No Other Man

by Shannon Drake

  "Well, you can't possibly like someone you don't trust."

  He put his hands on his hips and looked straight in her eyes. "Well, you can't possibly trust someone who doesn't tell the truth!"

  She was suddenly sorry that she had started this—so much for a simple thank-you to this man. His mood was foul. She'd leave him to it.

  "I haven't lied to you."

  "You haven't told me anything."

  She lifted her own hands in a gesture of impatience. "There's nothing to tell you—"

  "I imagine there is."

  ' 'Look, I was trying to say thank you—''

  "The truth would be a nice thank-you."

  "I told you—"

  "Tell me what you told my father that made him choose you for this marriage?"

  What was he accusing her of now? "Go to hell," she told him evenly. "I'm sorry that you don't like anything about this." She started walking by him. She could mount a horse by herself.

  Except that he wouldn't let her. Even as she passed him, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her with ease, and setting her firmly upon Nutmeg. His hands lingered upon her as he looked up at her.

  "I like the nights," he drawled.

  She felt herself blushing. "What a pity, then, that we couldn't stay home. That we're now on a trail into Sioux country with one full-blooded Oglala, another half-breed, and ten cows! And we just won't be able to have a half second alone."

  He started to laugh, mounting up on Tor beside her.

  "Lady Douglas, surely, you've heard! Where there is a will, there is a way. My dear, just where do you think little Indians come from?"

  "You're impossible. You can't begin to think that we'll have a moment's privacy—"

  "I imagine we'll have quite a bit of privacy, actually," he assured her. "There is no more beautiful country than that which surrounds the Black Hills, and I'd be greatly remiss if I did not see to it that you enjoyed the absolute glory of nature all around us."

  "What an incredible man! You're ever so good to me!" she exclaimed sarcastically.

  He walked Tor around her roan, facing her. "Well, Lady Douglas, I didn't want a wife, but I acquired one. And once something is in my possession... well, I do my best."

  "Thank the Lord. In your possession, I just know that I'll be completely safe."

  "Thank the Lord, indeed. I can promise you safety, my love, because I'd kill any man, red or white, who tries to take what is mine."

  The intensity of his words sent of shiver of unease shooting within her. He wasn't a man to be crossed.

  Well, she didn't intend to cross him.

  "Aren't you in a hurry to get moving?" she demanded.

  He shook his head slowly, a satyr's smile curving into his lips. "Not anymore."

  "What?" she demanded.

  "Not anymore."

  "You've been as impatient as a prowling cat all day and now—"

  He pointed to the sky. "The sun will be setting soon. We'll have to catch up with Willow and Sloan tomorrow."

  "But—but—they'll be waiting. They'll be worried. They'll be expecting us, they'll—"

  "I told Sloan that if we ran into darkness, we'd catch up with him tomorrow. They'll wait." "But then—"

  "We'll take a room at the inn." "Tonight?"

  His smile deepened. "Obviously, my dear." "But—"

  "Imagine! All that privacy!" he drawled with relish. "Hmm. Privacy, and a wife who should be damned grateful at the moment. Oh, I should really, really like this night!"

  Fourteen

  "You should be hanged," Skylar muttered.

  He arched a brow, looking at her with mock despair. "Whatever happened to 'Thank you, Lord Douglas, my dear husband'?"

  "You know, Hawk, you have a nasty way of taking advantage of things."

  "I intend to take advantage of things quite pleasantly, actually."

  She groaned.

  His eyes were green fire as he laughed up at her. "You were trying to say thank you properly, weren't you?"

  She groaned again, allowing her face to fall against the roan's mane. He laughed.

  "Come on. I'll leave you at the inn, then take the horses over to the livery stable."

  Hawk came into the inn with her briefly. He apparently knew the round, very proper proprietress, Mrs. Smith- Soames, well enough because the woman was quick to assure him that she had the best room in the house available and that every amenity would be afforded them.

