“I’ll take that chance. I am not without my own influence, young lady. I’m Lord Douglas, and even if you Americans did win the Revolution, most are still impressed with British titles. Ah, Skylar, you’re so accustomed to crime and corruption on the part of your fellow man that you can’t trust an honest offer. My health fails me. I need help—you know that. Nothing other than your kindness will be expected of you in return. Change your name, change your life. You’ve no choice anymore. It’s the perfect answer. We must conduct a marriage service. You must come with me. Don’t be afraid.”
She could remember smiling and reminding him, “I’m not afraid. But, Lord Douglas, it is dangerous territory. It’s Indian country?—”
“Umm,” he said lightly, “so there are a few Indians around. You’ll grow accustomed to them.” He winked.
“You may even like them. If the greedy Petes in Washington would hold to a single treaty, there could even be peace among them. Skylar, you’ve no choice now. Where else will you run? Where will you go? You will love the house, Mayfair. It’s airy, comfortable, solid. My home. I love it dearly. You will, too. I will not be with you long?—”
“Please don’t say that.”
“My heart is all but gone. I’ve known it, I’ve accepted it. The doctors have told me so time and again. I came east for a miracle, but there’s no miracle to be had. You’ve been such a strength to me so far. Please don’t look at me with those tears in your eyes. You’ve added the greatest happiness to my last days. To know that you would go directly to Mayfair with or without me would ease my days and delight me. That I may somehow be of service to you when your kindness and tenderness have so belied the travesty you lived! Come what may, you will loveMayfair. No matter what dangers you face, there you will be safe. I swear, it will be your home.”
It will be your home…
Those words now seemed to repeat themselves, as if she could really hear him again, as if they ricocheted against the walls.
“I do love Mayfair!” she whispered aloud then, biting lightly into her lower lip. She smiled, feeling wistful tears touch her eyes all the while. “You scoundrel!” she said softly, addressing the spirit of the late Lord Douglas that seemed to be haunting her now. “You tricked me wickedly. Indeed, there are a few Indians around! An honest proposal.”
Actually, he’d never told her a lie. He’d simply failed to tell her who she was being married to in the hasty proxy ceremony. And that he, one of the Indians, would be waiting, mad as a hornet.
Unwilling to reason or be reasonable in the least.
Her eyes fell upon the bath. She had longed that morning to soak in a tub. The opportunity awaited her—along with a trunkful of her own clothing.
She looked around the room again. This was the master bedroom. It was elegant—but it gave no sign of actual habitation. If Hawk slept here, nothing of his remained in the room. No pictures of friends or relatives, red or white, deceased or living. No hat, no shaving utensils, no brush upon the dressing table.
No arrows, scalps, or feathers decorating the walls.
He didn’t sleep here, she thought. But it was where he would put his wife. A wife he’d have as a wife when and if the whim struck him. A wife he’d forget when he chose to. A wife he’d clearly stated he didn’t want.
Well, it wasn’t what she had imagined either! Mayfair. She had expected to arrive here nearly two days ago. She certainly hadn’t imagined anything so grand.
But then, she’d assumed that when she did arrive, she’d be her own mistress…
How abruptly life changed. What wretched tricks it played upon the unwary! It seemed she was to be little more than a prisoner to a man who led his own life and intended to command hers. A man with a fierce ability to manipulate and seduce.
She trembled for a moment, not wanting to remember last night, seeing it flash before her whether she willed it or not. The choice had been hers. She could have run if she had desired. He didn’t understand that there was no turning back for her.
No. To him she’d been for sale to the highest bidder— and he’d unknowingly paid the price. And the damnedest thing was not that he’d forced her to yield. What galled her was that he demanded so much more, managing somehow to steal a part of her very will, her soul. He hadn’t just forced her hand. He’d forced her to respond. He’d proven that he couldn’t just take what he wanted, but that he’d have it how he wanted just as well.
“Not again!” she whispered aloud. “If you don’t want a wife, you’re not getting a willing one.”
She turned around, hurrying to the door to assure herself she could bolt it. She did so, then stripped off her clothing and sank into the scalding water. For the longest time she feared that he would somehow come bursting in upon her there.
He did not.
She leaned back, feeling the water steam and somewhat ease her. Her body remained just slightly sore. Memories of the past night brought hot flashes racing through her once again. Memories of him. The sleek copper skin, the scars on his chest and back. The ripple of his muscles against her. She’d been so terrified of an Indian attack. Of—rape. She nearly laughed aloud, it was so ironic. The same Indian who had seized her, scared half the life from her, trying to urge her to escape him by seeking an annulment…
Why didn’t he go for his own damned annulment? Could he still do so now? Would he?
She wasn’t going back. He’d have to understand that. She couldn’t allow herself to be afraid of him. But she was afraid. Of what? Failure? She couldn’t fail, wouldn’t fail. She’d come this far. But now she had to have ]…
Money.
Money to wire back east.
She shivered suddenly.
“Oh, God!” she prayed suddenly, vigorously. “Let everything be all right back home!”
