Always in My Dreams (24 page)

"Mr. Caide thinks I should dismiss you. What do you think, Miss Dennehy?"

"I think it only matters what
you
think."

"Just so." His head turned in Walker's direction. "You'd do well to remember that, too." He stood. "Do you want to leave, Miss Dennehy? I should think tonight's experience might send you packing of your own accord. No one would think less of you."

It simply wasn't a consideration. No one thought much of her now. "One doesn't give up a position because of a bad dream, Mr. Parnell." Skye felt Parnell's thorough assessment as his dark blue eyes roamed over her. It was all she could do to sit still for it. The sensation was one of being physically touched, as if fingers were gliding over her face, her shoulders, along her arms. She knew he would find no evidence that she'd been hurt, nothing he could lay at Walker Caide's door. There was simply nothing to be found. But in spite of what she maintained in front of Parnell and Walker, Skye knew something had been done to her. It had
not
been a dream.

* * *

Upon being given her leave by Parnell, Skye headed for her room. She was almost to the top of the stairs when she heard the doors below her open and close again. Sensing Walker was going to follow her, Skye increased her pace. She wasn't quick enough to prevent him from shouldering his way through the door before she could close it.

Skye immediately put space between herself and Walker. Her arms came across her middle. She hugged herself protectively. "What do you want?"

"You."

She flushed. Her eyes darted away, embarrassed by the frank look in his. "It wasn't a dream," she said quietly. She hadn't known she was going to say the words until they were out.

His features remained expressionless. "Come with me," he said. "You'll spend the rest of the night in my room."

Skye's head came up. "No. I won't do that."

"You don't have any choice. None."

"Mr. Parnell didn't say—"

"Mr. Parnell is allowing me to handle this." He stepped aside and indicated the door. "You can ask him if you wish. Now, before he returns to bed." When she didn't move immediately, he said, "Good. You know I'm telling you the truth." He pointed to her nightshift and her robe. "Collect your things and come with me." He picked up his blankets and pillow from the floor. "If you don't like it, you can always quit."

"I can't afford to do that." It was true, she thought, but not in the way he would think. Skye would always count it as a failure if she left the Granville house now.

He shrugged. "Then you'll have to learn to make the best of these circumstances."

Skye picked up her nightgown. "Allow me to change here." She had a dressing room where she could have some privacy. Walker's room had none.

Walker merely pointed toward the door.

Skye's mouth flattened. She yanked her robe off the back of a chair, picked up a few items from her vanity, and all but marched out of the room. "I haven't done anything to warrant this treatment," she said.

"I'm making certain it remains that way."

"You're treating me like a criminal."

"Consider yourself fortunate, then," he said. "I've a mind to treat you like a whore."

Skye sucked in her breath. "I'll kill you if you lay a hand on me," she said through clenched teeth.

They had arrived at Walker's room. In deliberate defiance of her threat, he opened the door, put his hand on the small of her back, and shoved. Skye was propelled into the room. She spun on him, her expression feral. "Parnell already thinks you tried once tonight," he told her.

That calm announcement stopped Skye. Instead of dropping the things she held to strike him, she gripped them tighter. "What do you mean?"

Walker approached her. Prying the things loose from her clenched fists, he tossed them on a chair. Without giving her time to react, Walker's fingers enclosed Skye's wrist and he raised her hand to the back of his head. "This," he said. "Feel it."

Skye's fingers trembled as she explored the raised edge of the bump. There was blood on the tips of her fingers when Walker allowed her to withdraw. She stared at her hand, then at Walker. Her voice was a husky whisper. "I didn't do that." The denial wasn't as firm as she might have wished. Her next words were barely audible, but clearly framed as a question. "Did I?"

Walker felt her question as a real physical blow, but it registered on his face as a mere blink. What exactly had happened to her tonight? "Don't you know?"

Skye's face went from pale to ashen. Shadows deepened her green eyes and, to her horror, tears welled. She did not want to be vulnerable in front of this man. She bit her lower lip and concentrated on the pain instead of on her confusion. The horrible truth was, she
didn't
know.

Walker didn't pose the question again. He didn't need to hear her answer to understand her confusion. "Change your clothes," he said, plucking at his suspenders and slipping them off his shoulders. "Unless you want to sleep in your dress."

The tears dried in her eyes. She gave a short nod and turned away. The buttons were difficult, and without Annie to help, Skye struggled. Walker brushed aside her hands and began the task. Skye stiffened, but she held her place and said nothing. He was quick, impersonal, but each time his knuckle brushed her skin, Skye felt her breath catch. He finished without a word and stepped back. The silence in the room was powerful.

Walker's hands remained at his side as Skye removed her gown. Her head was bowed, the back of her neck exposed. There was nothing provocative in her action, no intended tease, yet Walker felt a rush of desire that made it impossible for him to look away.

Clasped in the loose barrette, her flaming hair had fallen over one shoulder. He could have reached for it, clutched it, and drawn her back against him. He'd felt her against him before, known how her contours would fit the angles of his own body. She wasn't entirely afraid of him, not as he expected her to be, not as he
wanted
her to be. It was probably more accurate that she was afraid of herself.

Skye stepped out of the gown and reached for her nightshift. Still modestly covered by her chemise and one petticoat, she drew it over her head. She wished Walker would say something. Without turning around, she knew he was watching her. The strength of his stare was like hands on her body. She shuddered.

The movement challenged the silence. Swearing softly, Walker stepped backward, away from Skye, and removed his trousers. He turned back the covers on the bed, then poured a small amount of water into the basin on the washstand and began to attend to his head.

Reaching under her nightgown, Skye managed to remove her chemise and petticoat without showing any more flesh than she already had. Rather more satisfied, she sat in a chair to take off her shoes and stockings. She picked at the laces, watching Walker. "You may need a stitch," she said.

