No Other Man (22 page)

"Perhaps.
But you'll understand if I find it difficult to trust you. I'll see that the
arrangements are made."

She
started to speak again, but he interrupted her. "I'll also see to it that
you have a reasonable sum of money for personal expenses."

"I
don't really want your money," she said uncomfortably. "I
just—needed it."

"Women always need money, don't they?"

"Not
necessarily. Not usually. I wouldn't have taken anything from you if. . ."

"If you hadn't felt that you had to?"

She refused to meet his eyes.

"So
you really don't want to take anything from me, but earning it in your own mind
is different?"

She had
gotten what she wanted from him, nonetheless, it didn't seem to calm the
tempest within her. At that moment, she wanted to slap him with every ounce of
strength in her. But again she controlled her temper. Sabrina wasn't here yet.

She stared up at him furiously. "Have I earned it?"

"A down payment, at the least."

Temperance
lost out. She gritted her teeth, striking out, then rueing the action because
he had goaded her into it, and far too easily he caught her wrists, bringing
them back to her sides.

He arched
a taunting brow as he stared down at her; for the moment, she almost wondered
which of them he mocked. He spoke somewhat harshly. "A man's wife is
entitled to his resources," he said.

Startled
by his words and manner, she felt again the tug of wounded pride. "I will
be all right on my own," she told him. "Once you've sent for Sabrina,
there will be nothing I want, and there really isn't anything I need here at
the house."

"Umm.
You'd be happy as a lark with me out of it?"

"I didn't say—"

"You
didn't need to." He suddenly rose, picking her nightgown up from the
floor, offering it to her. "I do, however, insist you dress before going
back to your own room."

She
took the garment from him. Then she inched back on the bed, realizing that she
was shaking as she tried to shimmy quickly back into it. But he wasn't watching
her. He was pulling his pants back on.

"You're
free to escape," he said lightly. "You've done what you came to
do."

She
flushed deeply, dismayed to feel that she was being dismissed.

"You
can be very cruel," she told him, rising with as much dignity as she could
muster.

"Can I? Well, you can be very secretive."

"You're a stranger."

"One
you accidentally married for the sole purpose of coming here. And taking over
Mayfair."

"Well,
then, I suppose, as you have suggested, I will revel in it in the days to
come!" she said lightly, turning to leave.

He
laughed softly. She was startled by his hand upon her arm, swinging her back to
face him. "No, I
don't
suppose!"
he informed her.

"What
do you mean? If your trip was so important—"

"It is."

"You mean that you're not going?" "I'm going."

"Then—"

"My love, you're coming with me."

She
stared at him, then gasped, pulling free from his louch. "But you're
riding out into the true wilderness for days. You're riding out to spend time
among the Sioux. You—"

"Right.
You're forgetting something I keep telling you. I met you as a Sioux. There was
no charade in that. I am a Sioux. Just as you are Lady Douglas, mistress of
Mayfair, you're also wife to Thunder Hawk, warrior of the Oglala Sioux. You've
spent some time at Mayfair. Now you'll get to see a bit of the other half of
the life you have chosen."

She
continued to stare at him, convinced he wasn't serious.

"But—"

He put
his hands upon her shoulders, this time prodding her toward the door.

"Go
to bed; get some sleep. We'll have to start early to make the arrangements you
want and still give ourselves most of the day to ride into the hills."

"Wait!"
she cried, turning back to him, searching his eyes and looking for some hint
that he was only teasing her. "I'd prefer to stay here—"

"Yes, I know."

"You're just being cruel again."

"I'm
not in the least. I can't leave you here. I don't trust you."

"There's no reason not to trust—"

"Skylar, my mind is made up."

She
slammed her bare foot against the floor. "This is America!" she
informed him.

He
laughed. "That's debatable at the moment! Skylar, go to bed. Get some
sleep. You're going with me."

"I refuse—"

"Afraid of Indians?" he taunted lightly.

