Always in My Dreams (43 page)

Skye's clothes were strewn around the bedroom. On his path from the dressing room to her bed, Walker had to step over her gown, the bustle, the train, a corset, a chemise, stockings, two petticoats, and a shoe. The other shoe had been neatly placed under the bed. One could only marvel at how she had managed it.

Skye herself was sprawled on the bed, more covered than not by an eyelet lace comforter, two quilts, and a crisp cotton sheet. One of her bare legs had pushed aside all the blankets and was lying smoothly on top. Her hair spilled across a scattering of pillows. Her head was turned in his direction. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly parted.

Her exhausted, labored breathing sounded a lot like snoring.

Walker stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He was smiling crookedly. A single dimple creased one side of his mouth. It wasn't the wedding night he had imagined. His not-so-virginal wife was sleeping off the effects of hard drinking in her very virginal bed. Her parents were sleeping in another wing of the house, probably lightly, alert to the first sign of trouble from the newlyweds. Thank God Mary Francis had returned to the convent.

Giving Skye a less-than-gentle shove, Walker rearranged her limbs to make room for himself. She murmured something sleepily, something that didn't sound very complimentary, but she allowed herself to be manipulated. Walker slipped in beside her. His grin deepened when he realized she was quite naked. Reasoning he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, Walker shed his drawers and turned on his side. Skye's rounded bottom fit snugly against his groin. Her back was flush to his chest. They shared the same pillow and the fragrance of her hair teased his nostrils. He kissed her shoulder lightly, then lay back and closed his eyes.

The band of heat just below Skye's breasts was becoming uncomfortably warm. She moved restlessly, pushing against the weight at her back with her legs and bottom. She came awake abruptly, her eyes opening wide as she realized what she was pushing against and what the inevitable reaction was. Instead of one source of heat, now there were two.

"I'm not going to attack you," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

She whispered the obvious. "You're awake."

"Just."

"I'm sorry."

So was he. It had been a splendid dream. In light of his waking condition, Walker believed it could have been more than that very soon. "Do you want up?" he asked huskily.

"Yes, please. I don't feel well."

He let her go immediately. Skye scrambled out of the bed and rushed to the dressing room. Walker winced at the sounds of her being sick. "Do you want help?" Her moan could have meant anything; he took it as a refusal.

Walker rubbed his eyes, then stretched for the lamp beside the bed. He lit it, replaced the globe, then fell tiredly back on the mattress. A bleary glance at Skye's mantel clock revealed it was four-thirty. That surprised him. He felt as if he'd just gone to sleep. "Are you all right?" he called.

There was no moan this time. There was no response of any kind. Walker pushed himself upright. He was at the edge of the bed when he heard Skye pouring water, then the sounds of her cleaning her teeth. She was fine, then. Walker hooked his heels on the bed frame and rested his elbows on his knees. He was supporting his head in his hands when she came out of the dressing room. She was wearing his shirt. The tails fell below her thighs.

"What are you doing in my bed?" she asked from the doorway.

"I'm waiting for you," he said. "Do you feel better?"

"I thought you were going to sleep in here."

He shrugged. "You said I should sleep wherever it suited me. It suited me here." Walker raised the covers and slipped back into bed. "You must feel better," he grumbled.

"What?" she asked.

"Come to bed," he said. When she didn't move, he added, "Or not. Whichever you prefer." He turned on his side, away from her.

Skye glanced at the daybed in the room behind her. It didn't look particularly inviting. Anyway, it wasn't the bed she had made for herself. Ignoring the litter of her own clothes, Skye joined Walker. She turned back the lamp and lay beside him. He was breathing quietly and evenly. She was careful not to disturb him. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly. A sliver of moonshine that she hadn't noticed before outlined the furniture with a blue-gray cast. "Are you still awake?" she whispered.

"It depends," came the husky reply. "If you want to fight, then I'm sleeping."

Skye considered that was good sense. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Walker didn't think she was talking about the shattered mirror or the scattered clothes. Still, he didn't turn toward her. He remained quiet, letting her sort out her own thoughts.

"When Michael married Ethan, we were all together," she said quietly. "Even though it was arranged on the spur of the moment, we managed to be there. When Rennie was married, Michael was already living in Colorado and couldn't come east. At Maggie's wedding, it was only Mary Francis and me. Then it was only Mary Francis."

She sounded wistful, Walker thought, a little homesick in her own home for the way things used to be. There had been telegrams from the Marys who couldn't attend, best wishes mingled with warnings about the action Skye was about to take. Of course, it wasn't the same.

"I know it's silly," she said, "but I looked around the dining table this evening and realized how empty it was." It wasn't just missing the Marys, she thought, it was that no one was there for Walker, either. "Was there someone we should have invited for you?" she asked.

"Moira asked me." He turned over and raised himself on one elbow. The blue-gray cast of moonlight limned Skye's profile. "There isn't anyone."

Skye felt her heart being squeezed. "Then you're alone."

His eyes wandered over the spill of Skye's hair. He raised his hand and gently touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles. Her skin was smooth, flawless. She turned into him by just the slightest fraction. "Not anymore," he said.

Skye didn't respond. She held his hand against her face a moment longer. She kissed his knuckle.

Without a word passing between them, they stretched simultaneously. Their bodies turned, adjusted, and finally rested together so her cheek rested on his shoulder and one of her legs bent and lay across both of his. The proprietary nature of the arrangement suited Walker. He liked the way her arm slid across his chest, the way her slim figure could insinuate itself against him with perfect feline grace. He watched her raise her left hand slightly and turn it first one way, then the other, allowing the moonlight to catch the edge of her wedding band.

