Night Hawk'S Bride (Tyler) (Harlequin Historical Series, No 558) by Jillian Hart Page A

the excuse he used. “Your father will be displeased.”
    â€œMy father doesn’t run my life.”
    â€œI cannot afford to anger him.” Night Hawk untied the makeshift tethers. “You can’t risk your reputation. What about an advantageous marriage?”
    â€œNight Hawk.” Her hand found his. This time her touch was not a brief caress but a lingering claim. “I don’t want what my father wants for me. The only man I will ever marry is the one I love with all my heart.”
    She didn’t want him. He was sure of it. She would never want him.
    And yet her slim fingers slid between his and clasped tightly. Locking them together. Making him wish…
    No. It was not to be. She was young and impressionable, that was all. He didn’t have the strength for more heartbreak.
    He pulled away from her touch, denying her claim and telling himself it was the right thing to do. “It’s too dark to send you home with only Meka. Wait here while I call my horse.”
    â€œYou don’t want me to stay?”
    He fisted his hands, helpless against the hurt glinting in her eyes. Hurt that he’d put there by pulling away. By doing the right thing.
    â€œIt isn’t what I want. It can never be what I want.” The competing forces of desire and integrity, of loss and yearning threatened to tear him apart. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to love her. He wanted to slake this carnal need for her once and for all.
    She was too innocent to know about the desire tormenting him.
    He escaped to the blue-gray shadows of twilight and let the cool wind drum against him. Even though he fought to control it, the fire within him raged.
    Her skirts whispered behind him. “Will the hawk need care through the night? I could stay.”
    â€œNo. I will tend him.”
    â€œBut I wouldn’t mind.” She stepped into the shadows at his side. “I found him. I feel responsible for him.”
    â€œHe is warm and fed because of you. You’ve done more than most. You’re bleeding.”
    She stared down at her fingers. He had to have noticed her wound earlier, when she held the basin while he cleaned the bird. It was too dark to see her wound now. “It’s better.”
    â€œI can bandage it.”
    He led her to the house on the small rise, dark and lonely. She waited as he lit a candle and then another. Flame tossed gentle light across handwoven rugs and a polished wood floor, honeyed walls and carved furniture.
    Home. Every piece of her being cried out with the certainty. This man. This land. This house.
    â€œCome.” He held out a chair in the kitchen and she settled into it.
    Tingling with the excitement of being near him, she watched while he lit a lantern and gathered a basin and supplies from a drawer. Everywhere she looked she saw beauty—grape leaves carved into the chair backs, the scrollwork on the cabinetry, carvings and Indian blankets hung on the walls.
    He cradled her hand with his, lifting it toward the light. “This may sting.”
    â€œI’m brave.” That made him smile. His touch was firm but gentle. Her heart raced as he swabbed a scrap of clean cloth across her injured knuckle.
    This is how it would feel to be loved by him. To know his touch on her skin.
    He rolled a strip of muslin around her finger, leaning close to tug it tight. The pulse beat in the hollow of his throat fast and frantic. His chest rose quick and light.
    Just like hers.
    â€œDone. Now we can take you home.” Gone was the mask of stone and the distance. Night Hawk smiled, his entire heart showing.
    The greatest joy filled her, buoyant and sweet. When he pressed his lips to her palm, she knew.
    This was the man she would love for the rest of her life.
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    It was wrong. He knew it. But that didn’t stop him from holding out his hand and helping Marie onto Shadow’s back. He meant to settle her across the stallion’s withers,