Her brow furrowed as she looked at him sharply. For a moment she gazed at him intently, her eyes filled with an unspoken accusation he thought he could read: You should have thought of that before making me marry you.
She opened her mouth as if she might argue, then hesitated. “I just wish…” But then she shrugged her slender shoulders. “I wish this would be over.”
She turned and let herself out of the corral, but Lance could have sworn he’d seen disappointment in her eyes because he’d turned her down. Reluctantly he watched her go, wishing she would see he was trying to be noble.
The past two days had been hell. He’d wake up thinking about her, hard and aching for her, but then he’d remember the circumstances. Seeing how the other passengers treated her—because of him—had awakened him from his fantasy of a peaceful future with Summer. Reality had come rushing back to punch him in the gut. He’d had time to see exactly what he’d done to Summer by forcing her to marry him. He’d turned her own kind on her.
It was an unwritten rule in her society. A white woman who willingly kept company with a half-breed was no better than a whore.
Worse, he would wind up repeating the past if he wasn’t careful. He’d been so damned anxious to consummate their marriage—because he’d wanted her so bad, and so her brother wouldn’t have grounds for an annulment—that he hadn’t spared a single thought to the future. He’d been thinking with his groin instead of his head—a common event where Summer was concerned.
He hadn’t considered the likelihood of making her pregnant. The whores he’d had carnal relations with knew how to use those little sponges soaked with brandy to keep a man’s seed from taking hold. But Summer was a lady. She didn’t know anything about stopping babies, or about keeping herself safe from a man like him. And he wasn’t sure he had willpower to control himself. If he ever got inside her, he didn’t know if he could pull out in time to keep from spilling his seed in her.
Summer wouldn’t want to have his kid, he was sure of it—and he wouldn’t want her to, either. Their child wouldn’t be a bastard like him, but it’d still be part Comanche. He didn’t want to do that to a poor helpless kid. Make it suffer like he had.
He didn’t want Summer to suffer because of him, either. Riding into Indian Territory to rescue a Comanche captive wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d ever done, but it could get him killed. If he died, she would have to bear a mixed-blood child alone, and he knew from his mother’s bitter experience what hell that could be.
He couldn’t let that happen to Summer. By marrying her he had won the right to protect her—which meant protecting her from himself as well as from anything else that could cause her harm. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter how fierce this burning need to take her, he had to keep his hands off her.
God, he would be glad when they reached Belknap and he could turn Summer over to her sisters in-laws. Another day and a half and he would be removed from temptation. Surely he could keep away from her until then.
Until then he wouldn’t try to make love to her…not until he returned from Indian territory…If he returned. It would be the hardest thing he had ever done, but he owed her that much.
His noble vow lasted all of twelve hours. That night, at their last stage stop, Lance found Summer out back of the station, alone, crying quietly in the darkness.
His heart contracted in alarm at the sound of her soft sobs; his fists clenched in helpless rage as he remembered all the times his mother had cried to herself when she thought he was asleep.
“Summer?” he demanded sharply. “What’s wrong?”
She went rigid at his approach and hastily fumbled for her handkerchief. “Nothing…I’m f-fine.”
The bleak despair in her voice gave lie to her words. “You don’t sound fine to me.”
“I am…honestly. I was just…worried about my sister.”
Which was party true. Summer inhaled a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself, not wanting Lance to see her in such a state. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her. Despite the difficulties of the past few days, she should have had more control over herself. She’d known what to expect: the weariness, the fear gnawing at the edge of her consciousness, the ever-present terror for her sister, her nerves rubbed raw by uncertainty.
What she hadn’t expected, though, was the terrible loneliness. She felt so alone, as if she were fighting unarmed, single-handedly, against the world. And Lance’s remoteness only made it worse.
How she wished she could go to him…that he would put his arms around her and comfort her tenderly the way he had on their wedding night. But he was keeping his distance from her.
Wiping her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at him. His hard-planed, hawkish face, silvered by moonlight, was tight with concern. And so was his voice when he tried to reassure her.
“Crying about it won’t do any good, princess. You can’t let it get to you.”
“I know.”
“I told you I’ll do my damnedest to find her.”
“I know you will.” She bit her lip. “I don’t suppose…I could go with you…to Indian Territory.”
His gaze searched her face for a moment, but then he shook his head. “I can’t let you. It’d be too dangerous for you. Not to mention too difficult a ride.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“If we find Amelia—when we find Amelia—she might need me…another woman.”