"Damned wary of them," she countered.

"Uram.
But you've already been savaged and waylaid by one. Good heaven! You're married
to one. What greater horror could befall you?''

"I'm fond of the hair on my head.''

"Actually, I rather enjoy your hair, too."

"You—"

"I assure you, I'll see that you keep it."

"Are
you so sure you can keep your own?" she demanded.

"I
know where I am riding," he told her. "You can ride with me, or I can
bring you along the same way I did when I met your stagecoach."

"Attacked
the stagecoach."

He shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest.

Oh, God, she thought with dread. He was serious.

"It's
going to be a very early morning," he warned her, his eyes narrowing,
"if you want to wire money east."

"You're bribing me!"

He
shook his head. "I don't have to bribe you. You're going. That's decided.
How you go is up to you, and actually, it doesn't make much difference to
me."

She
gritted down very hard on her teeth. He was going to send for Sabrina. He was
going to give her the hundred dollars. That was what mattered.

"Fine!" she snapped out.

"Fine?" he said skeptically.

"Fine! I just said fine, I'll go."

"You're right," he said very softly. "You will."

"And you are a damned savage!" she hissed.

He
laughed softly, suddenly pulling her to him. "You were wonderfully savage
yourself tonight, my love!"

She
tried to kick him, but he moved swiftly enough to avoid her toes.

"Bastard!"
she cried, jerking free from him and striding to the door, which she slammed
behind her with such force she was sure its reverberation could be heard
throughout the house.

Then
she spun, and ran toward her own room with all possible speed.

Thirteen

E
verything was going to be all right. Despite the fact
that she was far from thrilled by the prospect of riding into completely
uncivilized country with Hawk, she should have had the easiest rest she had
known since arriving in the Dakota Territory. Hawk was going to send for
Sabrina first thing in the morning. Jimmy Pike at Pike's Inn would receive the
wire and slip word to Sabrina. And she would be free as well.

Maybe
it was her relief that brought that last incident rushing back into her dreams.

Dillman. Unchanged. After so many years.

Handsomely
dressed in his dark suit, tall and trim. He spent hours each week at his club,
boxing, shooting, fencing, perfecting his physique and his image. The ultimate
politician.

With the local police in his pocket.

He'd
had over a decade then in which to achieve the image. As a young child, Skylar
had known only that he'd killed her father. As she'd grown up in what he had
made into his own household, she had come to realize many things about the man
and his motives. He had seen what her father had possessed, not just in
material goods, but in

his home and family, and most importantly, his position in
the very exclusive strata cf Baltimore society. By killing her father, he had
won her mother, and when Jill, the granddaughter of a Revolutionary War hero,
had accepted and wed him, he was well on his way to achieving all that he
desired—power, social prestige, and wealth.

There were times when Skylar could almost be glad that she
had grown up in the darkened shadow of war herself. She and Sabrina moved in
the proper circles and attended all the right parties. The tension of living in
their house was sometimes alleviated by social functions. And though Skylar
had actually met several men she had liked and enjoyed, she had been grateful
that the pressure to marry young had been taken away simply because so many
young men had been killed. Dillman wasn't ready for the girls to marry because
his family made such an attractive political platform. Skylar and Sabrina were
not ready to leave either their mother or each other.

Jill's death, however, had changed everything.

Skylar had been convinced that despite their loss, she and
Sabrina could at last find freedom.

She and Brad Dillman had fought on the upper landing of the
stairway. It was rightfully their home, but after their mother had died and
been buried, Skylar had wanted only to get away. She had stayed all those years
because of her mother, even if Jill had failed to see the evil in Brad Dili-
man. There were times when Skylar had hated her mother for refusing to see the
truth, but then she had realized that Jill had been completely shattered when
Skylar's father had been murdered. She had wanted so desperately to believe in
Dillman. And Dillman had been good at his chosen role; he had made such a point
of being so tender and gentle, taking care of everything for Jill in her
sorrow—even dealing with a hurt young child who ignored his goodness and made
terrible accusations against him. He had always pretended to be the perfect
gentleman to his wife. Jill had always believed that Skylar's love for her own
deceased father had allowed her to create terrible fantasies in her mind about
Dillman because she simply could not accept him as a stepfather.

