Never Marry a Cowboy (11 page)

She nodded briskly. “Of course.”

“It's for the best, Ashton, if we are to hold to the original intent of our marriage.”

“I understand,” she said, wringing her hands. “Truly I do. I'll see you in the morning.”

“The cook should arrive in time to prepare our breakfast.”

“Wonderful.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, sweetling.”

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

She turned and kicked one of the bedposts. She'd wanted a kiss on the lips, not the forehead, as though she were his sister or worse, his child. She wanted to curl against him as she slept.

She plopped down on the bed. She had wanted to visit Galveston, and he had brought her, as a friend, not as a husband. He was right, of course. Their sleeping arrangement was for the best.

Still, for reasons she could not explain, that knowledge hurt.

 

Kit paced the confines of his room while some damned clock downstairs bonged twice. Two o'clock
in the morning, and he had yet to sleep a wink.

After several nights of holding Ashton in his arms while he slept—first the night they were married; and then each night along their journey when the stagecoach stopped at an inn—he didn't know what to do with his bloody arms when they were empty. They thrashed about, searching for her, keeping him awake. How could he grow so accustomed to her small frame nestled against his while he slept? It was ludicrous that his body should torment him with the memories of her scent, her warmth, the sound of her breathing.

He was beyond exhaustion, having spent the entire afternoon making all the arrangements for their stay here. Sleep should have come quickly. Instead it eluded him as much as absolution.

What if she were having another attack as she had on their wedding night? Would she call out for him? He should have given her instructions to yell if she needed him. But her voice was so soft, would he hear her even if she screamed?

Tomorrow he would purchase a cowbell, and she could clang it if she had one of her spells. Yes indeed, that action would solve his little problem of knowing if he was needed. Now all he had to determine was how he could sleep without her in his arms. He glared at the bed as though it were his enemy. He should have searched for a house that had only one bedroom. Then only one option would have been available to them. The one he desired.

He stopped pacing and stared at his door. He could
check on her. He
should
check on her. Make certain she was comfortable and sleeping well. As her husband, he was ultimately responsible for her welfare. With that matter settled, he stalked across the room and flung open the door.

He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Ashton standing within her doorway. Her screech echoed down the hallway as she pressed a hand just below her throat and stepped back.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“I realize that. Why are you out of bed?”

“I couldn't sleep. I thought some warm milk might help,” she explained.

“I have a better solution.” He crossed the hallway and lifted her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he walked toward her bed.

“Unfortunately, I have discovered that I have grown accustomed to sleeping with you.” He laid her on the bed. “If you have no objection, I would like to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“And you want me to go to your bed?”

“No! If I wanted that, I wouldn't have carried you in here. Didn't you listen to what I just said?”

“Yes, but it's confusing when you sound so angry.”

He sighed deeply. “I'm not angry. I'm tired. It's two o'clock in the bloody morning.”

She slipped beneath the sheets and scooted over. “Join me, then.”

Grateful for her understanding, he turned down
the lamp, removed his trousers, and climbed into bed. He raised his arm, and she came into his embrace as though she belonged there. If he weren't so tired, the thought would have kept him from sleeping.

Just as he was drifting off, he heard her soft voice. “Kit?”

“Mmm?”

“I lied.”

“About what?”

“I wasn't going to get some warm milk. I was going to sneak into your bed. Seems I've grown used to sleeping with you, too.”

Chuckling low, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Oh, Ashton, what am I going to do with you?”

A
s a gray haze eased into the room, Kit felt his wife stir, moving from within his embrace. He tightened his hold on her and mumbled, “Where are you going?”

“I want to see the dawn.”

Before he could prevent it, she slipped away from him.

After several days of travel and with less than four hours of sleep last night, he'd hoped they might stay in bed until the late afternoon. “Come back to bed, sweetling. The dawn will be there tomorrow.”

“For you,” she said softly.

