‘What are you doing up so early?’ she prompted lightly.
Falkner grimaced. ‘I couldn’t sleep, either.’
She frowned. ‘Nothing to do with me, I hope?’
His eyes narrowed in the gloom. ‘Why should you think it might have anything to do with you?’ he rasped.
Skye was taken aback at his harshness. ‘I only meant—thought—’
‘I do have other concerns in my life besides you, you know, Skye,’ he continued with cold dismissal, placing his empty cup down on the table with a controlled thud.
Of course he did. She knew that he did. Until this past week, when he had once again been thrust into awareness of her existence, he probably hadn’t given her a thought for the last six years.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘After you,’ Falkner invited wearily as they both began talking at the same time.
She shook her head. ‘I’m really sorry you’ve become involved in all this, Falkner.’
‘All what?’ he prompted softly.
‘I—the accident. My being here. All of it!’ She couldn’t go on any more.
He made an impatient movement of dismissal. ‘It was my choice to become involved, Skye.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ he cut in firmly. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you just now,’ he added self-disgustedly.
Skye gave a grimace. ‘Falkner, this whole—situation, is going to become even more ridiculous if we feel the need to apologize to each other for everything we say over the next four days.’
‘Four days?’ he echoed frowningly.
Skye avoided his probing gaze now. ‘Until after—once the funeral is over—’
‘Skye, I don’t think you should consider going back to Ireland for a few weeks, at least,’ he cut in firmly. ‘For one thing you aren’t fit enough to travel anywhere yet. For another—’ He broke off, his expression guarded, it seemed to Skye. ‘I—there’s nothing there for you, Skye,’ he finally added determinedly.
Skye flinched at the truth of his words. All that remained of her life in Ireland was an empty house. Even Storm was now comfortably stabled here.
She had realized the previous evening, after Falkner had walked off, that once again he hadn’t exactly answered her question as to why he had brought Storm here, but perhaps he just had…
‘There’s Uncle Seamus,’ she reminded sharply.
If anything Falkner’s expression became even more determined. ‘I believe I’ve already made my opinion of your uncle Seamus more than clear.’
‘Yes, you have,’ she sighed, remembering that opinion only too well. ‘But he’s had a tough time this last year—’
‘And you haven’t?’ Falkner reasoned harshly.
She shrugged. ‘My wife didn’t walk out on me after five years of marriage.’
‘Frankly, Skye, having now met your uncle Seamus, I’m surprised it took her that long!’ Falkner’s tone was scathing.
If Skye were truthful, so was she. Uncle Seamus had met and married Aunt Shanna in Dublin more than five years ago, the two of them enjoying the hectic social life there, Uncle Seamus’s decision to move to the family’s country estate two years ago not suiting Aunt Shanna at all. A year ago she had announced that she couldn’t stand living in the country a moment longer, and had moved back to Dublin. Which was when Uncle Seamus’s drinking bouts had become even heavier than usual.
But she didn’t exactly welcome Falkner’s open criticism of her uncle.
‘At least he only drank his marriage away,’ she defended heatedly.
And just as instantly regretted it as she saw the ominous way Falkner’s face darkened. With good reason, she accepted uncomfortably; she had no idea of the circumstances behind his own marriage breakdown, had only read in the newspapers the things his wife had accused him of.
Falkner had become dangerously still. ‘Meaning what exactly?’ he prompted softly.
But Skye wasn’t in the least fooled by the mildness of his tone, knew that she had touched a raw nerve. One she had no right expressing an opinion on.
She closed her eyes briefly before once again looking across the table at him. ‘Falkner, I didn’t mean—’
‘Yes, you did, damn it,’ he rasped, pushing the chair back to get noisily to his feet. ‘You know nothing about my marriage, Skye, or the reasons for its breakdown. Nothing,’ he repeated harshly, his eyes seeming to glitter silver in the subdued lighting as he glared down at her.
