"Your comments, my friend, will go straight to the lady's head," Hawk warned.
"They should. If he does not let you know that you more stunning than sunlight, Lady Douglas, he is remiss."
"You are kind, sir."
"What I am is envious!" he said with a laugh, his comments shared with Hawk in such a way that she was certain that the two men had known one another a very long time.
"I hardly imagine, sir, that you ever need envy any man," Skylar told him. "The pleasure of this introduction is mine. I'm afraid I missed your name, Major—"
"Trelawny. Sloan Trelawny," the major supplied.
"Cougar," Hawk interjected dryly.
"Pardon?"
The major had arched a brow at Hawk. Again, it was apparent the men knew one another well.
"Cougar-in-the-Night, to be exact," Hawk said, his eyes tauntingly on the major in return.
' 'Apparently, he wants you to realize that I am Sioux as well as a member of the United States Cavalry," Sloan Trelawny said, amused. "Just in case you had missed the heritage in my features. Your husband and I grew up together. Our paths seem to keep crossing."
"You're Sioux—and with the cavalry?"
"My dear Lady Douglas, at times the cavalry seems to be peopled with more Indians than the plains themselves. I am with the cavalry, yes."
"But no, he doesn't go shooting his own people," Hawk interjected for him. "Sloan is a scout and liaison."
"How interesting. But don't your own people try to shoot at you upon occasion?"
He shook his head. ' 'Not so far. When I speak, they may not like what I have to say. But they know that the words they hear from me are true. It's my job to battle graft and corruption."
"And the Crows, now and then. Not to mention old friends."
"I'm cut to the quick, Hawk. Now, he's the dangerous one," Sloan said, indicating Hawk. "Ready to go to battle over something like an eagle feather."
"We were four years old at the time," Hawk said dryly.
"What he wants, he goes after."
"I believe that could be said for you as well."
"Ah, but the poor lady is not my wife, therefore she must be warned against you."
"I think she stands duly warned."
"Yes, well"—Sloan lowered his eyes as his lips twitched in a small smile—"again, we were all quite delighted to hear about the marriage."
He was amused, Skylar thought. She wondered why. What had Hawk said to him?
"And again, sir, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You came to pay your last respects to Lord Douglas?"
"Indeed, as well as to speak with the new Lord Douglas," Sloan Trelawny said, glancing at Hawk. Then, changing the subject, he continued. "It's wild country you've come to, Lady Douglas. But among the most beautiful in all the world, I'll warrant."
"Yes, it's very lovely here," she said.
The other three men gathered around them. "Lady Douglas, may I introduce to you Sergeant Walker, Private Hamilton, and Private Stowe." She greeted each man, relieved to see that none of the soldiers were the men who had burst in on the lodge two nights before. Apparently they had been on some kind of mission, looking for Hawk. And just as apparently, the way that they had found him had caused them to delay their mission. But now these officers were here, at his house.
She realized why Sloan Trelawny appeared to be so very amused.
Every man in the army must have heard why there had been such a delay in contacting Hawk the other night. The thought brought a rush of color to her cheeks, which she determined to subdue as she pondered the appearance of these men. This was far more than a courtesy call on behalf of the departed Lord Douglas. They definitely wanted Hawk. For what? she wondered.
"Gentlemen, shall I see you out?" Hawk said. "My dear, I'm sure you're anxious to retire after traveling so long and hard. And taking such a curious route to your destination." With his hand on her elbow, he led her from the parlor and saw her to the foot of the stairs. "You can find the way?" he inquired.
"I can," she told him.
"Lady Douglas!" Sloan Trelawny said, tipping his hat to her. A bright light of amusement played in his eyes when they met hers. She determined he was as much of a scoundrel as her husband, and that still, he would be a daring and fierce defender of anyone within his fold.
His men politely bid her goodnight. She smiled pleasantly and started up the stairs. She listened as the men filed out of the front entryway. Hawk was going out with them, she realized.
