He cut her off in midsentence. "It's late, Taylor. Go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll…"
She interrupted him. "We leave the ship tomorrow. We have to discuss our plans before then. I don't wish to talk about such a private matter in front of strangers."
She was wringing her hands together in obvious agitation. Her face was getting flushed, too. Lucas felt guilty as hell because he knew he was the cause of her distress. She was right, of course. He had been avoiding her. He had done everything possible to distance himself from her. He wasn't about to explain why. The truth would only make her more uncomfortable around him.
He was being noble, a first in his estimation, and she was never going to know about it. Lucas pulled away from the door, crossed the stateroom, and sat down in the chair Taylor had only just vacated. He stretched his long legs out, leaned back, and stared at her.
Taylor went over to the side of the bed, sat down, and folded her hands in her lap. She never took her gaze off him. She was determined to get some answers, even if it took her all night. She believed she was being quite noble, a first in her opinion, for she was determined to confront Lucas Ross, even if a full-blown argument resulted. She was getting sick to her stomach just thinking about the possibility.
His beautiful, untouchable wife looked miserable. His guilt increased tenfold. He decided to give her only a half-truth. "I have been avoiding you as much as possible," he admitted. And it has been one hell of a challenge, he silently added. They were on a ship, for God's sake, and the Emerald seemed to have gotten smaller and smaller since they left England. "It's been difficult," he added with a nod.
"It has?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Look, Taylor. I gave your grandmother a promise to look out for you. I've been trying to make certain you were all right and that no one bothered you, yet at the same time trying to maintain my distance. Hell, yes, it's been difficult."
She looked bewildered. She threaded her hands through her hair. He wanted to tell her to quit doing that. It was provocative, arousing. She was an enchantress, all right, and didn't even know it. Lucas felt he was approaching sainthood.
"You still haven't explained why you felt the need to avoid me," she reminded him.
She was like a bear after honey. She wasn't going to give up. He decided he only had one alternative left. He would lie to her. "I didn't want you to become attached to me."
He was back to feeling proud of himself. He'd told the lie without laughing.
She was frowning at him. "Are you serious or are you jesting with me?" She didn't give him time to answer her. "I happen to be your wife," she reminded him in a near shout.
Damned if she didn't thread her fingers through her hair again. He could almost feel the silky texture running through his fingers, could almost smell the fragrance, could almost…
He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He had the discipline of a goat.
"Please forgive me for raising my voice," she said. She took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders, and forced herself to relax. She knew she wouldn't accomplish anything if she didn't control her temper. Getting straight answers out of Lucas Ross was proving to be a most difficult challenge. It was also maddening and infuriating. The man wasn't making any sense. She didn't think he'd appreciate hearing that opinion, however, and so she decided to take a different approach. She'd use diplomacy.
"I know you didn't wish to be married."
"I'd rather be hanged."
She should have been insulted or, at the very least, pricked by his attitude. She had just the opposite reaction. His honesty was refreshing and humorous to her. She didn't laugh, but she couldn't quite hide her smile.
He opened his eyes and looked at her to see how she was reacting to his bluntness. Her smile took him by surprise. He found himself smiling back.
"We're in one hell of a mess, aren't we?"
"I'm not certain I understand what you mean."
He wasn't inclined to explain. He leaned forward in his chair and reached down to take his shoes off. His socks came next. Then he stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. He let out a loud yawn. It was a non-too-subtle hint he was tired.
Taylor didn't say another word. She continued to sit on the side of the bed and watch her husband. Lord, he was a frustration to her. She wondered if Madam had realized how contrary Lucas could be and how stubborn. Her grandmother had told her she'd researched the topic of Lucas Ross quite thoroughly and that she had had several long discussions with the man. Taylor was certain Lucas answered all of Madam's questions. Knowing how her grandmother usually operated, Taylor supposed the interviews were thinly veiled interrogations. Oh, yes, she was certain her grandmother got every one of her questions answered. Taylor let out a loud sigh. She wished she had inherited that trait from Madam. Being a bit of a bully every now and then did have merit.
Lucas wasn't paying any attention to his bride. He removed his shirt, unrolled his bedding, doused the light, and then stretched out on top of the blankets. His makeshift bed was all the way across the room. Even when he went to sleep, he put as much distance between them as possible. Waking up on top of Taylor had been a close call. He wasn't about to let anything like that happen again.
Taylor gave up trying to talk to him. She stood up, removed her robe, and then got into bed. She fluffed her pillows and adjusted her covers until all the wrinkles were out, and when she was finally comfortable, she called out, "Good night, Mr. Ross."
She knew full well he hated it when she called him Mr. Ross and that's exactly why she'd done it. She was obviously angry with him. She was muttering under her breath and making enough racket punching her pillows to let him know she was upset.
The little woman was as transparent as air. She apparently never learned the art of hiding her feelings. With her beauty and her innocence, she'd be easy pickings for every gold digger in Boston. Lucas's mood quickly soured. The thought of Taylor with any other man bothered the hell out of him. What in thunder was the matter with him? Why did he care who she ended up with once their marriage was legally dissolved?
"Are you asleep?" Taylor whispered the question in the darkness and waited for a response.
He didn't answer her. She wasn't deterred. She simply asked the question again in a much louder tone of voice.
He gave up the pretense. "What is it?"
She rolled onto her side and tried to find him in the darkness. "I just thought I would remind you about our appointment with the bankers. I'll set the time once we get to the hotel. You'll have to stay long enough to talk to them."
"I will."
"It could mean staying in Boston an extra day or two."
"I know."
She didn't say another word for a long while. Just when Lucas was certain she'd fallen asleep, she whispered his name.
"What now?"
She ignored the irritation she heard in his voice. "You gave up your future for me. It was a noble sacrifice."
"It wasn't noble, Taylor."
She didn't argue with him. "Will you promise me something?"
"Will you let me sleep if I do?"
"Yes," she agreed.
"All right. What do you want me to promise?"
"You won't leave without saying good-bye."
The worry in her voice was quite apparent to him. "I promise. I won't go anywhere without saying good-bye."
"Thank you."
Taylor closed her eyes and said her nightly prayers. Lucas closed his eyes and tried to block all the lustful thoughts about his bride raging through his mind. He decided to list all the reasons why he never wanted to be married. First, and most important, was his freedom, he reminded himself. He was a wanderer, not a family man. A wife was a rope around his neck. She was a complication he neither wanted nor needed.