Always in My Dreams (41 page)

Walker said nothing. The mound of blankets did not stifle Skye's groan and he let it pass for a response.

"You'll marry her, of course," Jay Mac said.

"I told you those were my intentions yesterday," Walker said. "They haven't changed."

Skye kicked at the blankets, but she didn't come up.
"Nooo!"
she fairly wailed.

"It isn't your choice any longer, Mary Schyler," Jay Mac said flatly. He regarded Walker. "Come by my office at ten. We'll discuss details privately."

Walker nodded and watched Jay Mac turn sharply on his heel. His shoulders were braced stiffly, his spine was rigid. He could have slammed the door on his way out, instead he closed it quietly. Walker winced anyway.

"He's gone," Walker said.

Skye sat up and pushed hair out of her eyes. Her expression was feral. "How could you?"

"How could I what?" he asked calmly.

"Just sit there!"

Walker raised the blankets enough to slip out of bed. He was naked. "I didn't think my current state of dress would do anything to change your father's mind." He picked up the discarded clothes from last night and went into the dressing room. A pillow slammed between his shoulder blades as he crossed the threshold. "Good aim," he said, without pausing.

Skye threw off the covers and got out of bed. She put on Walker's dressing gown again and belted the sash tightly. "I'm not marrying you," she told him sharply, pacing the floor at the foot of the bed. Her feathered brows were furrowed and she worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Didn't you hear anything I said last night? Didn't you believe the things you said about me?"

Walker came to the doorway of the dressing room to finish fastening his trousers. "What are you talking about? Of course I listened. I believed everything I said."

Her eyes pleaded with him. "Then you didn't understand!"

Walker reached behind him and picked up a shirt. He shrugged into it. "I suppose I don't."

She stopped pacing. "I'm not going to marry you," she said. "I'll be your mistress, your lover, but I won't marry you."

He supposed it was about love, but with Skye, one never knew for sure. So he asked, "Why not?"

"Because I want to be an adventuress!" she almost shouted at him. "I can shoot and ride and fence and sail. Those are the skills I've been mastering. I've studied history and geography and art and architecture. I want to go places, Walker. That's my purpose. I can't marry you!"

The silence that followed her words could not have been more profound. Unmoving, Walker merely stared at her. His thumbs rested in the waistband of his trousers. His head was tilted slightly to one side. He only blinked once. "An adventuress," he said quietly, "is someone who schemes to marry a rich man, not someone looking for adventure. At dinner last night, while you were sulking in your room, your father said he hoped you would go back to school. Perhaps you should, Skye, and learn the difference between what you want to be and what you are."

Skye felt his words like a blow to her stomach. Air rushed out of her lungs. She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and willed herself not to look away from Walker. To do so would have been an admission somehow that she was as young and willful and irresponsible as he thought she was in that moment.

"Get dressed," he said. "I'll take you home."

"I can take—"

"I'll take you home," he said again. He disappeared into the dressing room.

* * *

In spite of the fact that Walker had arrived at the Worth Building ten minutes early, he was shown into Jay Mac's office without any waiting. He took the chair Jay Mac pointed out to him while Jay Mac himself chose to stand at the window.

"She's my youngest," Jay Mac said, looking out over the city. He had rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked very much like a captain of industry, only his conversation wasn't about tracks and ties and lines. It was deeply personal and deeply felt. "I don't suppose that means anything to you," he added. "I only meant to nudge her in the direction of going back to school. I wasn't thinking about marriage for my Mary Schyler, not yet. I would have planned better for her than you."

Walker said nothing. He waited.

"I should kill you for what you did to my daughter."

"I thought you were going to," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "You had a gun tucked in your trousers this morning. A Colt?"

"Smith and Wesson." He unclasped his hands and patted his right side. He turned slowly, parting his jacket to reveal the butt end of the weapon. "I still have it, and I still might use it."

Walker didn't believe it was Jay Mac's usual method of handling a conflict. He also didn't doubt that the threat was serious.

Watching Walker carefully, Jay Mac asked idly, "You don't flinch much, do you?"

"Not much."

"Play poker?"

"A little."

"Do you win?"

"Most of the time."

Jay Mac smiled slowly, thoughtfully, the answer just what he expected. "I thought you might." He sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. The Smith and Wesson was still within easy reach. "I'm not going to be fobbed off with those answers you gave me last night. I don't give a damn who your parents were or what they did. It doesn't matter if they brought you up in China by way of Timbuktu or Hackensack. My wife enjoys that sort of thing. I don't care if you were raised by wolves." He paused and let that sink in. Walker appeared to remain unmoved. "There's something you haven't told us, Mr. Caide. Something you've kept from me, from Moira, perhaps even from my daughter. I want to know what it is."

So Walker told him.

Jay Mac's hands were folded in his lap. He tapped his thumbs together as he listened. By the end of Walker's account, they were still. "Does Skye know any of this?"

"No. She suspects something's not right, but she doesn't know what I've told you."

Jay Mac consulted his timepiece. It was almost eleven-thirty now, and still much too early for a drink. For once, he didn't let that deter him. Leaving his chair, he poured himself a small Scotch at the sideboard. "Anything for you?" he asked.

Walker shook his head.

"I don't usually..." Jay Mac's voice trailed off. He looked down at his hand that held the tumbler. It was trembling.

"You don't have to explain." Walker could understand why he was shaken. "You didn't know."

"Did you think I did?"

"I wondered."

