Captive Of Sin Part 4

"You drugged me." Her voice was slurred. With sleep or her swollen face. Or the opium.

"You needed rest. It was only a drop of laudanum." More than that. But he'd had no idea how else to grant her the blessing of rest.

"Don't do it again," she spat out, sounding more alert by the second. Her remarkable eyes cleared to a deep green, flecked with scattered gold like broken sunlight. Her eyes were the only trace of beauty in her battered face.

He bent his head in acknowledgment. "I won't." He paused. "How do you feel?"

Her lips quirked, then she winced as the smile tested her torn lip. Nonetheless, her voice held a trace of dry humor. "Like a mule has kicked me. A big angry mule."

She confronted her fate with her head held high. No whining or cowering. Her spirit took his breath away. Made him want more than he had a right to ask.

As she'd said, they were chance-met strangers. Useless to rage against inevitable fate. She was not for him. She could never be for him. No woman could be.

He'd faced that d.a.m.nable truth months ago.

He hoped she didn't hear the betraying roughness in his voice when he forced a dry reply. "You're feeling much better, then?"

She gave a choked giggle at his attempt at a joke and raised one hand to her bruised cheek. "It hurts to laugh."

"I'm sure it does." Only the bravest woman would laugh in such circ.u.mstances.

"Where does your aunt live, Miss Watson?" Akash asked.

His friend had cast him a searching look and now concentrated on the girl. Heat crawled up the back of Gideon's neck as he realized Akash must guess his admiration for Miss Watson. And Akash would pity him, which stung Gideon's pride like acid.

The lilt faded from the girl's voice, and she sounded stiff as she always did when she lied. "Not far. If you drop me in the center of town, I can find my own way. I've imposed enough."

Gideon's lips crooked in grim amus.e.m.e.nt as she avoided his eyes. "We cannot abandon a lady to her own devices."

She looked down to where her uninjured hand fisted in her lap. Her discomfort was palpable. "My...my aunt is a maiden lady of reclusive habits. It would frighten her if I arrived on her doorstep in the company of three unknown gentlemen."

"And she'd be perfectly undisturbed to see you arrive hurt, ragged, and alone?"

She cast him a resentful glance under her thick gold-tipped lashes. "When I explain, she'll understand."

The carriage pulled, as arranged during the night, into Portsmouth's best inn. The girl's hands tightened until the knuckles shone white. "Where are we?"

"We're changing horses and stopping for breakfast. After that, Akash and I will escort you to your aunt's."

"No."

"No to breakfast or no to our company?"

She had the grace to look a little shamefaced at her bald reply. "I must admit breakfast appeals."

He guessed she meant to take advantage of one last meal before escaping. It was what he'd do if dest.i.tute and in danger. "Breakfast it is," he said neutrally.

The carriage stopped. Akash turned to her. "I'll carry you in."

The girl's eyes darted to meet Gideon's. He had the oddest feeling she wanted him to volunteer. He was such a poor specimen that even this simple service was beyond him. Clenching his hands, he told himself he'd long ago come to terms with bleak reality. Today, consigning this wonderful girl to someone else's arms, that sounded more than ever like a hollow lie.

"Thank you, but I can walk."

"Your injuries will attract less attention if I carry you." Akash said, closely watching the interplay between them.

"It will be better this way, Miss Watson," Gideon said.

Fleeting disappointment shadowed her features. Strange how even with her injuries, her face was so expressive. She raised her chin as if girding herself to face a challenge.

"As you will," she said quietly.

Akash carried Charis up the stairs with an impersonal aplomb that saved her any embarra.s.sment. She couldn't imagine lying in Sir Gideon's arms with quite this coolness. The thought of Gideon holding her close to his broad chest brought a blush to her cheeks, and she bent her head to hide the flood of color.

What was this strange attraction she felt toward Sir Gideon? His physical presence filled her mind in a way she'd never before experienced.

It was astonis.h.i.+ng how he occupied her attention, attention that should be devoted purely to escape and her safety over the next three weeks. From the first moment she'd seen him, he'd become the lodestone for every thought, every feeling. With each moment that pa.s.sed, her obsession grew. Was it just because he'd rescued her from discovery and disaster? Or was this turbulent feeling something else entirely?

Thank goodness her reckless heart had settled by the time Akash placed her on her feet in the large private room Sir Gideon had requested upon their arrival. Then her pulse set off on its wild jig again as the object of her ridiculous fantasy strode in behind them. She fought to suppress her surprising, unwelcome reaction, but nothing stemmed her tingling awareness of him as he crossed toward the fire.

Once they'd sent Tulliver to order a substantial breakfast, Akash turned to Charis with what she already recognized as his characteristic seriousness. "Can I see your injuries, Miss Watson? There was only so much I could do in the dark."

"Thank you. You're very kind." In truth, Charis felt much improved apart from a bitter taste lingering from the much-resented laudanum. The room's warmth thawed some of the stiffness from her muscles.

