No Other Man (15 page)

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!"

The water grew cold. She rose, dried herself vigorously with
the warmed towel, then opened her trunk. The clothing within it was new,
purchased in St. Louis once she'd reached that gateway westward. She bit
lightly into her lower lip, reflecting upon David Douglas. He'd insisted she
carry with her a certain amount of cash—necessary if she was to help him, so he
had said. She blinked back threatened tears, thinking of the care he had
determined to give her, even if his son had not. He'd made quite certain even
before his death that his Maryland banker would see to the return of his body,
and his last business papers, to his home in the West. He'd made certain she'd
had money for any immediate needs. Then, of course, the trickery came in,
because he'd assured her as well, in the event of something happening to him,
she needed only reach Mayfair, and his "people" would help her understand
his affairs.

"Well, David, I am beginning to understand!" she
murmured aloud. She still missed him. And she still believed that he had meant
the best for her.

She selected a chemise, bodice, pantalettes, and one of the
two remaining mourning gowns she had purchased, one with a black silk skirt and
form-hugging velvet bodice. She donned it quickly, then brushed her hair with a
nervous fervor and started for the door. She paused, staring at the bellpull.
She didn't need help to get down the stairs. She'd go on her own.

She hurried down and found the foyer empty. She hesitated,
then chose the set of doors to the left of the stairway, quietly pushing them
open.

Candles blazed in the room. Dozens of them. Lord David
Douglas's coffin, draped in black, sat in the center of the room on a long
table.

Hawk was seated in a high-backed brown leather chair before
the table, his green eyes on the coffin, his long fingers resting on the arms
of the chair. Chameleonlike, he appeared incredibly different from the war-painted
man she had first met, and yet, when those eyes lifted to hers, she discovered
them to be as searing and warlike as ever. He could slide easily into either
world, she thought. This was his heritage, and seated in the leather chair, he
seemed very much the lord, a power within the white, civilized world. Tonight
he was elegant, austere. The perfect nobleman.

His father's son.

"You were told to summon someone to bring you
down," he said coldly.

"I didn't need any help to find the way."

His eyes rose to hers. She thought she saw an accusatory
expression in them "But I did not wish to be disturbed. I will spend
toniglit alone with my father. Dinner awaits you in the dining room. You may
retire at your leisure."

She didn't think she'd ever been quite so cleanly dismissed
in all her life. She tried to understand his feelings. Surely, he had loved his
father. Loved him deeply. And was now grieving for him.

Yet she couldn't forgive him for the way he was treating her.

"You may go straight to hell," she told him icily,
and with tremendous dignity, turning as quickly as she had come, headed out of
the room. She crossed the foyer, threw open the second set of doors, and
entered the dining room. A single place was set at the end of the elegant
dining table that might have easily accommodated a party of twelve. Two candles
glowed over the fine china dishes, and a crystal wine glass sat beside a
bottle of burgundy.

As she stood there, a woman entered the room from the rear
doorway. She was plump and matronly, with sparkling blue eyes and snow-white
hair. She spoke with a refreshingly cheerful Irish brogue. "Ah, dearie,
there you be! Welcome then to Mayfair! My, but you're a beautiful wee
creature! I'm Megan, my lady, Meggie, as the girls do call me. Cook, chief dish
washer, and unfortunately, the best excuse for a butler his poor dear departed
lordship could find, way out here in the wilds of the frontier!"

"Meggie," Skylar said. "It's a pleasure to
meet you."

"Ah, dear, the pleasure is mine! And, I must add, the
surprise! None of us had the least notion that Lord Douglas planned on
returning with a wife for Hawk, but look at ye, my dear child; what a fine job
he's done of it! And lord, but well, we should have seen it coming, thinking
back now, and not the least of it, Hawk himself! But I do go on. Sit, child.
I've my famous beef and kidney pie, with pastry light as clouds, and the finest
wine to give y'a fine welcome home, lass." Meggie pulled out the chair at the
end of the table. Skylar thanked her and took it, reflecting that even if Hawk
was a monster, the people who shared his home tended to be charming. She'd
discovered that she liked Wil- low, that he was an intelligent and thoughtful
man. Jack Logan was polite and little Two Feathers charming. Then there was
Sandra. A young, incredibly beautiful, and exotic woman, living within his
household. He'd told her there were women in his life. She'd told him that he
must keep them there. She was certain he fully intended to do so.

"Take your seat; I'll be right back."

Meggie was good to her word, disappearing for less than a few
seconds before reappearing with a tray of food. She poured the wine while
urging Skylar to dig in. Skylar was aware that the older woman studied her with
good-humored interest and curiosity. " 'Tis such a hotbed you've come
into, though, lass! Like as not, things will get worse as well!"

' 'What do you mean?'' Skylar asked with a frown. The food
was delicious. She would certainly not suffer any of the hardships of the
frontier here at Mayfair.

Meggie shrugged. "Ah, well, now, we've been here for
quite some time, of course—I came here nearly twenty-five years ago to work for
Lord David, imagine—but most whites, well, they've just started venturing here
in the last year, since Colonel Custer opened the way through the Black Hills,
bringing his massive army with him! What will happen now is anyone's guess,
what with the government trying to buy what they had promised as sacred land to
the Indians and more and more of the Sioux standing like proud men, determined
to tolerate no more of the government's treacherous ways!"

"The government has been at war with the Indians as long
as I can remember," Skylar said.

"Off and on, yes. But you don't understand until you've
been out here a while that the Indians are not one enemy. You can make peace
with one band and still have a thousand enemies. You can wage war against them
one day and play cards with them the next. You can find yourself under attack
by a Hunkpapa Sioux, and have his brother, a Brule, perhaps, plead for your
life and rescue you. Ah, well, the hostile bands are keeping west of the hills
these days. It's a hotbed indeed, but we've been good and safe here these many
years, and so it will continue. The Sioux do keep their promises better then
most white men, that I can tell you!"

With a sniff, Meggie shook her head. "Now you go ahead
and eat, lass. I'll be back shortly."

Skylar finished her meal, swirling the dark burgundy in her
glass before drinking it down. She rose then quickly, determined to depart
before Meggie returned, anxious to do a little exploration on her own. When she
exited the dining room and slipped back to the foyer she heard voices coming
from the parlor. The door stood ajar. She glanced through it. Several cavalry
officers were in the room. Three stood before David's coffin, their heads
bowed. A fourth stood with Hawk at the rear of the room, speaking to him in an
anxious, heated whisper. The man looked up. His gaze happened to fall exactly
where she stood. He broke off, staring at her with a curious, fascinated smile.
Hawk, frowning, followed the officer's line of vision. His eyes touched hers
with their customary green sizzle. She would have turned and fled had it not
been for the military men. She refused to appear to be a coward.

"My wife, Major," Hawk said, lifting a hand.
"Do join us, my dear."

She knew he wanted her in there as much as he wanted a
rattler. The invitation was merely a show of courtesy. But she lifted her chin
and stepped forward, extending a hand to the tall, handsome cavalry officer who
took her hand and bent over it to kiss the back of it lightly.

"Lady Douglas!" he murmured.

He was somewhere around her husband's age, well built and
striking. He had rich dark hair with a reddish tint to it, and very deep dark
eyes. Like Hawk, he had an intriguingly sculpted face. There was certainly some
Indian blood in this man as well. His eyes were frank in their curiosity and
his admiration of her. "What a pleasant surprise. We had not heard prior
to the night before last that Hawk is now a married man. Your husband so rarely
travels into civiliza tion, we'd never have imagined him taking a whi—er, a new
wife. That he has acquired such a devastating beauty scarcely seems fair."

"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."