He shrugged and looked down at the floor. Looking at him, Lila was struck by how young he was. He acted so much older than his years that it was easy to forget that he was still a child.
“What is it, Gavin?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged again and she thought he might not answer, but then he spoke without looking at her. “I saw him leave.”
“Your father?” She’d yet to hear Gavin refer to Bishop as anything other than “him” or “he.”
“Yeah. He looked angry.”
“He might have been a little ... upset,” she temporized. Lord, she didn’t know anything about being a mother. How was she supposed to handle this? Nothing in her past had given her any idea of what to say to him. As far as she knew, her parents had never exchanged so much as a harsh word with each other. What if he asked her why Bishop was upset?
“Is he coming back?” His tone was casual but there was nothing casual about his eyes when he looked at her.
“Coming back? You mean tonight?”
“Ever.”
It took Lila a moment to realize what he meant. When she did, she was horrified that he should think Bishop might leave for good.
“Of course he’s coming back! Why on earth would you think he wasn’t?”
Again that casual shrug but she had no trouble seeing through it to the fear beneath. “He didn’t come back before.”
“Before? You mean when he left you with your grandparents?”
“Yeah. And when Mama was going to have Angel and he left us there. He didn’t come back then.” Lila stared at him, at a loss for words. How could she have missed seeing how Gavin felt? Had she been so absorbed in her own fears and uncertainties that she’d failed to see his?
“Sit down, Gavin.” She pulled a chair out from the table and sank into it, gesturing him to another. He hesitated a moment before obeying. He sat rigidly upright in the chair, his eyes wary as he looked at her. “Your father was upset tonight. We ... disagreed rather strongly about something. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t coming back.”
“How do you know?”
The stark question revealed a deep vulnerability that broke Lila’s heart. “Because he wouldn’t leave us like that. I don’t know what happened before. But I do know that he wouldn’t just walk out on the three of us—four,” she added, touching her stomach. “I don’t know why he left you and your mother in St. Louis but I’m sure there was a good reason. Did you ever ask your mother about it?”
It was a risky question. For all she knew, Bishop’s first wife had had nothing good to say about her husband.
“I asked once. She said I wasn’t to blame him for going—that she’d sent him away. She said he was a good man who’d made a bad choice. I didn’t know what she meant but she started to cry so I didn’t ask anything else. She said it was her fault he wasn’t with us.”
A bad choice? In his choice of wife, perhaps? Lila wondered. She filed the idea away for later consideration.
“Didn’t you believe her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Again that carefully indifferent shrug, as if they were discussing a topic that held little interest for him.
Lila sought a way to allay his fears that Bishop might disappear from his life again. “Do you remember what I told you? About the reason your father decided to bring you and Angel with us right away instead of leaving you in St. Louis until after the baby came?”
Gavin lifted one shoulder in a shrug, his eyes focused on the floor between them. “Yeah.”
“It was because he thought you were unhappy, remember?”
“That’s what you said.” Clearly, he wasn’t ready to commit himself to believing her.
“That’s what your father said,” she corrected him. "If he cares enough about you to bring you along with us, to get us this house to live in, it doesn’t seem likely that he’d just walk out on us, does it?”
“I don’t know.” Gavin was not so easily won over, but she could see that he was considering what she’d said.
“Your father is a good man, Gavin. And he takes his responsibilities seriously. You don’t have to worry about him leaving.”
“I guess.” He shifted restlessly. “Can I go to my room now?”
“Of course.” Lila was amused to find that he’d apparently forgotten that he was the one who’d started the conversation. “Good night.”
“Good night.” He shot to his feet as if fired from a cannon.
“Gavin?” Lila’s voice caught him in the doorway. He paused, his reluctance almost palpable as he turned to look at her. “If something ever happened to your father, I’d still take care of you and Angel. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
“Why would you take care of us?” he asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Because we’re family now. And family takes care of each other.”
***
Bishop backed silently away from the door. He’d come back, all set to lay down the law to his wife. Instead, he’d nearly stumbled into the midst of her conversation with Gavin. He’d heard it said that eavesdroppers never heard good of themselves. That might be true, but it was certainly a surefire way to get a new perspective on things.
He moved into the shadows near the door. Hunching his shoulders against the chill in the air, he stared out at the dark bulk of the mountains that loomed against the night sky. Above them, the moonless sky glittered with stars, sparkling like diamonds against black velvet. From the direction of Paris, he could faintly hear a piano playing in one of the saloons, the sound made tinny by distance. In the near distance, a timber wolf howled, a lost and lonely sound.
We’re family now. Family takes care of each other. Lila’s words ran through his mind. A few weeks ago, she hadn’t even known his children existed. And since their abrupt appearance in her life, Gavin at least had done little to endear himself to her. Yet she’d offered the boy the reassurance that she’d care for him, no matter what. It was more than he himself—the boy’s own father—had offered, Bishop admitted with bitter self-condemnation. And more than his mother could have given him. Isabelle hadn’t been capable of caring for herself, let alone her children.
