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 bedto 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 youthink 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.