It had not just been her love for her mother that had kept
her home, refusing the marriage proposals that had come her way; it had been
the veiled threats that Dillman had cast out over the years. Reminders that sad
things could suddenly happen to people who appeared to be in the very best of
health.

But then Jill had died.

And on the stairway that day, Skylar was finished with any
attempt of pretense regarding Dillman.

"Now there's no way for you to stop me from leaving. You
can't threaten me with Mother anymore because she's dead, she's free—"

"And she never did believe you, did she?" Brad had
taunted. "She'd never have doubted me in a thousand years, Skylar, no
matter what you might have tried to tell her! Because she needed me, and she
wanted me. And she didn't want to believe those awful lies you tried to tell
her, did she? Remember what happened, Skylar, when you tried to convince her
that I killed your wonderful father?"

Skylar knew. Everyone had been horrified that she could have
accused a man such as Brad Dillman of murder. People had thought that she was
distraught. Bereft, insane with grief. Because everyone believed that Brad had
tried everything to save her father, everything. He had been there, such a
firm, strong support for the family, there for her mother, there for them all.
..

Her mother had been so upset, she'd left the problem of
Skylar up to Dillman. As sad as it was, Skylar had to be punished for saying
such terrible things. God, had Dillman laughed when they had been alone
together. And enjoyed the responsibility of taking a switch to her.

It didn't help to remember the past.

"Dillman, you're the fool. My mother knew about your
other women."

"She knew I slept beside her every night, and she was
grateful."

"You're despicable. And what you have to say to me
doesn't matter in the least anymore. I'm leaving. And I'll get lawyers to
settle the estate—"

"The estate? Skylar, you've always been a little girl,
trying to play against men. Do you think that I've spent all these years here
and failed to see to the estate? Let's see, your mother inherited a fine income
from your father. Lord knows, I needed that money! So when your poor father
died, I married your mother. I managed the money and the legal affairs. You try
to leave, and you'll get nothing."

"Maybe. I'll take my chances and fight you. Surely
Mother left provisions in her will for Sabrina and me."

"And maybe she didn't think that she needed to leave
provisions for you when she was leaving you in my custody."

"Maybe I don't care. I just need enough to get away from
you. And I will somehow take Sabrina—"

"Skylar, Skylar! Still the little fool! Did you think it
could possibly be so simple? You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay
right here. Sabrina is not yet twenty- one; she is legally in my custody. We're
going to continue to be the proper family. I want the whole package, Miss
Skylar, just as I have always wanted it, needed it. My constituents like my
family image; the United States senator and his two beautiful young daughters.
We're a family; we understand the difficulties of a family in this day and age.
We know about God and society! You're not going to do anything to jeopardize
the career I've worked so hard to build—"

"The career you've murdered for?" she accused him.

He hadn't been more than a few feet away. A handsome,
compelling man, one whose charm had stood him well throughout the years, one
whose charm masked the evil within him, a cruelty that was almost casual in its
endeavors.

He'd been a strict stepfather throughout the years, his
manner sad and despairing to his associaties when he discussed discipline in
the home, but he'd seemed to relish the task of finding the proper switches to
use against his stepdaughters when they disobeyed. Despite the pleasure lie had
always found in inflicting pain and the ease with which he doled it out, she
still wasn't prepared for the force of the blow that came crashing down against
the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. The pain was staggering. It
robbed her of breath and of vision, and for seconds, even of consciousness. She
awoke, blinking, still in pain. He was on top of her, his one hand clasped
around her throat, the other moving over her cheek.