It was a mistake to compare the two women. With her moonlight-pale hair and fine-boned beauty, Isabelle had been as delicate and fragile as a china figurine. Lila was sunlight and fire. Where Isabelle had been frightened of life, Lila faced it head on. From her response to him in bed, to her refusal to back down from an argument, she was the opposite of Isabelle in every way.
She’d taken his children into her heart, taken this house and turned it into a home, met every challenge with her chin up and her eyes clear. She was strong without being unfeminine, tough without losing her softness. Maybe a woman like that was worth making a few compromises for. Stepping away from the house, he headed for town, his expression thoughtful. Now was as good a time as any to take one last look around.
***
Lila slid her needle through the fabric, using her thumbnail lightly to push the bead into place. Needlework was the one field of feminine endeavor in which she excelled. Her singing voice could make dogs howl. Her piano playing was atrocious, and her talent for watercolors was nonexistent, but, at anything involving a needle and thread, Lila had soon far outstripped her mother’s own efforts, a fact her mother had pointed out to friends with considerable pride.
Though she was proficient in most kinds of needlework, when she was working purely for pleasure, she preferred embroidery in wools or silk. She’d been working on this particular piece for several months, though she hadn’t found much time for it in recent weeks and none at all since her marriage to Bishop. The lambrequin, with its elaborate pattern of scrollwork and flowers, done in wools and beads, originally had been intended to decorate one of the mantels at River Walk. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with it now. It would look rather foolish on the modest mantel in this room. But that was something she’d worry about later. Right now, it was enough to take pleasure in s
eeing the work come to life under her hands.
The sound of the back door opening shattered the fragile peace she’d found. Bishop was home. After the way he’d stalked out earlier, she’d half expected him to stay out all night. Her whole body went rigid, her fingers almost cramping around the needle. She lowered the work to her lap and lifted her head as he entered the parlor.
“There’s stew, if you’re hungry,” she said, determined not to let him see how shaken she was.
“No, thanks.” He’d taken off his hat in the kitchen. Now he shrugged out of his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. He sank down into the wing chair, draping his coat over its back. He looked tired, she noted reluctantly. She didn’t like seeing anything that made him seem human. “Are the children in bed?” “Yes. Angel all but fell asleep at supper. Gavin went to his room not long after.”
He nodded. “They seem to be settling in well enough.”
“Children are adaptable,” Lila said by way of agreement. “They have to be since they’re at the mercy of adults.”
“I guess so.”
There was a brief silence and she was surprised to realize that it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Wherever he’d been since he walked out, his mood seemed to have softened. He leaned forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and fixing those piercing blue eyes on her.
“I could make you change your mind,” he said without preamble.
Lila didn’t have to ask what he meant. Their earlier conversation was vivid in her mind. She felt color slide into her face but she refused to lower her eyes. “I know you can make me ... respond. But that just makes it worse—that I can respond like that to a man I barely know.”
“A lot of people are strangers when they marry,” he said.
“I suppose so.” She looked down at the embroidery in her lap, stroking the tip of her finger over the shading in a leaf. She chose her words with care, trying to make him understand how she felt. “But my parents’ marriage was one based on affection and trust. It was a blessing they died together in a way because I don’t think one would have survived long without the other. I always thought my own marriage would be the same, that I’d marry a man I loved.”
“Like Logan’s brother? Did you love him?” Bishop asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I loved Billy,” Lila said, more easily than he would have liked. She continued without lifting her head. “Did you love your first wife?”
“Isabelle?” Bishop hesitated, caught off guard by having his own question turned around on him. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Had he loved Isabelle? “I thought I did,” he said slowly.
“Then perhaps you can understand something of what I’m feeling. I’m not asking for that much—just a little time.”
Bishop was silent, though he’d already made his decision. Damn but marriage was a lot more complicated than anyone ever admitted.
“I won’t agree to separate rooms,” he said. Lila’s head jerked up, her eyes bright with temper. He lifted his hand to halt the torrent of angry words he could sense hovering on her lips. “We’ll share a room and a bed but I won’t touch you.”
“You won’t touch me?” Lila repeated questioningly.
“I’ll give you the time you want,” he said, feeling suddenly very tired.
“How much time?” she asked, still dazed by his proposal.
“We can talk again after the baby is born.”
She looked down at her embroidery again, considering his words. It certainly wasn’t what she’d hoped for. Sharing a bed with him wasn’t what she’d had in mind. But it was undoubtedly more than many men would have offered. He would be well within his rights to demand that she accept him as her husband in the fullest sense of the word. Even those who might sympathize with a maiden’s uncertainties would look askance at her reluctance considering the intimacies they’d already shared.
“If we’re not going to be ... intimate, wouldn’t it be simpler to just have separate rooms?” she asked him.
“No.”
The flat denial left no room for argument. Lila’s mouth tightened in annoyance. He was the most irritating man. And she’d have been more than happy to tell him as much, but caution won out over temper. He hadn’t given her what she wanted but he was willing to compromise. She didn’t want to goad him into changing his mind.
