She laughed, the sound shaky and laced with bitterness. “As if you couldn’t take it away from me in the blink of an eye?”
Gabe couldn’t and wouldn’t deny the truth of that. She was a woman of diminutive stature, no match for a man—any man. He felt as if he’d been set adrift in a boat without a paddle. He could only hope those two angels knew what they were doing, because Gabe sure as hell didn’t. And he’d already made enough mistakes for one day.
He stepped over to the door. Her voice made him pause before turning the knob. “Do you promise to keep your trousers on?”
Gabe was glad he had his back to her, because the question made him smile, although not with mirth. He felt sad for her—sad and a little angry, both at once. She was a sweet, loving person. He’d seen that firsthand during the glimpses he’d gotten of her life. She’d done nothing to deserve all the trials and mistreatment she had endured.
“I swear it.”
• • •
Nan was shaking so badly that she could barely unfasten her bodice buttons. Once she’d worked her way down to just below her waist, she shrugged off her dress, hung it in the armoire, and then stripped to quickly don her white nightgown. Even though it was heavy cotton, designed for winter nights, she felt naked in it. Gabriel Valance had a way about him that could have made her feel bare even if she were rolled up in a carpet and covered head to toe.
He knew things about her that no normal human being could possibly know. It was eerie, almost as if he’d been around all her life and present to witness the most awful parts of it. Was he a clairvoyant? Nan shook her head and then reached up to pull the pins from her hair. She didn’t believe that any human being could see into the past or future. She was simply rattled, still battling tears, and grasping for anything to explain how the man knew so much about her.
His voice rang in her mind. I know that he was at home and allowed your fiancé to assault you in your own sitting room. He’d said it with such conviction, not as a stranger fishing for information might have, but like a man certain of his facts. Only three adults had been at the Sullivan residence that night: her father, Horace Barclay, and Nan herself. All the servants had been given an unexpected night off, an unprecedented gesture everyone had misinterpreted as the generosity of Martin Sullivan. Normally, he’d treated the help with even less kindness than he did his daughters, complaining if employees asked for a brief leave of absence and docking their pay for any hours missed. Not that night, though. Nan could still remember the chill that had run down her spine when her father had told all the household staff that they weren’t needed for the rest of the evening and assured them that they’d be paid for the unexpected time off.
Nan had suspected what was coming then—if only briefly. She had assured herself that not even her father would do something so vile. Though she’d been protesting the marriage, she hadn’t yet been openly defiant. She’d given her father no reason to sic Barclay on her.
Remembering the particulars of that evening once again brought tears to Nan’s eyes and a quiver to her knees. She went to sit on the edge of her bed, trying frantically to drive the images from her mind. But it was no use. Gabriel Valance had opened the thick black curtain in her mind, allowing the memories to escape. It was as if she were trapped in one of her nightmares, only she was wide-awake.
Her father had poured Barclay a snifter of brandy. Then, rubbing his hands together, Martin Sullivan had said, “I think I’ll retire to my study for a bit and give you two a chance to grow better acquainted.”
“But, Papa!” Nan had protested. “That isn’t proper. Until the marriage, I should be chaperoned at all times when I’m in Mr. Barclay’s company.”
“Oh, poppycock,” Martin had said with a smile—the cold, well-practiced, calculating smile that always put her on guard. “No one is in the house to carry tales, and the fact that you still refuse to address your fiancé by his given name proves my point: that the two of you need to become better acquainted.”
Nan quickly learned what better acquainted meant in the language of men. Barclay had wasted no time on pleasantries before pouncing. When Nan realized his intent, she’d screamed for her father’s help, but of course Martin hadn’t come, even though Nan knew he had heard her cries.
How could Gabriel Valance possibly know about that? It was, for Nan, such a dark, terrible truth that during her waking hours she refused to let herself think about it, let alone speak of it to anyone, not even Laney. And of the other two people in the house that night, one was dead, leaving only Martin Sullivan to have blabbed the story, and he was far too protective of his sterling reputation ever to admit that he’d committed a deed so foul.