He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, listening to her bare feet pad across the floor as she scurried onto the balcony. Was her life nothing but waiting for death or was she so concerned with death that she avoided life?

He threw back the covers, snatched up his trousers, and jerked them on. He stepped onto the balcony and crossed to where she stood, staring at the sun lightly stroking away the evidence of night. He drew her
back against his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and settled his chin on top of her head.

“You didn't have to get up,” she said.

“I know.”

She placed her arms over his. “It's so incredibly beautiful.”

“The sun does seem to favor the skies of Texas, although I prefer the sunsets.”

She twisted her head slightly to look up at him. “Why?”

Because it placed one more day of guilt behind him, while the sunrise signaled another day to endure. Perhaps they were more alike than he thought, avoiding life because death held them within its unmerciful grip. “I don't know,” he lied. “Perhaps because I enjoy the night.” He yawned. “And the sleep it brings.”

She turned her gaze back to the sunrise. “Last night the bed felt incredibly empty before you joined me.”

“It was empty. You take up no room at all.” He gave into temptation and kissed the nape of her neck. She rolled her shoulder inward. “I shall have you looking like Jack Spratt's wife before we're done here,” he promised.

She giggled and her hands tightened their hold. “Don't suppose I could have chocolate for breakfast.”

“Sweetling, you may have anything your heart desires.”

She pointed in the distance where a carriage became visible just beyond the dunes. “Someone is coming.”

“Probably the cook and her daughter. I'll tell her to delay breakfast for an hour until we've finished our morning stroll.”

She turned around. “Our morning stroll?”

“Yes, I enjoy a brisk walk before breakfast. Since I indulged you and shared the sunrise with you, now you must indulge me and join me while I take my walk.” He patted her bottom. “Now, get dressed and meet me downstairs. No need to bother with stockings or shoes.”

He strode out of her room and into his. He glared at his reflection in the mirror. “Inviting her to join you on your walk was a damned stupid move, you ass. You don't want to grow overly fond of her.”

His reflection glared mockingly back because it already knew the truth. He was extremely fond of Ashton and her innocence.

He grabbed a shirt and yanked it over his head, securing the remaining buttons as he stepped into the hallway at the same moment that his wife did.

With a shy smile, she wiggled her toes. “I've never gone barefoot. It seems indecent.”

His laughter echoed along the hallway as he took her hand. “Ah, sweetling, I could tell you of indecent things that would make your hair curl.”

“Like what?”

He laughed harder as they went down the stairs. “You don't want to know.”

She stopped abruptly. He turned slightly and looked at her.

Her face was solemn. “I do want to know.”

He heaved a deep sigh. How in the world had he managed to get himself onto this path of conversation?

He retraced his steps until they were even, leaned
toward her, and whispered into her ear. With satisfaction, he drew back, expecting her mouth agape and her eyes wide.

Instead, she simply shrugged. “Oh, that.” And started down the stairs.

“What do you mean ‘oh that?'” He hurried after her as she walked into the kitchen. “Ashton—”

He came up short at the sight of the cook and her daughter. He'd given them keys to the house when he'd hired them so they could come and go as needed without disturbing him or Ashton. He tilted his head slightly. “Mrs. Edwards, Miss Edwards, I'd like you to meet my wife.”

Both ladies curtsied. “It's a pleasure to serve you, Mrs. Montgomery,” Mrs. Edwards said. “We're lookin' forward to seein' after you while you're here.”

Gently Kit grabbed Ashton's arm and guided her toward the door. “We're going for a morning stroll. Have an enormous breakfast ready in an hour.”

As soon as they were on the porch, Ashton wriggled free of his grasp and hopped to the ground. “What are those pink and white flowers on the shrubbery by the house?” she asked.

“Oleander. They're not native to the area but they grow in abundance here. Galveston is famous for them.”

She neared one, plucked a blossom, and brought it to her nose. “It smells sweet.”