“Very well,” she said. “We’ll share a room.”
CHAPTER 13
Lila was in bed, the covers drawn up to her chin, when Bishop entered the bedroom. He didn’t bring a lantern with him so he was only a silhouette against the darkness—a large, masculine silhouette. She considered pretending to be asleep but, since she’d come to bed only minutes before, it didn’t seem likely that he’d believe that. Besides, she was determined to handle this situation in a mature fashion. She wasn’t going to let him see that this ridiculous arrangement of his bothered her.
“I was going to leave your nightshirt out for you but I couldn’t find it,” she said, pleased by her casual tone.
“I don’t wear one.” He shrugged out of his shirt and Lila swallowed hard.
“You don’t wear one? What do you sleep in?”
He turned toward the bed and she thought she could almost see the glitter of his eyes. “Nothing.”
She was so busy trying to show how undisturbed she was that it took her a moment to realize what he’d said. Nothing? What did he mean, nothing? He couldn’t mean he slept...
“You don’t sleep ... You can’t expect to ... You have to wear something!”
“I don’t.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“It’s comfortable.” His voice held a shrug, as if he couldn’t understand her concern.
“But you can’t sleep that way now. Not when I ... we.... You said you wouldn’t touch me!”
“What does one have to do with the other?” he asked, his tone full of exasperation. “I sleep this way when I’m alone too.”
“But you’re not alone and you can’t just get into bed like that. With me.” She clutched the covers so tightly that her fingers ached.
“If it bothers you, don’t look,” he said, and she saw his hands drop to the waist of his pants.
With a gasp, Lila closed her eyes. She didn’t open them until she felt him lift the covers and slide into bed next to her. His foot brushed against her calf and her eyes popped open. She stared up at the ceiling, hardly breathing, but other than that initial contact, he didn’t touch her. Still, just having him lying next to her was enough to have her heart beating double time.
She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her body stiff as a board, her breathing light and shallow as she struggled to avoid doing anything that might make him notice her. She had no idea how many minutes passed that way before Bishop moved.
Lila heard him sigh as he rolled toward her. Supporting his weight on one elbow, he caught her chin in his fingers and tilted her face to his. Her protest was reduced to a squeak as his mouth closed over hers. She brought her hands up to push him away but her traitorous fingers curled into the mat of hair on his chest instead.
He kissed her thoroughly, his mouth plundering hers with a ruthless sensuality that swept aside her determination to keep a distance between them. If he’d chosen to make love to her, she wouldn’t have so much as whispered a protest. He kissed her until she was limp and clinging, willing to give him anything he wanted. Her breath left her on a soft sigh as he lifted his head and looked down at her, the glitter of his eyes faintly visible in the dim light.
“Now go to sleep,” he told her, his voice husky. He released her, rolling away, turning on his side so that his back was to her.
It took Lila several seconds to realize what had just happened. Go to sleep? Stunned disbelief slowly gave way to fury. How dare he do this to her? Of all the infuriating, arrogant... male things to do. Obviously he’d set out to prove that she didn’t have to worry about him losing his self-control and ravishing her in the middle o
f the night. And the fact that he had proved it was thoroughly annoying for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Go to sleep? Ha! There wasn’t much chance of that. She was too annoyed for sleep. She’d probably never sleep again. At least not as long as he was in the same bed with her.
***
Bishop was gone when Lila woke, only the imprint of his head on the pillow to prove that she hadn’t slept alone. She felt a spark of self-directed annoyance at the fact that she’d not only gone to sleep but had slept well. If she’d tossed and turned all night, maybe he would have felt guilty. She smiled suddenly, realizing how absurd the thought was. Talk about cutting off her nose to spite his face.
She shook her head as she swung her feet off the bed. It was a new day, her first full day in her new home, and she wasn’t going to spoil it with spiteful thoughts—though she couldn’t suppress the faint hope that Bishop hadn’t slept a wink. It would have served him right after the shameful way he’d behaved last night.
Lila reached for her wrapper, which had been draped over the footboard, and shrugged into it as she padded, barefoot, across the room to the dresser. After lifting the china pitcher that sat there, she poured water into the matching bowl. The water was icy cold, of course, but it would serve to wake her up. Dampening a cloth to wash her face, she considered Bishop’s sins.
First he’d refused her perfectly reasonable request that they have separate rooms. True, he’d come up with a compromise, even if it was only marginally acceptable. But then there’d been the shock of finding that he slept in the nude and had every intention of continuing to do so. That was something she certainly intended to see changed. And last, but far from least, was the way he’d kissed her. He’d said he wouldn’t touch her and then had immediately broken his word. Still, he could have pursued his advantage and he hadn’t. Heaven knew, she wouldn’t have stopped him. That was something she had no intention of thinking about right now. It could wait for another time, when she was feeling a little more able to deal with all the emotions her husband so effortlessly stirred in her.
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