  Skylar was left in the foyer with a cup of tea while Hawk's "customary requirements" were seen to; Hawk took the horses over to the stables. By the time Skylar had finished her tea, a maid appeared to tell her that her room was ready. She followed the girl, who was wearing a black dress and a perfectly starched white apron and cap, up the stairs to the end of the hallway. Double doors opened on a sumptuous room. A huge four-poster bed was against the far wall, a fireplace spanned half the opposing wall, and the largest hip tub Skylar had seen in her entire life, made of copper and wood, sat in front of the fire, steam rising from it in great waves.

  "Lavender soap, Lady Douglas," the young maid said, setting a purple bar down upon a huge pair of bathsheets. "And sandalwood here, for Lord Douglas, of course."

  "Lovely," Skylar murmured.

  The maid moved across the room. "Mrs. Smith-Soames has sent up her finest champagne, ma'am. It's here, with glasses, and some chocolates, all with her fondest wishes for the happiness of your marriage."

  "My marriage ... oh, yes."

  The maid smiled: she was a rosy-cheeked girl with a few traces of a British accent remaining. "If you need anything at all, there's a bellpull by the bed."

  "Thank you so much."

  The girl left her. Skylar restlessly moved about the room. She'd dressed for a night in the wilderness, and now suddenly she was standing on a handsome Persian carpet. Nothing had been what she had imagined since she had come here.

  Did it matter? Her all-important wire was soaring across the country even as she stood there. Jim Pike would receive word tonight. He was so wonderful and kind a man, he would immediately find a way to reach Sabrina, who would be waiting, hoping ...

  By tomorrow, she could pick up her money and be on her way.

  Skylar exhaled, moving thoughtfully across the room to the windows, opening the heavy velvet drapes that fell over them. She thought about Hawk and felt a strange quivering in her abdomen. She was somewhat alarmed to realize that she wasn't dismayed about being here. She wasn't dismayed about him. She was anxious . ..

  Excited.

  No, no, no, no, no, no, no ...

  Yes.

  She frowned, realizing that she could see another establishment just across the yard. She could dimly hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from it. A window on her own level was open. A brunette in nothing but a corset and her the altogether was leaning out the window, laughing delightedly, calling out to a man below. A man who had just stepped out of the saloon next door to the inn and was now lighting a slim cheroot.

  Skylar looked down. Her heart skipped a beat. Blood rushed to her face. The man was Hawk. He was staring back up at the whore, smiling, saying something in return.

  The woman suddenly stared across the way at Skylar. She laughed harder.

  Skylar let the drapes fall. She turned away from the window, incredulous. How long had he been gone? Had he been with the woman? Did he really think that he could just waltz from one woman to the next, from a whore to a wife? A wife he didn 't want. Good God, when she'd been threatened with being forced away, it hadn't mattered what she had said to him. She'd told him that he could have whatever women he desired, hadn't she?

  But good Lord, she hadn't meant it! Well, perhaps she had at the time, but then she'd never imagined a marriage as intimate as the one they were sharing.

  He could move quickly when he chose. Damned quickly. The door opened and he walked in. He'd cast away the cheroot somewhere and entered, closing the door with a shove of a booted foot, folding h
is arms across his chest, his head cocked, green eyes on fire as he stared at her.

  "Spying?"

  "Spying!" she gasped out incredulously.

  "Watching? I hadn't imagined you as the voyeuristic

  type, my love, but then, if there is a different entertainment that might amuse you ... ?"

  "It would amuse me to see you hanged and scalped!" she hissed. She wanted to walk out. He barred the door.

  "What happened to 'thank you'?"

  "I already said it."

  "I thought you meant to show it."

  "You shouldn't think."

  "You shouldn't talk."

  "It seems to me you've found appreciation elsewhere."

  He arched a brow very high, then strode across the room to her. She looked for a way to avoid him; there was none. She backed herself to the window, then there was nowhere else to go. He kept coming. If the window hadn't been closed, she might have fallen right out of it. His hands fell upon her shoulders.