“Ashton, on the stairs—”

“Do you think I could take a plant back to Dallas with me?”

He didn't care about the plants, but he did care
about her wishes. “Not one of these. They're too large, but perhaps I could locate a small shrub.”

She smiled sweetly. “I'd like that. I wouldn't be able to enjoy it for long, but I think Madeline would like it. I wanted to take something back that was unusual.”

“That would certainly be unusual. Ashton, when we were on the stairs, why did you say, ‘Oh, that?'” he asked quickly, before she could start another thread of conversation.

Holding her arms out, she spun around. “The sand feels wonderful beneath my toes. I'm glad you said no shoes.” She started walking toward the shoreline. “Should we go to the water?”

Dumbfounded that she was blatantly ignoring his inquiries, he hurried after her. “Ashton, you're avoiding my question. What did you mean by ‘oh, that?'”

She glanced over at him, a twinkle in her eyes that made him suspect she was annoying him on purpose. “What should I have said?”

“I don't know. Perhaps, ‘How scandalous!'”

She arrived at the water's edge and planted her feet so the shallow waves could creep forward, wrap around her toes, and retreat. She wrinkled her nose as though concentrating deeply. She shook her head. “I don't think it was scandalous.”

“You don't find it scandalous that Harry's mistress had her portrait painted while she wore not a stitch of clothing—”

She spun around, her smile bright and a look of relief on her face. “So it was Harry's mistress? You didn't say whose mistress she was.”

He groaned. He'd left out that little tidbit of infor
mation on purpose. “What difference does it make whose mistress it was?”

“I suppose he had the mistress before he got married?”

“Good God, yes, and don't you dare mention this conversation to Jessye. She'll have my hide and Harry's as well. She would not like it at all if she discovered I was gossiping about his past lady friends.”

“Did you see the painting?”

“How could I not? His mistress hung it over the hearth in a gaudy gold frame.”

Her eyes alight with interest, she stepped closer. “Was it scandalous?”

“Of course. She left nothing to the imagination and seemed quite at ease flaunting her attributes.”

“So you didn't like the portrait?”

“Whether or not
I
liked it is not important.” He rolled his eyes. “How did we manage to wander so far off the point of this topic?”

“You wanted to shock me until my hair curled and you're upset that you didn't. Now, had it been his wife, then I might have found it scandalous.”

The woman baffled him, but her eyes held a special glint that hinted she was enjoying the direction of the conversation. So he decided to indulge her. “What possible difference could that make?”

“A mistress should be scandalous. She's supposed to be bold and daring, all the things a man's wife isn't supposed to be.”

Kit scoffed. “She is supposed to be discreet.”

Ashton turned away and took several steps into the
water, until it swirled around her ankles. “I've seen sketches of the human body. In its natural form, I think it can be quite…provocative.” She lowered her lashes. “Of course, you're the closest I've come to seeing a man in the flesh, and you're very careful to keep some things to yourself.”

Careful? His wife had a gift for understatement. With his heart and his head, he'd made a personal vow before he asked her to become his wife. The lower part of his body seemed intent on rebelling, and only because he was extremely careful that he maintained his modesty was he able to keep the heathen in control.

His wife also had a captivating manner of looking like an innocent standing on the precipice, wanting to jump into a pool of improper knowledge. He threaded his fingers through hers, enjoying the intimacy of the contact, palm to palm, so much better than her hand simply resting limply on his arm. “Come along. We were supposed to take a brisk walk.”

Her fingers tightened around his as she strolled beside him. “Do you think I'm shameful for not being shocked?” she asked.

“No, even though it caught me unawares that you weren't shocked.”

“I don't like being so innocent, Kit. Sometimes I feel like a child when I desperately want to be a woman.”

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Hold on to your innocence, Ashton. Once lost, it can't be regained.”

“Do you wish you were still innocent?” she asked with a rebellious tone in her voice.

He met her gaze steadily. “Sometimes, I wish it with all my heart.”