn’t seem to know if he should bow to the wishes of the one or worry about the other.