Sir Gideon lounged on a carved wooden settle near the blazing grate. His dark eyes rested upon her with fierce concentration as she rose from her chair. On trembling legs, she moved to the center of the room, where Akash waited.

She unwrapped the thick shawl from her head and pulled the coat from her shoulders. She dropped both to the floor. It was absurd, but she felt as though she undressed for Sir Gideon's pleasure. The wanton notion came from nowhere. It shocked her, but she couldn't dismiss it.

Sir Gideon's unwavering regard looked like desire. Which made no sense when she knew she was a veritable monster. But heat p.r.i.c.kled her skin, and she licked suddenly dry lips.

His eyes flickered at the movement.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Something about Gideon's unblinking stare pierced her to the bone. It was like he read her soul.

She s.h.i.+fted under Akash's hands.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, frowning.

"No," she murmured.

Akash's medical skills must be why he a.s.sumed responsibility for her care. Whatever he'd put on her bruises last night had certainly helped. She was sore but nothing like yesterday.

Strange. This handsome, considerate gentleman touched her yet it meant nothing. Sir Gideon was halfway across the room, and he owned her every breath.

How had this happened? Her head whirled as she tried to make sense of her unprecedented reactions. In ballrooms and salons, she'd met so many men, attractive men, sophisticated men, attentive men. None had affected her like this taciturn, black-haired Adonis, with his glittering eyes and troubled air. The sensations stirring in her veins scared the life out of her.

As she answered Akash's questions about her injuries, her gaze dropped to where Sir Gideon's gloved hands encircled an untouched tankard of ale. Wicked excitement s.h.i.+vered through her as she imagined those hands touching her. So far, he hadn't so much as taken her arm.

Avidly, she drank in his features. His face was grave and pure like the stone effigy of a crusading knight. His cheekbones and jaw were cut at perfect angles. His mouth was stern, firm, beautiful, but with a hint of softness in the curve of the lower lip. He looked like a carved saint until one met his burning eyes.

No sanct.i.ty there.

They were so dark, almost black. Intense. Glittering. Full of suppressed pa.s.sion and pain.

And anger.

Because someone had dared to hurt her.

Warmth seeped into a heart that had been cold for so long. She couldn't entrust herself to these men. Too much hung upon her keeping her ident.i.ty secret. She still had to escape.

But knowing that such a remarkable being as Sir Gideon Trevithick placed himself so firmly on her side bolstered courage that came shamefully close to faltering.

Gideon's eyes met hers and flashed a warning. He surged to his feet and strode over to gaze out the window.

Helplessly, Charis studied his straight back in its perfectly fitted black jacket. He hadn't had to say the words aloud. That last glare from his brilliant eyes had all but shouted keep out.

Akash manipulated her wrist. Its tenderness was a mere echo of last night's agony. Even her ribs didn't feel as though an elephant had trampled them anymore. She had a sudden memory of the dark stall where Gideon had found her. Without his help to escape and Akash's treatment for her injuries, she'd be in a bad way indeed.

The instincts that insisted Sir Gideon was her dauntless champion urged her to tell him everything and throw herself upon his mercy.

No, he was a stranger. She couldn't risk the consequences of ill-advised confidences. If Sir Gideon handed her over to the law as duty demanded, her stepbrothers would have her back in their custody as soon as they rode to Portsmouth.

Or worse, perhaps Gideon and Akash would be as blinded by her gold as every other suitor. Her heart screamed that these were good men. Experience urged caution. Even good men abandoned principle when they learned of her ma.s.sive fortune.

Safer by far to rely on her own resources, meager as they were. Still, she couldn't suppress a pang of guilt at how she deceived and used people who tried to aid her. Her experiences with her stepbrothers should make it impossible to place herself willingly into any man's care. But still her heart insisted she made a huge mistake when she rejected Sir Gideon's help.

"Thank you for everything you've both done," she said softly, knowing it was sinfully inadequate when measured against her lies.

"You're welcome." Akash bound her arm, then left the sling off.

She bent to pick up her shawl and stumbled to her chair. Standing so long had tested her strength. Across the room, Gideon didn't say a word, just watched the snow drift past the window. She told herself she had no right to feel slighted by his indifference.

The arrival of breakfast interrupted her dour thoughts. Charis kept her head down and shrouded in the shawl. She couldn't help her ill-matched costume, but if the servants saw her hair and bruised face, they'd identify her immediately if her stepbrothers asked about her.

Feverishly, she tried to plan her escape even while Sir Gideon's nearness was a persistent tug on her senses. The bad weather was both savior and pest. If she could get away, it would hide her. But she wasn't dressed for such cold. She resigned herself to stealing the greatcoat. It was a loan rather than a theft, she a.s.sured her howling conscience. In a few weeks, she'd return it and repay Sir Gideon for his kindness.

Surely tracing Sir Gideon Trevithick of Penrhyn in Cornwall wouldn't be difficult. If they made contact again...

She put a brake on foolish dreams.