  "Do you immediately think the worst of every man?" he demanded. "Or is it only me?"

  She gritted down hard on her teeth. She shouldn't be goading him. He'd seemed in a strange mood since he'd left his private meeting with Henry Pierpont, yet she didn't think he'd learned anything about her. Still, he seemed dangerously tense. And still, she couldn't seem to control her own tongue. "I just saw you talking to a naked whore," she told him matter-of-factly.

  "She wasn't exactly naked."

  "She wasn't exactly dressed."

  "Did you care?"

  "Perhaps we are in the age of an industrial revolution, but I do not care to be part of an assembly line!" Skylar assured him.

  He shook his head, laughing suddenly. "You want to be believed all the time, taken at face value! I don't know a damned thing about you or what really went on between you and my father, but you tell me that you cared for him and I am simply to believe it. Well, my dear wife, I took our horses to the stable, I talked with old Jeff Healey, and

  I passed by the Ten-Penny Saloon to come here. You are now free to believe me, or not, as you choose."

  "What if I choose not to?"

  "It will make no difference to me."

  She stared back at him, wondering in what way it would make no difference. Would he stay with her anyway—or would he choose to spend the night elsewhere?

  Did the threat matter? She did believe what he was saying.

  She simply wasn't convinced he cared enough about her or her feelings to lie.

  "Do you know the naked whore leaning out the window?" she asked politely.

  "I do," he acknowledged. Her lashes swept her cheeks. He emitted a sound of impatience. "I haven't been a married man that long, you know."

  Her lashes fell again. He set his knuckles beneath her chin, lifting it, forcing her eyes to fall upon his once again. "I stabled the horses, I returned here. I'm going to go downstairs and ask Mrs. Smith-Soames to awaken us at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. When I come back, I really would like not so much a proper thank-you but a bloody truce if nothing else."

  "And if..."

  "And if what?"

  "If I'm not obliging?" she whispered.

  He smiled. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

  He turned and strode away, leaving Skylar to stare after him. She bit into her lower lip, watching the door close in his wake.

  For several seconds she stood very still. Then she suddenly began to kick off her boots, hopping about as she tugged off pantalettes and hose. She cast off her clothing, paused, folded it neatly. She didn't want it to appear that she had been panicked or rushed. She wanted him to think that the truce she had decided to grant him had been a careful decision.

  Not a mad scurry of uncertainty!

  She piled her hair on top of her head, securing it in a knot. Then she plunged into the tub with a washcloth and the lavender soap. She heard the door open and made a careful display of raising one of her legs and slowly, sensuously washing it.

  To her amazement, she suddenly heard a very feminine clearing of the throat. She dropped her leg back into the water and turned around to stare at the young maid who had come back into the room carrying a tray.

  The girl was blushing slightly. "I'm so sorry, Lady Douglas. Lord Douglas suggested I bring up a tray now in case you two get hungry later. I knocked, but you didn't hear me. I thought perhaps you had left the room as well. I didn't mean to interrupt you."

  "You—didn't interrupt me," Skylar murmured, feeling very foolish. The girl scurried into the room, set the tray on a table, and scurried out.

  So much for attempting to become something of a siren, Skylar thought. Maybe he had gone back across the way. To the half-naked, bosomy brunette.

  "Truce?"

  Her eyes flew open. Hawk was back.

  He smiled, hunkering down beside her.

  "I like you wet, you know," he told her. "It brings back fond memories of our first meeting. Is this a truce?" he demanded.

  She nodded, then suddenly stretched out her wet arms, wrapping them around him. "I'm taking you at face value," she said quickly, earnestly. Then she felt the urge to back away from what she was beginning.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm—believing what you say to me." There could be no backing away now.

  He nodded. "Yes?" There was the slightest trace of wry amusement in his voice.

  "I just... I just want you to believe in me, too."