Nan tossed her hairpins onto the table and thoughtfully ran her fingers through her loosened tresses. No matter how she circled it, she could think of no way Gabriel could have ascertained that particular bit of information about her past, so she was left with only two probable explanations: that he was either clairvoyant or a very good guesser. Either way, he’d destroyed her composure by throwing the truth in her face. She’d been caught completely off guard. It shamed her to recall weeping in front of him. Even more humiliating, she had allowed him to hold her on his lap, rocking slightly as if to comfort a child. It made her feel like a fool—and she greatly feared that Valance might now have the impression that she was weak.
The weak became victims. If an animal rolled onto its back during a fight, its opponent ripped open its belly. It was no different with human beings. The strong ruled the world, and the namby-pambies got kicked in the teeth.
Nan thought she heard a hall floorboard squeak. Fearful that her unwanted bedmate would return at any moment, she hurriedly threw back the covers, slipped between the sheets, and then huddled as close to the edge of the bed as possible, blankets and spread clutched under her chin. Was Valance a man of his word? Did he truly have no intention of touching her? His voice rang in her mind. I swear. He’d sounded sincere, but Nan had learned long ago that promises uttered by men meant nothing.
When he tapped on the door to enter, she could barely manage to say, “Come in.”
As he stepped into the room, the lantern light threw his shadow across the wall behind him, making him seem even larger than he actually was. She wanted to squeeze her eyes closed and not look at him, but her lids seemed to be frozen open. He strode over to turn off the lamp. The device hissed and sputtered, still giving off an amber radiance for several seconds before the wick finally went out. She could see nothing until her eyes adjusted, and even then, all she could make out was his silhouette as he circled the foot of the bed. Lying there with her back to him, she tried to guess where he was in the room and what he was up to. Being unable to watch him made her skin crawl, but if she turned over, she might catch him undressing.
His boots made soft thumps as he toed them off. Then she heard cloth rustle. She imagined him doffing his shirt. A floorboard creaked once more under his weight. She sensed rather than heard him approach at the opposite side of the bed.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll hang my gun belt over the headboard on my side. I—um—can’t sleep without my Colts near at hand.”
Nan understood that in a way she never before could have. Right then, though she’d never owned or even touched a firearm, she wished she had a gun in the drawer of her bedside table. If so, she’d grab it and hide it under her pillow for protection. His professed intentions were merely words, as insubstantial as dandelion fluff. The only thing a smart woman counted on from a man was that he’d take advantage of her every chance he got.
Oh, God. She remembered the brutal dig of Barclay’s fingers into her flesh, how he’d panted and torn at her bodice, trying to bare her breasts. And he’d succeeded. To this day, recalling the touch of his pudgy, moist hand on her skin made bile surge up the back of her throat. She couldn’t bear to endure that again. Everything within her recoiled at the thought.
The blankets shifted, letting in a draft of cool air to lick at her back. Then the mattress sank under him, and she felt the warmth of his body radiating under the canopied sheet to curl around her. Judging by the sounds he made and all the jiggling, he was settling onto his back. Frightened, she rolled over to face him, taking care not to close any of the scant distance between them. Faint moonlight bathed his face and glistened on his hair, making the strands that fell loosely over his high forehead look bluish black. He’d folded his arms beneath his head, and to her dismay, his upper body wasn’t covered. Most men wore one-piece knitted underwear that covered them from throat to ankle. At least, she’d always surmised that they did.
Until now, Nan had only been able to imagine the bulging muscles in Gabriel’s shoulders, chest, and arms. Without the black shirt to cover him, she realized that her imagination had done him a grave injustice. His was a body that had been tempered by hard work to a steely strength. That frightened and fascinated her, both at once.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Nan wasn’t sure if she’d ever be really okay again. In a voice that rang flat even to her, she replied, “I’m fine.”
