Wade watched in silence from the door while Molly slept.
She must have been exhausted; she hadn't moved at all in the last several minutes.
He'd been surprised when del Rio had left without so much as another word about taking her with him. She must have refused his offer.
He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or upset by the news.
He closed his eyes. Why continue lying to himself? A cold wave of relief had washed over him, knowing that she would be staying. It might not be the wisest choice or the best situation for either of them, but he knew that having her thousands of miles – truly, an entire world – away from him would eventually mean his death.
He shook his head angrily, loathing his life for the first time. There had never been a woman he'd cared for so deeply. It was part of the reason he hadn't minded marrying Abigail when the time came to do so. He doubted that he ever would care much about anyone, and their chemistry at the time had been explosive.
Explosive until they married and he bought her a house. She had then refused to touch him, no matter how much he begged.
Now he doubted he'd even be able to get aroused at the sight of her. A man can only tolerate cruelty from a woman for so long before the effects were irreversible.
He wondered how long it would take Molly to feel that way about him. What he was doing certainly was cruel – keeping her so close, yet refusing to act on emotions he knew both of them shared. He was breaking her heart – and his own – every moment of every day.
He couldn't think of a harsher form of cruelty.
Closing his eyes, suddenly weary, he gently closed her door. He felt ill and desperately unhappy as he retreated from her.
The realization was swift and harsh, and it nearly doubled him over.
There would be no happy ending here.
Not for them.
Ambrose watched Molly the following morning quite closely, although he attempted to be discrete about it.
She didn't seem quite as afraid of him. She was wary, of course, and still avoided him as much as she could. But she seemed a bit more at ease.
Barrett had told him it would be Molly's choice. He didn't think intimidating her into marriage would work as well as bullying her into bed had. Even that had come with mixed success, at best. He needed to be cautious, proceed slowly, and allow her to think that he was gradually coming around to being a gentle, loving man.
He wasn't.
She both fascinated and irritated him. He knew that she wasn't mentally or emotionally attracted to him. Perhaps not even physically attracted, beyond what he could do to her with his various body parts. And yet she didn't raise any alarm when he pursued her. She didn't cry for help. She merely fought him tooth and nail for survival – and the surprising, intriguing part was that she'd won at least once.
His irritation was brought on by this very same characteristic of hers – he wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it. And he always got it.
Except for her.
Sure, in their little skirmishes he'd been victorious a few times. But he wasn't used to skirmishing, and he wasn't used to losing. If things had been going his way, he would have been done with her by now.
The fact that he wasn't made him feel strange. He was angry, of course, and wanted to punish her for the rest of her life. But there was a grudging sense of admiration for her, as well. Not many people would continue standing against him after what he'd done to her.
She made him feel conflicted, and he didn't like that. Not one bit.
He realized that the room had fallen silent. Glancing up from the table, he saw several pairs of eyes turned towards him. Most looked concerned, but Barrett looked weary and Molly looked frightened.
He'd been brooding, he realized, releasing the lower lip that was trapped between his teeth.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "What?"
"I was asking how you were feeling after your fight with Mr. del Rio," Barrett repeated patiently.
"Fine." He glanced up at Molly, forcing his eyes to soften slightly. "Great," he amended, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
Conflicted or not, the show must go on.
Molly was relieved when her day was over.
She retreated to her room and sat on her bed, hands folded between her knees, for a long time. An outside observer might think she was a statue she sat so still.
Her brain was whirring with great speed, attempting to process the last approximately forty-eight hours of her life.
First, the unsurprising revelation that she cared for Mr. Barrett deeply, and in a manner beyond platonic. This was followed by the very surprising revelation that he felt the same way, accompanied by a frustratingly aborted attempt at a first kiss.
Second, Mr. Ambrose had intruded on her distressing thoughts that she and Mr. Barrett could never be that close again. She thought he had simply wanted an apology, which she had given freely. And then he had….
Afterwards, she had attempted to soldier on as best she could. She thought she had a small measure of success. She had turned Mr. Barrett away, as difficult as that was, and was offered a chance to leave this increasingly bizarre and hostile situation she found herself in.
Before she could truly consider the offer, Mr. Ambrose had intervened and had given her further reason to fear him and what he might be capable of doing to her. He had then, in some way, persuaded Mr. del Rio to rescind his offer.
She had watched him beat the man bloody and had decided, in that moment his arm was raised in victory, to give in before she was harmed. At the end of the day, constantly battling over something she thought she may want anyway seemed foolish.
She was ready last night. She had mentally prepared herself; pushing away the revulsion and fear she felt when he touched her. Closing her eyes and pretending for a few moments that it was someone she actually cared for, someone who had never and would never hurt her.
It almost made it bearable.
Then, most surprising of all – he had stopped. She had even offered him the opportunity to take what he wanted without a fight, and he had refused her.
She couldn't pretend to understand what that meant, or what his thoughts on the matter were.
She'd like to say that it troubled her, but the truth was that she slept better last night than she had in weeks. She hadn't been afraid that he might suddenly arrive. Even if he did, she at least knew that there would be no more struggling.
This morning, her head was a bit clearer, and she was slightly more concerned about the practical implications of this series of events.
She didn't believe that Mr. Ambrose was the type of man to basically give up once his desire was within reach. She had heard men discuss the thrill of the hunt, and it seemed that he would enjoy such a thing. But she very much doubted that he wouldn't take his prize at the end. It simply did not fit what she knew of him.
This left the unsettling probability that he had something else in mind.
She shook her head, angry and afraid. It wasn't enough that he wanted to harm her physically, now it seemed that his intent was to attack her mental and emotional well-being.
Unhappily, she knew that the time had long passed to tell Mr. Barrett about all of these happenings.
Resigning herself to that fate, she stood and moved towards the door, feeling a heaviness on her heart. She grasped the knob and pulled the door open, jumping back when Mr. Ambrose stood in the frame with his fist poised to knock.