Captive Of Sin Part 20

Only when he'd gone did she realize it was the first time he'd left her unprotected since he'd met her.

Twelve.

Gideon held himself together until he closed the door behind him and stood in the deserted corridor. He collapsed, gasping, against the wall. s.h.i.+vers combed through him like breakers up the beach at Penrhyn.

He couldn't go through with this.

He had to go through with this.

He closed his eyes and banged his head several times against the wood. But nothing could banish the vivid images in his mind.

Charis watching him across the table, her beautiful hazel eyes brilliant with anguish and a longing he shared but couldn't fulfill.

Charis standing beside him saying words that made her his wife.

Charis telling him she loved him.

Ah, the forbidden sweetness of that moment.

And the desolation.

She had such courage. What a consort she'd make for the man worthy of her.

d.a.m.n it, he could never be that man.

His rejection might hurt now, but she'd get over her infatuation. She'd emerge from this stronger, better, bright as a star. The real tragedy was that she tied herself so irrevocably to a wreck like him.

He groaned through clenched teeth. He'd endured unspeakable pain in India. Already he knew that the h.e.l.l of watching his wife fall in love with another man would outstrip any devilish torture the Nawab devised.

Bear it, he must.

For Charis's sake.

The G.o.ds clearly laughed at his sufferings. They granted him the one woman he'd want for the rest of his days. Then they made it impossible for him to find joy with her.

He desired her to the depths of his being. His very skin ached for her touch. He'd exchange all the minutes remaining to him for one night of freedom in her arms. Instead, in his clumsiness, he was going to hurt her.

Not, by G.o.d, if he could help it.

With grim determination, he straightened from the wall. He turned up his collar and pulled down his hat to conceal his face.

He'd do what was necessary. Whatever it cost. His scheme might seem crack-brained, dangerous, but it was the only solution he had. He'd accept any pain if it saved Charis suffering.

He didn't deceive himself about the pain his plan promised.

As he trudged downstairs and out onto the street, his heart was heavy. It was cold on the seafront. The breeze from the sea had ice in it. Or perhaps the chill was in his grieving soul.

He knew where to find what he required. Behind the smart facades and bustling respectable thoroughfares, every town had its shadow. Despising what he did but seeing no alternative, he turned away from the lights and plunged into the old town's maze of streets.

The girl was even younger than Charis. Seventeen or eighteen. Although with the lives these women led, who could tell?

Standing on her corner, she retained a trace of country freshness. She was clean, and her dress hinted that some shred of spirit defiantly survived her profession.

Most of all, though, Gideon chose her because she bore absolutely no resemblance to the wife he'd left at the hotel.

"You, girl, do you have a room?"

She brightened as she looked at him, her light eyes, blue or gray, Gideon could hardly tell in the gloom, sparking as she took in his fine clothes. She patted her untidy blond chignon with a gesture designed to entice.

"Aye. But it will cost ye ten s.h.i.+llings, me handsome gent."

Ten s.h.i.+llings was a fortune for someone like her. He knew she cheated him, but he didn't have the heart to haggle. Given what was likely to happen when he came to the business, she'd earn her money before he finished.

"Done."

She frowned suspiciously. "I want to see yer blunt up front."

He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a sovereign. The gold glinted evilly in the faint light. He dropped it into her outstretched hand.

His flesh crawled at the prospect of getting closer to her. G.o.d knew if he could go through with this. He hadn't even touched the chit yet, and already he was a trembling mess. The possibility of failure rose like a dark miasma.

"Let's go," he said roughly.

The girl stared at the coin, then glanced up with a smile that made her look older than she was. "An eager beaver, ain't ye, sir?

She waited for him to respond, but he was busy trying to keep his gorge down. G.o.d give him strength. He could do this. He could do this. He hadn't touched anyone since Rangapindhi. But surely he could perform with a stranger when it didn't matter if he made an utter disaster of the act. Surely he was man enough for that.

She shrugged. "Don't ye want to know my name?"

He closed his eyes in agony. Only the knowledge that Charis waited stopped him fleeing back to light and warmth.

"No," he managed to grit out, opening his eyes to shabby reality. "I don't want to know your name."

The girl looked at him strangely and pointed to the filthy stairway behind her. "It's up here, sir." She sounded subdued, or perhaps that was just the blood pounding in his ears.

Blindly, Gideon followed the plump blond tart upstairs to her room.

Charis didn't know what woke her. She couldn't remember falling asleep. It had been late, and she'd been alone. Just as she knew immediately she was alone in the bedroom now.

She cracked open a swollen eyelid. The room was pitch-dark. The servants had drawn the curtains when they came to collect the uneaten meal and take away the cold bath. But as her sight adjusted, she recognized the heavy furniture. Old French oak pieces like something from a prerevolutionary chateau.

As she s.h.i.+fted experimentally, she m.u.f.fled a moan. Devils with hobnail boots blundered around her skull. She licked dry lips. Her mouth tasted sour and stale. She s.h.i.+fted again and realized her dress twisted around her as she lay awkwardly across the covers.