She didn't go immediately to the master bedroom but hesitated on the landing. When she was certain that Hawk had gone outside, she set out to explore the rooms upstairs. She opened the door opposite her own. She was disappointed to discover a bedroom, probably a guest room, for though it was handsomely furnished, it seemed devoid of personality. She wanted to find the late Lord Douglas's office and try to discover if there were any papers that might have been returned to the house explaining just what her rights were, not as his widow, but as his son's wife.
She tried a second room. Another bedroom. In the dim moonlight she could make out several framed pictures on the mantle. She walked over to take a closer look at them. One was of a slim, handsome man, wearing a kilt and standing in front of a stone wall on which hung a coat-of- arms. The picture beside it was a small painting of a very pretty, light-haired woman. Skylar studied the two and thought that she saw the late Lord David Douglas in both of the faces. The coat-of-arms on the wall was probably that of the Douglas family.
She opened the wardrobe in the room, but it was empty. Pensively, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
She opened another door, then hesitated. She'd come into a library. Bookcases lined three walls. In the moonlight she could make out books on every subject imaginable. Military manuals, almanacs, novels, books on animal husbandry, herbs, sheep, cattle, horses. More military manuals.
As she walked along the shelves, she suddenly froze, hearing a door close nearby. She turned around, realizing the library led into a bedroom. The door was wide open. When she turned, she saw that the girl, Sandra, had come into the room. She hummed as she turned down the sheets on a large, quilt-covered bed there. The girl ran her fingers over the pillow and bedding with a slow, sensual flair.
Skylar backed away, feeling as if she were intruding. She heard the door from the hallway to the bedroom open and close again and she jumped. Hawk came into the room. He approached the girl, speaking a strange language.
Sioux? Skylar couldn't understand a word of it. Apparently the girl did, because she gripped his hands, speaking earnestly to him in return. Hawk freed his hands and smoothed back her long black hair. His words, unintelligible to Skylar, nonetheless sounded gentle.
The girl spoke in an anguished tone. Hawk took her face between his hands. He bent down and kissed her forehead. Feeling ill, Skylar silently backed out of the library into the hallway. She strode quickly to the master bedroom, slipped inside, and bolted the door behind her.
She leaned against the door, wondering at the tumult of emotions that raced through her. She should be glad. He wouldn't be disturbing her tonight. He kept his own suite of rooms in this house. This was the master bedroom, but not the one he chose to use.
The bathtub was gone, she realized. As was the towel rack. Her trunk was gone as well. Frowning, she moved across the room, opening the wardrobe and the drawers within it. Someone had unpacked her belongings. Hung her dresses, skirts, blouses. Folded her undergarments, set them into the drawers. She turned around. Her brushes, combs, perfumes and toiletries were all arranged on the dressing table.
Had Sandra done this while she had been downstairs? She was startled by her sudden longing to slap the girl. She didn't want Sandra touching her belongings.
She expelled a long breath, hating both Hawk and the girl. Then she plucked up her hairbrush, using it vigorously, taking her anger out on her long blond tresses, burnishing them to a glow.
This was the master bedroom, but the master did
not sleep here. Good. It was all very good for her. She had so much to work out. How to carry our her own desperate plans now that he stood in the way.
She set her brush down and threw open the wardrobe again. She found a nightgown. Soft white flannel with embroidery at the collar and cuffs. She slipped into it, thinking, Tell him the truth? Ask his mercy? Never. He is more ruthless than any heathen on the warpath! He's still convinced I did ill to his father. Imagine trying to explain ...
No. And yet, she had to accomplish what she had set out to do. Oh, God, she had to!
Everything had seemed so simple at the beginning.
And now ...
Now she was married to a man who despised her. One still convinced that she was a scheming adventuress at the very best. One she could only fight in return. One she would have to learn to get around somehow.
She pulled down the covers to her own bed and lay down. She watched the fire, then closed her eyes, but she could not sleep. Her thoughts kept running rampant in her head.
