Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

She heard his voice shake, but thought it was from anger. “The baby is just fine,” she said.

“No thanks to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “For a man who didn’t want the child in the first place, you’re acting mighty possessive about it now.”

But it wasn’t the baby, at least the baby wasn’t his first consideration. He again could see her lying alone and frightened, losing her life’s blood.

“God,” he growled, “all women should be locked up until they can prove that they have even a grain of sense.”

She opened her mouth, but he slashed his hand through the air. “No, no more out of you. I’m dead tired and I’m going to bed.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” she said to his back.

He stripped off his clothes, flinging each piece to the floor. Without saying another word to her, he doused the lamp and climbed into bed.

Byrony stood in the middle of the room, silhouetted only by the shaft of moonlight coming through the wooden blinds. If her husband did truly love her, she thought, he had a very odd way of showing it. She sighed, slowly removed her dressing gown, and got into bed, as far away from him as possible.

When she awoke near to dawn, her body was alive with sensation at the caressing of her husband’s hands on her breasts and belly. She moaned, encouraging the pleasure. Then she tensed all over. How could he dare treat her as he had, then want to make love to her? As if nothing had happened?

“Get away from me.”

Brent came fully awake, Byrony’s words making him cold all over. “I was ready to forgive you your stupidity,” he said.

“My stupidity?”

“Why don’t you just lie still? Consider your body payment for my not killing your poor wretch, Paxton.”

She flung out of bed, dragging a blanket with her. She marched to the bedroom door, so angry she could think of nothing to say. She flung open the door and yelled over her shoulder, “You want a woman, Brent? Go pay for it.”

THIRTY-THREE

“California,” Lizzie said, her eyes large with excitement and awe. “Just think, missis, my baby won’t belong to nobody.”

“Yes, Lizzie. You’re not pregnant.”

“Josh tell me I probably am,” Lizzie said, giggling. “He’s a big man, my Josh.”

Most of them think they are, Byrony said silently. Damn Brent anyway. For the past two days he’d treated her with sublime indifference. He was polite, absently so, not speaking to her of anything but the most inane of subjects. She didn’t know what he was thinking.

It had been Drew who told her that Paxton was quite alive. Brent had merely arched an eyebrow at the news.

Where the devil was he now? She wanted to talk to him, she had to talk to him. This silent battle between them had gone on long enough. Stupid, arrogant man. She wanted to shake him, perhaps even kick him, anything to get his attention.

She frowned a moment as she stood quietly while Lizzie fastened up the tiny buttons of her cotton gown. What if something were wrong and he didn’t intend to tell her? What did he think a wife was for anyway? Her frown deepened. As if she didn’t know.

“There, missis. You lie down, maybe,” Lizzie said, but Byrony wanted nothing more than to get out of the house and into the cool shaded garden. Her second bath hadn’t helped much. She walked through the study out onto the veranda. The thick-leaved oak and elm trees looked heavenly. Child, she said silently as she lightly touched her hand to her belly, are you as warm as I am?

She walked through the garden, pausing every few moments to sniff at the sweet-smelling flowers. She paused, a magnolia blossom to her nose, when she heard Laurel’s voice.

“—Brent, it’s been so long—it’s not as if—”

Her feet moved forward without her mind’s permission. She saw Brent standing with his back to her, dressed in buff trousers, white shirt, and black boots. She thought she saw Laurel’s face before she put her arms around his back. She thought she heard Laurel whisper something to him, but couldn’t make out her words. Then Brent, her husband, leaned down and kissed Laurel.

For a moment she weaved where she stood, until she realized she was holding her breath. A fierce pain stabbed through her, and she closed her eyes. “Damn you, Brent Hammond.” She was on the point of turning when she saw Laurel strain to clasp his neck, pressing her body against him.

Rage, pure and clean, washed through her.

“Take your hands off my husband!”