Lighting Skye was grateful for as she felt her cheeks pale. ‘You’re right, I don’t.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I was just—I shouldn’t have—’
‘Forget it,’ he rasped, shaking his head with impatient dismissal.
‘I have a meeting in London this morning,’ he added abruptly. ‘Do you think you can you manage to amuse yourself for a few hours?’
He was being deliberately insulting now, Skye recognized, at the same time acknowledging that he had a perfect right to be after what she had just implied about the breakdown of his marriage, and subsequent divorce.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed huskily, looking down at the table so that she no longer had to see the anger in his face.
Or watch him leave.
Because she suddenly felt bereft at the thought of him going. Oh, she knew Mrs Graham would be in the house somewhere for the morning, so she wouldn’t be alone, but that wasn’t the same as having Falkner here…
‘Skye…?’
She couldn’t look up, knew that he would see the tears in her eyes if she did that. ‘Don’t let me keep you, Falkner,’ she dismissed hardly.
‘I—Skye, are you crying?’ he demanded impatiently, coming down on his haunches beside her chair to put his hand under her chin so that he could look into her face. ‘You are crying,’ he realized exasperatedly even as he pulled her roughly into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder.
The tears felt like hot lava falling down her cheeks, and they wouldn’t stop falling, the shoulder of Falkner’s shirt soaking wet with them by the time Skye raised her head to look at him.
‘I can’t believe this.’ She shook her head emotionally. ‘I hadn’t cried at all until—until you came to the hospital yesterday.’ And now she couldn’t stop.
‘Then it’s past time that you did,’ Falkner said grimly.
Perhaps. But she didn’t like breaking down like this in front of Falkner. ‘I’ve made your shirt all wet—’
‘I have plenty of others I can change into,’ he dismissed impatiently, his gaze searching on the paleness of her face. ‘Skye, do you want to come with me?’
She blinked. ‘To London?’
His expression softened slightly. ‘It isn’t quite the den of iniquity it’s cracked up to be—especially at nine o’clock in the morning!’
Skye grimaced. ‘I know that. I just thought—won’t I be in the way?’
‘Possibly,’ he answered with his usual bluntness. ‘But I can live with that.’
Skye gave a watery smile. ‘In that case, I’ll stay here.’ Contrarily, it was the fact that he had said she could go with him that was enough for her to know she would be okay here until his return, after all.
Falkner raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Women! Or rather—woman!’ he corrected dryly. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand any of you!’
‘Would you want to?’ Skye mused ruefully. ‘I thought it was those unexplainable differences between men and women that made us interesting to each other?’
Falkner put her firmly back on her chair before straightening, wincing slightly as he straightened his right leg. ‘Maybe,’ he accepted dryly. ‘It’s too early in the morning for me to be able to figure that one out!’
Skye frowned as he stepped awkwardly away from her, noticing that he put most of his weight on his left leg as he did so, moistening her lips before speaking. ‘Does it—does your leg still hurt you?’
It was as if a shutter had come down ove
r those expressive blue eyes, his expression once again remotely distant. ‘Yes, it still hurts me,’ he rasped evenly. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he snapped harshly.
She frowned. ‘I just wondered—’ She broke off, realizing she was overstepping a line as she saw the way his jaw had tightened ominously.
‘Yes?’ Falkner prompted tautly. ‘You just wondered what?’ he pressured as she chewed uncomfortably on her bottom lip.
She grimaced. ‘If you can still ride. And if—if you missed competing professionally,’ she admitted regretfully, wishing she had never started this conversation.
He drew himself up to his full impressive height, towering over her now. ‘Not that it’s any of your business—but, yes, I can still ride,’ he bit out coldly. ‘After a fashion. As for competing…’ His expression became bleak. ‘I would have had to give that up one day, anyway.’
Yes, but not in the abrupt way he had been forced to do so. He had been, and had remained so until the day of his accident, one of the top riders in the world; surely he had to miss all that?