He stifled a yawn. “Been a long day, and tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. Do you and Laney have any special plans?”
The question had Nan’s thoughts circling. Thanksgiving. How was she supposed to focus on the holiday at a moment like this? She’d forgotten all about it. Finally, she collected her composure enough to say, “Just a quiet meal here.”
“No invites to join other families in their homes for dinner?”
“I don’t often go calling.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
Nan considered for a long moment before answering. “Given my past, which must remain a secret, I’ve avoided forming friendships. If I get too relaxed around anyone, I may slip up and say something I shouldn’t.”
He sighed, sounding weary beyond measure. “And Laney? What keeps her from slipping up?”
Relaxing slightly because he’d thus far made no move to grab her, Nan considered the question. “For Laney, it’s different. She remembers nothing from before. In her mind, life began here in Random. The shop and our living quarters are her world. From the very first, I taught her to call me Mama, even when we were alone. This is her only reality.”
“But it isn’t your only reality.”
“You know very well that it isn’t. Until Laney’s tenth birthday, nearly a full six years after we came here, I lived in fear that someone might learn of my whereabouts. Some days while working in the shop, I jumped at my own shadow. When the doorbell jangled, my heart would leap into my throat. I constantly felt as if I were treading on thin ice, waiting for it to crack and swallow me whole.”
He sighed again. “That’s no way to live.”
“I had no choice, and then today, after two years of feeling confident I’d never be found, you walked into my shop.”
“I’ll never go back on my word and turn you in,” he said, his voice going coarse again.
“If you grow bored with this situation—”
“Then I’ll scat. I mean you no harm, Nan. Try to believe that.”
Nan thought to herself that the word harm had many definitions. Even if Gabriel Valance never revealed her true identity to the marshal, he’d single-handedly managed to turn her whole life topsy-turvy.
He shifted to get more comfortable, and her heart jerked. He must have felt her stiffen, for he said, “I’m not going to force myself on you, honey. You can take that promise to the bank.”
With that, he let his eyes fall closed. A moment later he emitted a soft rumble, and she realized he’d fallen asleep. She felt a crazy indignation, which baffled her no end. She should be glad he’d drifted off. What was wrong with her? She stared at his sharply chiseled profile until her eyes burned with exhaustion, and still she couldn’t lower her lashes. A miserable night awaited her. She felt certain, absolutely certain, that she’d still be wide-awake when dawn broke and sunlight first bathed the window.
Chapter Eight
Something coarse and fluttery tickled Nan’s nose, and a lovely blend of scents—a faint muskiness, a hint of cologne, and traces of piney bath soap—teased her sleep-numbed senses and beckoned her from the dark dregs of dreamless oblivion. How odd, she thought drowsily. The layered blankets on her bed kept her cozy even on the coldest of winter nights, but as she drifted slowly toward wakefulness, she became aware of radiant heat enveloping her, almost as if she’d curled up against an oversize bed warmer. She struggled to open her eyes, squinted a moment until her pupils adjusted to the morning light, and then stared in bewilderment at a bare male chest only inches from her face. It was sparsely furred with black hair and was the delightful color of café au lait, her favorite kind of coffee.
Nan blinked. Memories came storming back, most of them alarming and the rest unacceptable. This man was her husband. As if dashed in the face with cold water, she came instantly alert and smothered a moan of abject dismay. Her nose was buried in Gabriel Valance’s armpit. It was his hair tickling her nostrils.
Nan stopped breathing, acutely conscious that Gabriel still lay on his back with his folded arms pillowing his head. It was not he who had moved toward her. She had closed the distance between their bodies in her sleep. And, oh, sweet Lord, she’d curled her left arm over his bare waist. Even worse, she’d propped a bent knee on his denim-sheathed thigh. She was snuggled full-length against him with certain very private parts of her body in unnervingly close contact with his.