With a deep, exasperated sigh, she rose at last, thinking that since she had just seen Hawk upstairs and the rest of his household was surely asleep, she might pay her own last respects to Lord Douglas in the parlor. Despite everything that had happened and the way he had tricked her, she still missed him. His death hadn't been the painful shock for her that it had been for Hawk. But she still had a few prayers of her own to say for the man who had apparently been even more of an admirable individual than she had ever known.
Maybe some answers would come to her again, with him near.
She slipped out of her room, down the stairs, and into the parlor. She touched the lid of the coffin tenderly. "Well, Lord Douglas, just what do I do now?" she whispered fervently.
"You could begin by telling me exactly what went on between you and my father!"
She spun around, gasping at the sound of the deep, masculine voice behind her.
Hawk was no longer upstairs. His frock coat shed, his dark hair no longer neatly queued but falling free to his shoulders, he stood in the shadows by the mantle. He set down the brandy snifter he'd been holding and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do go on, Lady Douglas," he said. "I am so eager to hear this story."
Ten
She simply wasn't going to let him ridicule her, command her, demand his rights, sleep with other women, and emerge to threaten her anew. Skylar crossed her arms over her chest, facing him.
"I've nothing to tell you," she informed him regally.
"Nothing?" he queried, a dark brow arched high.
"Nothing. You seem to know everything already. I wouldn't dream of trying to correct the assumptions within that arrogant head of yours. If I've disturbed you again, I do apologize. It was not my intention. So if you'll just excuse me . . ."
She started to move past him, but he caught her wrist. "I don't excuse you. You came down to be by Father's coffin. Saying your prayers? For his soul—or your own?''
"Perhaps I'm praying that a large pit will open up in the earth and you'll fall into it," she replied sweetly.
He smiled. "That is a given."
She narrowed her eyes, staring at him hard. "Perhaps I pray that Colonel Custer will lead an expedition against you, catch you in your war paint taunting some other hapless victim, and riddle you with bullets!"
To her amazement, he started to laugh. "Sorry, my dear.
Old Curly may have learned Indian country, but he couldn't trail me even if he had a map in front of him. But do go on. This conversation might become enlightening. For what else do you pray? And just what do your prayers have to do with your relationship with my father? What was that relationship?"
She wrenched her arm free. "I saw an elderly man. Being a mystic, I determined that he was more ill than he would let on, that I should marry him as quickly as possible. I have such powers of persuasion that I not only convinced him to marry me, I also caused his heart to stop by the sheer seduction of my smile. But I'm not a very good mystic, am I? I was unaware that Lord Douglas had a bitter, cruel half-breed son who liked to dress up in war paint and and attack stagecoaches. That is your assumption, isn't it?"
"Have you something else to give me in its stead?" he asked blandly.
"I've told you, I'll give you nothing!" she promised vehemently. She took another chance at getting past him.
He didn't stop her this time, and she raced up the stairway to her room.
Still standing in the parlor, Hawk heard her slam the bedroom doors closed. He was certain that she had thrown the bolt.
He shut his eyes.
Why wouldn't she talk to him?
Worse. Why did it seem that she had gotten so deeply into his blood?
Why did it seem, even now, that his body was wired, hot and burning, that his soul and mind were torn. That he wanted to stay away from her, that he wanted ...
The soft flannel gown had hugged her body. The fire had given it the effect of light and shadow as it fell over her form, highlighting curves and movement. Curves he had touched. Movement he knew.
Damn her. He wouldn't be so swayed.
Damn her.
He would.
She was here as his wife.
Skylar furiously wrenched the covers from the bed and was about to slide into it when the bedroom door suddenly burst open with a violent slam. Hawk stood there. She stared blankly from him to the doors and realized that his force had easily broken the flimsy bolt. He had snapped the wood that had surrounded the metal bolt.
His eyes on her, he stepped into the room, drawing the doors closed behind him.
"Can't sleep, Lady Douglas?" he inquired politely.