‘Skye,’ he snapped as he seemed to read the sympathy in her eyes—and deeply resented it! ‘You should already know that self-pity is an emotion I have no time for,’ he harshly reminded her of his remarks of yesterday. ‘As for other people’s sympathy—! I would suggest that you concentrate on your own injuries, and leave me to concentrate on mine!’ he rasped scathingly before turning away. ‘I should be back by lunchtime, but if I’m not, go ahead and eat without me.’
As she watched him limp over towards the door Skye wondered if she would ever feel like eating again.
She hadn’t meant to upset him; goodness knew, he had been nothing but kind to her, in his own unique way, since coming to the hospital yesterday. She just couldn’t help her feelings of curiosity concerning him, wanted to know everything that had happened to him in the six years since she had last seen him. And beyond.
‘And, Skye…’ He paused to turn as he reached the open kitchen door.
She looked across at him hopefully. ‘Yes?’
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘I know I originally said I didn’t mind if you walked around my home stark naked, but if you feel the need to come downstairs again for a drink in the middle of the night, put some more clothes on, hmm? Mrs Graham might be shocked!’ came his parting shot before he left the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind him.
Skye stared after him open-mouthed. She hadn’t thought—hadn’t given any thought—Falkner must have been able to feel her nakedness beneath the nightshirt as he’d held her in his arms a few minutes ago.
And why not? Hadn’t she been as aware of him with every inch of her being…?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘EXACTLY what do you think you’re doing?’
Skye gave a guilty start as she recognized the harshness of Falkner’s voice, straightening slowly to look over Storm’s withers to where Falkner stood at the stable door, his expression unreadable with the sunlight filtering into the stable from behind him. But the impatience in his voice was enough of an indication of his mood.
‘Grooming Storm?’ she answered unnecessarily; it must be perfectly obvious what she was doing.
‘Against the doctor’s instructions,’ he rebuked harshly. ‘Against my instructions,’ he added irritably as he came into the stable, locking the lower door behind him as he did so.
Skye had a pretty good idea which of those instructions Falkner considered the more important.
But she had spent most of the morning in the cosiness of the kitchen talking to Mrs Graham or flicking through one of the cookery books that were all the reading matter the other woman had. She’d eaten the light lunch of scrambled eggs the housekeeper had insisted on preparing for her, and still Falkner hadn’t returned from his business meeting. Left with a choice between making a nuisance of herself in the kitchen all afternoon, or coming out to the stable to see Storm, Skye had known exactly which one she preferred to do.
It had seemed silly once she was in the stable not to give Storm a soothing groom…Although she could see by Falkner’s disapproving expression as he stepped into the light that he didn’t quite see it that way.
‘I’m fine, Falkner,’ she assured him lightly, giving Storm another brush to prove her point. ‘See. It doesn’t hurt a bit.’
Falkner looked as if he was having great difficulty not giving her that ‘warmed backside’ he had mentioned yesterday! ‘I leave you alone for a few hours—’
‘Falkner, I’m twenty-four years old, not four!’ Her eyes flashed a warning at him across Storm’s withers.
He looked at her scathingly. ‘A four-year-old with broken ribs would have known not to groom a horse. You just can’t be trusted to behave yourself even for a few hours, can you?’
Skye became very still. ‘I can be trusted, Falkner,’ she assured him, her jaw clenched in an effort not to completely lose her temper.
‘I disagree—I didn’t mean in that way, Skye,’ he bit out exasperatedly as he suddenly realized what she meant. ‘I have never believed those stories about Connor,’ he said quietly.
So many other people had though, the collapse of O’Hara Whiskey still under investigation. But there was little point to that now, Skye acknowledged bitterly; with her father dead, what difference did it make why or how the company had failed in the way that it had…?
‘Skye?’
She looked across at Falkner, mentally shaking herself out of her despondency. ‘Did you have a successful morning?’ she prompted lightly.
He shrugged, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘Not bad,’ he dismissed enigmatically. ‘I won’t bother to ask what you did with your morning,’ he added reprovingly.