First she had to survive the next three weeks and stay out of her stepbrothers' clutches. She had to find shelter and food and some way of supporting herself, all without revealing her ident.i.ty. Or the ident.i.ty of the powerful men who sought her. Hubert was Lord Burkett and Felix was a rising figure in Parliament.

Gideon, Akash, and she settled down to another silent meal. Tulliver must have retreated to the taproom. Charis was grateful for the lack of conversation. She'd choke on any more lies. And she had a foolish desire to cry at the thought of leaving Sir Gideon. How had he gained this astounding power over her emotions in such a short time? It was like a strange madness possessed her.

After the servants cleared the plates, she managed to inject an appropriate note of feminine embarra.s.sment into her voice. "Would it be all right if I had a few moments of privacy?"

A look pa.s.sed between Gideon and Akash but both stood readily enough. "We'll send someone to a.s.sist you," Gideon said.

"No need," Charis said hurriedly, her chance at escape evaporating before her eyes.

"I insist." Gideon, curse him, waited while Akash left to summon the servants.

A parade of maids brought hot water and towels and a range of grooming articles. She couldn't help sighing with pleasure when the last item laid out before her was a cheap brown cotton gown. She was desperate to change her ragged, dirty dress.

Goodness knows where Sir Gideon found the frock at such short notice. Yet another sign of his thoughtfulness. Again, she suppressed that rebel urge to confess everything and beg him to help her. Men changed when they saw the chance of filling their pockets with gold.

Gideon stood by the door and dismissed the staff. "Tulliver's outside if you need anything."

"Thank you." How she wished she could say more, say good-bye, express her grat.i.tude, tell him she wished she could know him better.

But it was impossible.

For a long moment, she stared at him, drinking in his physical magnificence, the strength and intelligence in his compelling features. Already she knew she'd never forget him. She turned away and pretended interest in the items on the tray. If she kept looking at Gideon, she'd start to cry.

The door closed softly. At last Charis was alone. She let out the breath she'd been holding. Yet she didn't immediately put her plan into action. Instead she slowly approached the cheval mirror in the corner.

Ridiculous, really, given her legion of troubles, that the mere act of checking her reflection needed every ounce of courage.

She braced to confront the woman in the mirror. When she did, she couldn't stem a broken peal of laughter.

Had she read desire in Sir Gideon's eyes? What a vain, deluded fool she was. No man could look at her now with anything but pity. Or revulsion.

She'd expected to be shocked. What she saw was worse than her wildest imaginings. Her face was a mottled mixture of purple and yellow. Her jaw was grotesquely distorted. Above the bruising, familiar hazel eyes stared back with a dazed expression.

She bit down hard on her quivering lip, but the jab of pain couldn't dam her tears. She was a monstrosity, a hobgoblin, a gorgon. So stupid to mourn what would mend, but she had to lift her good hand to dash the moisture from her streaming eyes. Akash had a.s.sured her the damage was superficial, but the words seemed meaningless when she looked at the woman in the mirror.

The once-elegant blue dress was streaked with dirt and torn beyond repair. Her shaking hand s.h.i.+fted to touch the matted hair that tumbled around her shoulders.

She drew in a breath that was close to a sob and met her watery gaze in the gla.s.s. This wouldn't do. She straightened her spine. She was Lady Charis Weston, the last of a long line of warriors. No daughter of Hugh Davenport Weston would admit defeat to a pair of poltroons like Hubert and Felix.

The horrors she saw in the mirror would pa.s.s. Right now, she needed to concentrate on escape.

Hurriedly, she washed and changed out of the ruined gown. The cheap dress was scratchy on her sensitive skin and too big, but at least it was clean and whole. Fastening the frock took too long, and she panted with pain before she finished.

She spent valuable minutes struggling with the knots in her hair. Eventually, she managed to bundle it away from her face. The girl in the mirror started to look moderately respectable. As long as n.o.body noticed her bruised face.

With shaking hands, she drew the greatcoat on. Her sore arm twinged as she gingerly slid it into the sleeve, but, thanks to Akash, the pain was bearable. The huge coat looked absurd on her small body, but she couldn't manage without its warmth.

She patted the pocket to check for the pistol. Once she'd found somewhere safe to stay, she'd p.a.w.n it. She told herself taking it wasn't theft. When she could, she'd redeem the weapon and return it. She'd already steeled herself to p.a.w.ning her mother's ring and locket although her heart ached at the prospect.

How long had she been in here? Were Gideon or Akash likely to return and demand to know what she was up to? She mustn't linger. Dressing had taken too long already.

Her mouth was dry with nerves as she darted to the window. Beneath the sill, she knew a flat roof extended over the rear yard. Climbing about in the snow with a sprained wrist was risky. But less so than waiting for her stepbrothers to find her, or for her rescuers to discover her ident.i.ty and hand her over to the local magistrate.

Carefully, she raised the sash window and eased herself out. Her bruised ribs protested, but she gritted her teeth and continued. Any pain now would be as nothing if her stepbrothers caught her.

Three weeks to freedom, she promised herself grimly.

Stifling the alluring memory of black eyes burning into hers, she found her footing on the slippery roof.