He swore vehemently. "I would have never sent Skye there! I had a simple agreement with the man about financing his engine. When I saw his notice in the paper, it occurred to me that Skye might discover the progress of the invention, or if it existed at all. My investment wasn't large—not above twenty thousand dollars—and no amount of money would be a satisfactory exchange for my daughter's life. I met Parnell once. He seemed agreeable enough, not the sort who would—" He couldn't finish the sentence. He knocked back a swallow of his drink instead. "I'd hoped that sending Skye to Granville would ground her feet again. I'm certain she suspected other motives, but as usual, she let her imagination take the place of clear, solid thinking."

Walker found it difficult not to smile just then. Jay Mac did not seem to credit that Skye's imagination was rooted in anything so solid as her father's previous dealings with his other daughters.

Jay Mac returned to his desk. He didn't sit down this time but rested one hip on the edge of it. He looked at Walker consideringly. "You've proved you can keep her safe," he said gruffly, as if the admission were forced rather than willingly offered.

"Yes, sir. I think I've proved that."

"You haven't shown you can care for her though. I'm speaking of finances now."

"Yes. I understood that. I draw a regular wage."

Jay Mac snorted. "That's the only conventional thing about your employment. I can't say that I like it." His eyes narrowed. "Unconventional suits Skye, though."

"Yes, sir," Walker said gravely. "I've come to appreciate that."

Jay Mac's penetrating glance became even sharper. "Why do I think you're laughing about something?"

Walker realized belatedly that a grin was edging his mouth. He reined it in. "I couldn't say, sir."

"More likely you
won't
say," he said. "Never mind. If it concerns something with Skye, I don't think I want to know." He finished his drink. "And you may as well call me Jay Mac. All my sons-in-law do. My daughters, too. Hell, the whole country does. No reason that you should be an exception."

"Yes, sir." The response was automatic, not an insolent ignoring of the older man's wishes.

John MacKenzie Worth had to smile. "Well, it's easy to see you weren't raised by wolves." He studied Walker Caide again, taking in the crown of thick, tawny hair that was perhaps a trifle overlong, the lines in a young face that made it seem older, and the frank, implacable eyes that could challenge or intimidate or reflect on his own sense of confidence. "Does my daughter love you?"

"No. She's curious about me, perhaps a little fascinated, but I don't mistake it for love."

Jay Mac was thoughtful. "That will make it difficult," he said. "Do you love her?"

"Yes."

Jay Mac nodded wisely. "That will make it easier."

* * *

Walker did not see Skye again until the wedding. The arrangements were made swiftly and quietly, and no one was invited save the family. At Walker's insistence there would be no announcement in the paper or any acknowledgment in the community that the marriage had occurred. Jay Mac understood the reasoning, and he approved. The bride's mother did not. The bride herself simply didn't care.

The wedding took place in the Worth home, in Jay Mac's study. Seventy-two hours had been enough time to assure that the vows weren't exchanged in Judge Halsey's chambers. Moira had insisted on flowers. Cut glass vases filled with orange blossoms and baby's breath were set out on every available surface. The fragrance was sweet but not cloying.

Walker wore a suit that Jay Mac's tailor quickly put together for him. The black swallow-tailed coat and trousers were cut cleanly along the lines of his lean frame. The evening waistcoat was white on white brocade. The shirt was crisply white, with a stiff wing collar and starched cuffs. His hair had been trimmed, but the edge of it still brushed his collar. A silk handkerchief was carefully arranged in the upper pocket of his coat.

"Mama says you've cleaned up quite nicely."

Realizing he was the target of this statement, though he didn't recognize the voice, Walker turned away from the sideboard, where he had been contemplating getting drunk. He was confronted by a pair of large, forest green eyes beautifully framed in a wimple and cornet. "Sister Mary Francis."

"And intelligent, too."

Walker's brows lifted a fraction at her dry, caustic tone. "Have I offended you in some way?" he asked quietly.

Mary Francis had the grace to blush. People usually didn't take her on. They were either in awe of her habit or too dumbfounded by her straightforwardness. Mary Francis considered her answer carefully, fully aware of her parents talking to the judge on the other side of the study. When she saw Walker's attention stray in that direction, she knew there was a lull in the conversation. She could almost feel their eyes boring into her back, advising caution and an even temperament. "It's this situation I find offensive," she said, keeping her voice low. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled serenely at her parents and the judge. Their anxiety did not appear to lessen. "This is intolerable," she said, facing Walker again. He was regarding her with polite interest and some amusement. "Can we talk somewhere privately?"

His eyes darted to the door. "Since your sister seems to be late for her own wedding, I don't see why not."

"Good." Without any explanation to the others, Mary Francis led Walker to the front parlor. She closed the double doors securely behind them. "There," she said, satisfied. She looked at Walker, considered him at length, but didn't expound on her thoughts.

He returned her regard for a full minute before he broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me that she's run off?"

"Run off?" Mary Francis was genuinely puzzled. "Skye? Heavens no. That's not her way. She'll be down directly. The maid is fussing with her hair right now and there was some problem with her gown earlier."

"I see," he said, but of course he didn't. "You were with her, then?"

She nodded, smoothing the front of her habit. Her hand fell naturally to her rosary and she sifted through the beads. "Skye thinks I can talk you out of this marriage."

Now Walker felt the fog lifting. "Then you're here on a diplomatic mission."

"Yes. That's something you understand, isn't it?"

Walker said nothing. His interest remained polite, but his thoughts were reserved.

"You
do
play your cards close to the vest."

He shrugged.

"I suppose you're determined to go through with this wedding."

He looked down at himself, then at her. "I dressed for it."