Letting her know she wasn’t going to get off that lightly!
‘I thought I was a guest here, Falkner,’ she snapped, ‘not a prisoner!’
His face darkened at the accusation. ‘And I thought you were convalescing after your recent injuries!’
‘I am,’ she sighed, moving to put the grooming equipment back in its box. ‘But I’m bored, Falkner,’ she groaned. ‘There’s only so many recipe books I can look through without wanting to throw them out the window. Especially as I can’t cook.’ She grimaced.
He raised blond brows. ‘Not at all?’
She shrugged. ‘Eggs and bacon, for when we had early starts, but other than that, no, I can’t cook,’ she admitted reluctantly; the next thing she knew, Falkner would be insisting she spend time in the kitchen with Mrs Graham taking cookery lessons! ‘I was my father’s assistant, Falkner,’ she added defensively. ‘I can organise an office, run a stable, make great coffee,’ she added pointedly. ‘Even change a punctured tyre on any vehicle you care to name, but any of the more feminine accomplishments are beyond me.’
They had always had a housekeeper to run the house in Ireland, and until Aunt Shanna’s appearance in their lives Skye hadn’t even possessed a skirt or a dress, her new aunt the one to insist on taking her shopping for more feminine clothes.
Perhaps to some people her unbringing, until six years ago, by two old bachelors had been unorthodox, but Skye had certainly never felt as if she were missing out on anything.
Falkner smiled as she looked at him challengingly. ‘In that case, you’re going to make some lucky man a wonderful husband.’
She gave a disgusted snort. ‘I’m not going to make some “lucky man” anything. I never intend to marry,’ she told Falkner flatly as he looked at her questioningly.
He looked surprised. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because—’ She broke off as Storm nuzzled her in protest of her distracted attention. ‘He wants some exercise,’ she told Falkner ruefully.
He nodded. ‘I’ll have George take him out. Give it a few days before you even attempt it yourself, Skye, hmm?’ he prompted as her expression became wistful.
‘Storm doesn’t like anyone to ride him nowadays but me,’ she protested.
‘And me,’ Falkner t
old her quietly. ‘I rode him while I was in Ireland, Skye,’ he explained as she looked at him sharply.
‘You did…?’ She couldn’t hide her surprise at this; as Storm had got older, his temperament had become even more cantankerous, so much so that even their groom refused to ride him any more.
‘He had to get used to me in a hurry if we were going to travel over here together,’ Falkner told her briskly. ‘As it was, he almost kicked in the side of the horsebox in an effort to show his displeasure!’
Skye turned back to the stallion. ‘Poor darlin’,’ she crooned, her hand soothing on his glossy neck.
‘And what about me?’ Falkner prompted dryly.
She turned back to him, brows raised. ‘You were there by choice—Storm wasn’t!’
‘Ungrateful little minx!’ Falkner complained ruefully. ‘I ached all over by the time we arrived back here at midnight.’
‘I’m sure a hot bath soon sorted that out for you,’ Skye came back dismissively.
Although she wasn’t really as unsympathetic as she sounded, she just knew that Falkner wouldn’t thank her for drawing attention to the injuries that obviously still caused him so much discomfort. But she had noticed that he was limping more heavily this afternoon, the drive and his time in London obviously having tired him more than he cared to admit, knew that the trip from Ireland with Storm must have been excruciatingly uncomfortable for him. Making her wonder once again why he had bothered…
‘I can see I’m not going to get any sympathy from you,’ Falkner muttered wryly. ‘I’m driving into the town in a few minutes. Is there anything you need while I’m there?’
Skye’s expression brightened. ‘To go with you!’
He frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea—’
‘Why on earth not?’ she protested.
‘You’re supposed to be resting—’
‘If I rest much more today I’m going to scream!’ she warned him determinedly.
Falkner sighed his impatience. ‘And if I had known you were going to be this much trouble I would have left you in the hospital a few more days!’
His Bid for a Bride Page 5