With a low groan, she sat up. She raised a trembling hand to her sticky face. She remembered now. Every last pathetic moment until she'd collapsed in a stupor.

She'd waited in a lather of nerves for Gideon to return from his walk. Nerves and genuine alarm. After all Gideon's subterfuges, it was unlikely Felix and Hubert would burst in on her the first night on Jersey. But she felt lost and defenseless now her Galahad abandoned her.

One hour pa.s.sed. Two. Her apprehension turned to hurt defiance. She knew why he avoided her. Because he couldn't bear to touch her.

She wanted to send him to the devil. She wanted to beg him to love her the way she loved him.

With rankling hostility, she drank the champagne, as if the act somehow got back at him. Even after she started to feel sick, she kept drinking. She drank until the bottle was empty, and the room whirled in a wayward waltz.

Eventually, inevitably, her empty stomach rebelled, and she was vilely, painfully sick. By then it was past midnight and still no sign of her husband of mere hours.

Tears she'd dammed through the agonizing day welled up. Painful, humiliating, unstoppable tears. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms as she battled for control. But nothing helped. Sobbing in ugly gulps, she'd curled up on the bed. Crying, she must have fallen asleep.

To wake with a headache, a rebellious stomach, and a heart br.i.m.m.i.n.g with shame.

Vaguely, she wondered what time it was. A heaviness in her limbs indicated she hadn't slept long enough to overcome her fatigue. Or perhaps the wine made her ache. She'd never had more than a gla.s.s or two at once before. The foul taste in her mouth made her swear one gla.s.s was too much in future.

The inn was silent, and no noise rose from the street. She felt suspended in some dark coc.o.o.n. Alone forever.

"Stop it," she whispered. Why she kept her voice down, she couldn't say. She was on her own.

Except something had disturbed her.

She held her breath and listened.

Not a sound.

Gideon obviously hadn't returned.

Curse him.

She should lie down. Rest her throbbing head. Still, she sat bristling with awareness, straining to discern the slightest sound through the enveloping darkness.

Very carefully, she edged off the bed.

Nothing stirred in the next room.

Icy fear trickled down her spine. What if Felix and Hubert lurked out there, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h her back to Holcombe Hall?

With shaking hands, she slid a large china jar from a chest of drawers. Its pale glimmer made it easy to locate. The jar wasn't much of a weapon, but, armed, she felt less vulnerable.

Crunching her toes against the chill, she padded on bare feet across the floor until she reached the door. The parlor beyond was quiet, empty. The fire had burned down, but its low glow revealed that n.o.body was there.

Except...

"I know you're here." Relief mixed with a fortifying dose of irritation trickled down her spine. Her voice sounded scratchy and unused. Speech made her sore head ache.

No answer.

She stepped farther into the room. The floor was cold against her soles. She took another step, so at least she stood on the rug and could curl her toes into the wool.

The silence continued.

Her lips thinned with annoyance. "It's no use pretending."

More silence.

She bent and placed the heavy jar on the floor. Unless she lost her temper and smashed it over Gideon's thick skull, she wouldn't need it.

Would he continue this foolish game?

She heard a shuddering sigh from the corner of deepest shadow. "How did you know?"

"I always know when you're near," she said wearily, and felt her way across to the sideboard.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"It doesn't matter." Perhaps it was the desolate feeling attendant upon the early-morning hours, but right now, she felt that nothing in the world mattered.

The air was so still, she could hear the even susurration of Gideon's breath. His chair creaked as he s.h.i.+fted. The fire crackled in the background. The intimacy was intense, fraught, electric. At the same time Charis felt that a thousand miles of frozen sea separated her from Gideon.

Gooseflesh p.r.i.c.kled her skin. She should have grabbed a blanket before leaving the bedroom. She picked up a candle, intending to light it in the coals.

His eyesight must be better than hers in this darkness because he spoke quickly. "Please don't light it."

She paused and faced him, leaning against the sideboard and s.h.i.+vering in the cold. "Why?"

He didn't answer. Or not in words anyway. "Go back to bed, Charis."

"Alone?"

"For G.o.d's sake, yes." His voice cracked. "We'll talk in the morning."

"What's the point?" She sucked in a deep breath and realized the sour alcohol smell didn't come from her or the empty champagne bottle. "You've been drinking."

It wasn't an accusation but of course it sounded like one. His chair creaked again as he straightened. "Yes. And I've been fighting." His voice sounded odd. Flat and unmusical as she'd never heard it.

With sudden determination, she stepped across to the hearth and lit the candle. A feeble glow bloomed. Her hand trembling, she turned and raised the candle in his direction. Against the back of her legs, the fire's warmth was welcome.

She expected him to jerk away but he sat unmoving as she illuminated the thick darkness around him. When she saw him, Charis couldn't contain a choked gasp.

"I take it I'm not too pretty?"

Her hand shook so badly, she had to slide the candlestick onto the mantel. But the uncertain light had revealed enough to make her feel sick all over again.

His lips lengthened in a grimace that she knew was meant to be a smile. He answered his own question. "Obviously not."