Fully awake now, Nan tried to think what to do. If she moved quickly away, she’d startle him from slumber, and she absolutely did not want that. He’d kept his promise and not touched her. He would undoubtedly find it highly humorous if he opened his eyes to find her lying nearly on top of him.
Very carefully Nan drew her arm back, then focused intently on ever so slowly moving her knee off his leg. She nearly parted company with the mattress when his voice rumbled near her ear.
“I’m already awake. I was afraid to move for fear of startling you.”
“Consternation!” Nan rolled quickly away from him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened.”
“You were asleep. I reckon you got a little cold and just moved close to get warm.”
Close didn’t say it by half. Now Nan understood why some people claimed they’d nearly died of embarrassment at certain moments of their lives. She wanted to cover her head with her pillow and never have to look him in the eye again. Instead, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. When the bare pads of her feet touched the floor, she felt no chill, but shivered as if she did.
“I didn’t mean to—um—crowd you,” she managed to say. What must he think? Undoubtedly that she was a wanton hiding behind a facade of propriety. “The last I remember, I was on my own side of the bed.”
“You weren’t crowding me. It was nice, actually. You have a very cute little snore.” The smile she heard in his voice made her wince.
“Snore?” Nan cast him an incredulous glance over her shoulder. “Ladies do not snore.”
He chuckled and sat up to rake his fingers through his hair. “It’s a very ladylike snore.” His dark eyes, twinkling with laugher, met hers. “Soft, sort of whispery.” After studying her for a moment, he seemed to sense her dismay. With a shrug, he added, “Maybe you’re right, and I really shouldn’t call it a snore. The sound is definitely nothing like what some men make when they sleep. Over the years, I’ve heard some real wall shakers.”
Nan had moved past the snoring issue to a new concern: How could she get up and move about in front of him without being decently clad? She cast a glance at the armoire, where her wrapper hung inside on a door hook, and wished she’d had the forethought last night to drape it across the foot of the bed. Even though her gown was made of heavy cotton, it would provide
her with precious little cover if she got between him and the sunlight that slanted over the half curtains at the window. She couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing her naked, even if only in silhouette.
“Is something wrong?” Gabriel asked. She felt the mattress jiggle as he swung off the bed. “You’re staring at the armoire as if it holds a bucket of gold nuggets.”
Nan turned slightly to look at him. “My wrapper’s in there. I forgot to get it last night.”
“Wrapper?” he echoed, his tone implying bewilderment. He rubbed one well-muscled shoulder as if to get the cricks out and stifled a yawn. Nan noted how the furring of hair across his chest narrowed into a diminishing dark line that descended to the waistband of his black jeans and then disappeared. A blush seared her cheeks when he caught her looking. He studied her, his brow pleating in a thoughtful scowl. Then, startling her, he snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, your wrapper. Of course! Every proper lady wears a wrapper.” He drew open the armoire doors and fisted his hand over the deep pink robe. “This it?”
“Yes.” The garment looked effete in his big hand. When he stepped toward her, proffering it, Nan took it and said, “Thank you. It’s—um . . . The air has quite a nip in it this morning.” Curling the fingers of one hand over the cuff of her sleeve to anchor it at her wrist, she thrust her arm into the wrapper. “I’ll be warmer now.”
His firm mouth quirked at one corner. She half expected him to call her on the lie. She wasn’t really cold, after all. Instead, he went to collect his shirt, which he’d tossed over the back of a chair. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves and began fastening the buttons, he said, “I’ll go add wood to the fires. I don’t want you or Laney taking a chill.”
He sat behind her at the opposite side of the bed to pull on his boots. Then, circling around to face her, he tucked in his shirttails, apparently oblivious to the fact that a gentleman would never do such a thing. Nan sighed inwardly. She’d been so focused on all the physical aspects of this union that she hadn’t stopped to think how difficult it might be to teach this man some proper manners.