  He nodded. He picked her up, wet and dripping, held her close to him, heedless of the soaking he was getting from her.

  "Hawk?" she murmured insistently.

  "I slay all monsters," he said.

  "Promise?"

  "I promise."

  "No matter what they appear to me?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She shook her head. "Just... if I ever ask, give me the same in return."

  "Skylar—"

  "I swear, I believe what you say. Believe me in return."

  He didn't reply. It didn't matter at the moment. He carried her to the bed, laid her atop it on her stomach. He kissed the entire length of her back, her nape ... each little bone, the small of her back, her buttocks, the backs of her knees, of her thighs ...

  The clean sheets were cool beneath her. The feel of his flesh was fire. The touch of his lips a simmer that brought the blood racing throughout her body. Firelight crackled, the night air was sweet. She was drowning in sensation, sensual comfort... desire.

  The firelight flickered. She came atop him, glowing almost as copper as he in the low-burning light.

  He stroked her cheek, her collarbone, the valley of her breasts.

  "I just have to find a way to be thanked more often," he murmured.

  She smiled. His fingers threaded through the hair at her nape, and she rolled with him. It was their last night in civilization. A reprieve. She allowed the lure of sensation to sweep her into the sweetness of the night.

  Morning always came too soon.

  Senator Brad Dillman sat in his chair before the fire, staring at the flames. Night had come, but he wanted no other light within the room. A blanket lay over his legs; he was warm and comfortable. And waiting.

  Sabrina had been out, which meant something was going on.

  They were sisters, but they were as different as night and day. Skylar could never control her temper; Sabrina could hide her every thought from the world. She could play any role asked of her, and at the moment, she was playing the role of dutiful daughter. At first, Sabrina had obviously been afraid that he'd call the police, report Skylar. Perhaps even have Pinkertons hunt her down. But now . . .

  Now, she was simply . .. dutiful.

  And waiting. He was damned well aware of it.

  He shook his head. Fool girls, they could plot, and they could plan, and they could even run. But they couldn't run far enough or fast enough.

  He heard the door closing downstairs. Very quietly. Sabrina was going out again.

  He quickly rolled his wheelc
hair to the window and saw that Sabrina was indeed hurrying from the house. Furtively, of course. He didn't allow her to go out alone after dark.

  But he certainly intended to let her go this time.

  He spun his chair around and rolled quickly down the hallway to Sabrina's room. He quickly looked over his shoulder. She might well suspect that he could come here, even though she had been very careful not to make him suspicious.

  Skylar had always proven to be trouble. He should have gotten rid of her when she was a child. The idea of killing a child had never disturbed him. General Sherman himself had said it best in reference to the Indian problem when the soldiers killed little ones by accident or design—nits make lice. However, with all the accusations she had thrown his way, it had always seemed best to appear the martyred stepfather. Now she had somehow made good an escape. He'd had his aides go through every train, ship, and stage schedule available, and they had found no trace of a Connor traveling, or even of a single female. He didn't know what she had managed, but one thing was certain—

  she would send for Sabrina. And when Sabrina went to her...

  Well, now she wasn't a child anymore. But she still hadn't discovered what she was up against.

  He'd find her.

  And when he did ...

  She'd be easier to kill than her honorable damned father.

  Where to look ...

  He smiled suddenly. High. If she'd had correspondence, she would have hidden it high. Where a crippled man couldn't find it.

  He started to laugh.

  Thirty minutes later, he was making his own plans for travel.

  And though it was late, he was a senator. He had no difficulty summoning an aide and explaining that it was necessary his telegram get out that night. He was a part of the government of the United States, a lawmaker. If there was anything he could do to help his country in the current Sioux situation, he naturally had to become involved, no matter what personal dangers it might entail.

  He slept very well that night.

  Better than he had slept in a long, long time.

  As he drifted into slumber, he imagined proving his power to her, taking his revenge.

  He'd find her.

  Oh, God, yes! He'd find her. And now he was close, so very damned close ...