"I think that I will manage just fine now," she informed him.
"We'll see to it. I hadn't meant to be remiss. Were you ready for bed, you needed only say so."
He moved about the room, methodically blowing out candles, turning down the flames on the gas lamps. Only the firelight still glowed when he finished. He sat at the foot of the bed then, pulling off his boots. He stood, pulling his shirt over his head. Skylar remained dead still herself, standing as if frozen, just watching him.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded huskily.
"Undressing."
He unbuckled his belt. His pants fell to the floor with a soft thud and he stepped from them, kicking them aside. For a moment he stood facing her. She couldn't keep her eyes from sliding over his body, nor, to her own dismay, could she keep from feeling that there was something strangely superb about him. He stood so very tall, broad shouldered, with his flesh burnished copper by the very pale firelight that danced so lightly upon the night time shadows. A fierce wave of sensation seemed to encompass her, one she fought to throw off. She crossed her arms firmly over her chest, demanding, "Why?"
"Why? I prefer to sleep naked. I was raised in a tipi, you must realize," he mocked.
Then tremors shot through her because he was so suddenly at her side, sweeping her off her feet, laying her down upon the bed. He was beside her then, his fingers upon the lace and ribbon of her bodice.
"You can't do this!" she lashed out as she tried to catch his wrists.
"But I can. I have, and I will."
"No, you can't—you can't just.
He released her, rolling over to strike a match from the bedside table and relight one of the candles there. He stared down at her, naked, his flesh glistening, his eyes unfathomable. He looked far more civilized with clothes on, she decided. He didn't touch her as he leaned over her, staring into her eyes.
"Don't you think it's a little late for you to be reneging on the marriage agreement? What's the matter with you?" he demanded.
"The matter with me—I beg your pardon?" she cried, shimmying up to the headboard to put distance between them. "What is not the matter here!"
"The rules were set. You chose not to get an annulment—"
"I chose not to get an annulment? If you wanted one, why didn't you file papers?" she demanded in return.
&nb
sp; "You chose not to get an annulment," he repeated, seeming to grow angrier. "You chose to be a wife. Now suddenly—"
"Suddenly! There's nothing sudden here! It's a wretched situation. Let's see," Skylar told him. "Just for starters, I barely know you!"
"You know enough. We got acquainted rather well last night. I know everything I need to know about you."
"There you have it, Lord Douglas!" she exclaimed. "You think you know everything! You're rude, presumptuous—"
"Yes, but I'm also'your husband. Married to you. Just as you have willed it that you are my wife. Our agreements have been made." He threw up his hands with impatience, and his tone was harsh. "What do you know of this great western frontier you've come upon? Especially since the war, with the death of so many men back east, women have flocked out here by the scores to husbands they have never before seen to take up the toil and drudgery of eking out an existence on the plains. You'll not have to get a single blister. But I promise you, those husbands have not brought their wives west so that they may sleep apart."
There never seemed to be any arguing with him, she thought rebelliously. She felt the rise of tears coming hot to the backs of her eyes. She fought them, her chin very high, her voice regal.
"Those husbands want wives; they are surely courteous, while you, Lord Douglas, are one wretched, cold bastard!" she hissed to him.
"Not true. Not true at all. Bear in mind, those husbands knew they were acquiring wives, while I am still in shock over your arrival. No, I don't want a wife. I've never lied about that, and neither will I forget the very strange circumstances of your arrival and cast flowers at your feet. Indeed, I did not desire a wife, but I have discovered that I do want the woman I've acquired. Therefore, I am not cold at all; rather, I'm burning. A bastard on fire, if you will."
"Then very recently heated, I think! This isn't even your room. You had no intention of coming here until I had the ill fortune to stumble upon you—"
"And how do you know that this isn't my room?" he demanded, watching her. Then he suddenly smiled. "Ah, you've been exploring. Searching my house. Uninvited. So, you're offended that I didn't have you taken to my room."
No Other Man Page 13