"It's not what you imagined," he said, his voice husky, just above a whisper.

Was he talking about the ring, or about what it represented? Skye let her hand rest on his chest again. "It's odd," she said softly. "All my life I've been chided for my imagination and it failed me here. I never thought about marriage except to think how I could avoid it. I watched my sisters take the march and as good as threatened my father not to turn his attention in my direction. I was so busy watching him I backed right into you." Skye let her palm slide back and forth along Walker's chest. "I'm still not quite sure what happened."

Walker wondered if keeping her off balance was the way to keep her close. "You regret it?"

"Regret implies I had a choice," she said. "I didn't."

He noticed that she didn't move away from him, though. "I'm not sorry," he said.

"I know you're not. But I don't know why. I would have been your mistress."

"So you said."

Skye waited for more explanation. Walker didn't offer one. After a while her eyes closed, the stroking of her hand slowed, the rhythm of her breathing changed.

She was asleep when Walker finally said, "It wouldn't have been enough."

* * *

They were served breakfast in their room. Skye watched Mrs. Cavanaugh with some astonishment as she fussed over Walker, asking him if everything was prepared to his liking or if there was anything else he needed. "I wouldn't get too used to that," Skye said, after the housekeeper left. "She's not usually so ingratiating."

The food was set out on a small table near the fireplace. Wearing his trousers and a shirt that was only half buttoned, Walker sat down and began filling his plate. He gave Skye a sideways glance. "Is she the one who trained you?" he asked.

Skye looked at him sharply. She tightened the sash of his dressing gown and sat opposite him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I asked." He ran a hand through his tousled hair and regarded her with something close to exasperation. "If I intended to say that as a housekeeper you were less than ingratiating, I'd say it. That wasn't my intention. I merely wondered if Mrs. Cavanaugh helped you prepare for your position at Parnell's."

Skye placed two orange slices on her plate. "I suppose I'm being prickly this morning."

An understatement, Walker thought. She woke up out of sorts, her hackles already raised. He would have liked to have believed it was confronting the broken mirror that had set her on edge, but he was more honest with himself than that. Skye had simply opened her eyes, seen him, and been angry.

Skye realized he wasn't going to give her cause for an argument by agreeing with her. Her mood was not improved by the knowledge that even disagreement would have prompted an argument. She seemed to be determined to be a shrew this morning.

Skye tapped the shell of her soft-boiled egg with the side of her spoon. "Yes, Mrs. Cavanaugh helped me prepare," she said. "It was my mother's idea. Jay Mac hadn't seemed to consider that I might not be qualified for the position." She began peeling away the cracked shell and placed it carefully on the side of her plate. "It made me more suspicious of my father's real reasons for sending me to Baileyboro. He seemed so certain that I only had to arrive there in order to secure the position."

"You thought it was all arranged between Parnell and your father."

She nodded. "It wasn't outside the realm of the possible. The same could be said of you and Jay Mac."

Walker paused in raising his coffee cup to his mouth. "You know that's not true."

"I know it wasn't true then," she said. "It didn't take the two of you long to work something out later." She ignored the narrowed watchfulness of Walker's eyes. "I saw Jay Mac take you aside after dinner. Is that when he paid you for me?"

"That's when he warned me that you and alcohol didn't suit."

Skye flushed but she didn't look away.

"In China," Walker said, "marriages are arranged all the time. No one thinks anything of it. Just the opposite, in fact. The bride is quite happy that her parents are able to find a suitable partner for her poor, miserable, worthless self." He saw that he had her complete attention now. Her mouth was slightly parted, her eyes had widened. She wasn't certain if she could believe him, and if she could, she wasn't certain what exactly he was saying about
her.
"Brides don't come with a dowry," he went on. "The bridegroom's family gives her gifts instead."

Skye was about to remark that it was a good custom when Walker continued.

"The gifts aren't hers to keep," he said. "They stay with her family. It's a bride-price. Her family has lost a valuable worker while the groom's family has gained both a worker and a childbearer. The bride-price is supposed to offset the loss."

Skye's mouth pursed to one side. She snorted softly, derisively. "I don't like the idea of being bought by you, either."

"I didn't expect that you would." He set his coffee cup down. "Your father and I didn't exchange any money. Does that satisfy you?"

She supposed it would have to. She shrugged diffidently and applied herself to her meal. Walker, she observed, was quite comfortable with her silence. He unfolded the paper that Mrs. Cavanaugh had brought with their tray and read it while he ate. Perversely annoyed by his lack of attention, Skye tapped her fingers on the edge of the table.

Walker was oblivious to Skye. An article in the
Chronicle
announcing a science and technology exposition held his complete attention. Frowning slightly, a small crease between his brows, he reread the account, making note of the location and schedule of events. Jonathan Parnell was a scheduled speaker. Walker wondered if he knew it. The arrangements for the engagement had probably been made months earlier, even before Walker had been hired by Parnell. In all that time Walker couldn't remember Parnell mentioning this upcoming exposition or the fact that he was supposed to deliver a lecture on the physics of internal combustion.

Skye's curiosity was roused by Walker's expression. She could see he was disturbed by something he was reading. She couldn't discern if he was angry. "What is it?" she asked. "Our marriage announcement?" She knew that he hadn't wanted it reported in the paper. And she didn't take issue with it, either. She was satisfied that as few people as possible should know about the marriage. There would be less stigma surrounding the divorce if it came to that. "Walker?"

Still frowning, he looked up. "What?" he asked absently, closing the paper. "Did you say something?"

"I asked about what you were reading."