"I don't think so."

"I've done it before," she added. "Stitching, I mean."

The glance he shot her was patently skeptical.

"Well, I've watched my sister do it. It didn't look so hard."

"No, thanks." Walker washed the knot on his head gingerly, then explored with his fingers, wincing as he touched a particularly tender spot. "I'll survive this injury better than I'd survive your attentions to it." He wrung out the washcloth and tossed it to her. "Your fingers," he said. "You have my blood on them."

There was only a small stain, barely visible now. Skye washed it away and carried the cloth back to the basin. "I suppose since this is your room, you'll be wanting the bed."

"That's right," he said frankly. "And I'll want you in it with me."

It was the knowledge that Walker wouldn't want her in his bed that had helped Skye remain calm. Realizing it hadn't been knowledge at all, but only an assumption, Skye's vision blurred at the edges. She grabbed the corner of the washstand.

"Are you going to faint?"

"No." Her weak reply didn't convince her. She understood why Walker simply picked her up and laid her on the bed. He stood over her a moment, studying her still and wary face before he pulled up the covers. Skye's eyes followed Walker as he rounded the bed and climbed in from the other side. She continued to stare even after he blew out the bedside lamp.

Walker punched at his pillow until it was the shape he wanted. He stretched out, turning to face Skye, his arm supporting the pillow and his head. "You have to sleep sometime," he said.

Skye said nothing for a long moment. "Is that when you'll do it?" she asked finally.

"Do it?"

"Touch me..."

"Rape you, you mean." He edged closer to her. "That's the second time tonight you've said something like that to me. Is that what you think I want to do?"

"I don't know." Her voice was small, choked. His face was close to hers now. She could feel his breath on her skin. There was the faint smell of whiskey and she remembered the drink he'd been holding in the parlor. "Why am I here, then? Who are you really protecting? Parnell? Yourself?"

"Don't you know?" he asked softly. "I'm protecting you."

She had a host of things she wanted to say, and they all remained unspoken as Walker's mouth touched hers.

His lips were firm and warm. The pressure was gentle—insistent, but not invading. Skye knew she could pull back at any time. He didn't touch her with his hands. His leg didn't move to hold her captive. Yet she didn't withdraw, even when his mouth parted her own and there was the moist heat of his tongue along the edge of her lips. Her heart raced. Her breathing quickened. There could be more to this kiss, she knew, and longing warred with disturbing images inside her head.

Walker sensed her reluctance before Skye knew it herself. He raised his head. "Go to sleep," he said. There was a tiny sigh from her, a small sound of disappointment that she couldn't quite contain. He smiled. "You can't have it both ways, Mary Schyler. Either you trust me or you don't... either you want me or you don't. You have to be sure."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was sharing a bed with a man she hardly knew and she barely knew why. Skye had never imagined that desire might not be a straightforward emotion, that the peculiar hunger she associated with it would not come on suddenly, but in small twinges that made her uneasy. She had never imagined that it could sneak up behind her, hover, then disappear, leaving her unsettled and confused.

Skye's adventuring spirit could have accepted being blindsided by an onslaught of passion. She was prepared to be a fool for love.

This was different.

Walker Caide only wanted her. She hadn't expected to want a man like that. There would be no grand passion to blame, no false promises to lead her astray. There was only an emptiness aching to be filled when he was around.

* * *

It was still dark outside when Skye woke. Shards of sleet made a steady scratching sound as they hit the windowpanes, and the French doors groaned when the wind whipped across the balcony. The rising storm brought the house to life. Boards creaked as if bracing themselves. The gutters rattled. An eddy of air whistled in the chimney flue. Skye was more comforted than disturbed by the storm. She turned on her side and drew in her sprawled limbs, burrowing into the mattress and blankets. A sleepy, contented smile marked her face. She closed her eyes.

And opened them wide an instant later when she realized where she was. Walker wasn't in bed any longer. A moment ago her body had been stretched out to command most of the bed. She had all the blankets, but the pillow she was hugging to her chest had Walker's scent on it.

Slowly Skye turned again, this time facing the fireplace. He was almost a silhouette against the flames, a dark apparition except at the edges, where orange light burnished his smooth skin. He was standing at a right angle to the mantel and the smooth line of his shoulder, chest, and arm clearly showed he was naked to the waist.

Fascinated by his deliberate stillness and the purposeful stance of his lean body, Skye watched through the fan of her lashes as Walker inhaled fully and raised his arms to chest height. He exhaled slowly, moving his arms down to his thighs in a fluid motion while bending his knees slightly. The splendid line of his back remained straight. He pivoted then, facing south and placing his weight lightly on his right foot. His hands moved with conscious gracefulness around an invisible wheel. Eventually his left hand fell away from the imaginary rim, palm back. When Walker's right hand reached the top of the wheel he raised it forward, as if in gentle greeting to the wind, keeping his palm toward his face. In the same motion his right leg was lifted and he stepped forward, shifting his weight in that direction.

Skye's breathing was light and shallow. Her eyes were filled with Walker's beautiful form as he stretched and shifted. His arms were in continuous choreographed motion. The movements were spare and fluid, curling and rounded, and they all seemed to serve some purpose or illustrate some thought in his mind's eye. Firelight was reflected in the thin sheen of perspiration that touched his skin, proof there was exertion in making each movement appear effortless.

It was a long time before Skye sensed Walker was bringing it to a close. His body was facing east again and his hands flowed in outward circles. He raised them to his forehead, palms out, then continued the movement outward in a sweeping circle before bringing them to his chest, crossed this time, then dropping them gently to his thighs. There was the slightest pause before Walker drew his arms inward and raised his hands to chest height, his wrists relaxed. Slowly he lowered his hands back to his thighs.