Captive of Sin (19 page)

Then she did step closer, her skirts rustling. Christ, don’t let her touch him. Not now. After telling her about Rangapindhi, he felt like he’d scraped off several layers of skin.

She exhaled in a long, impatient breath. “There’s more.”

Oh, she was damned right about that.

His guilt surged. Fought with the absurd urge to confess, to receive absolution. When he knew there was no real absolution for him ever, for this sin or his other, more heinous transgressions.

She waited for his answer. Strange how he’d withstood agonizing interrogations in Rangapindhi without cracking, but his wife’s bristling silence made him frantic to spill his secrets.

Oh, hell, why shouldn’t she know what he’d done tonight? Perhaps it was best she recognized what a craven she’d married. He’d tried to tell her so often, but she refused to heed him, devil take her foolish stubbornness.

He drew himself up to his full height, turned, and surveyed her down his long nose. “I paid for a tart,” he said harshly.

As her expression darkened with hurt, his gut clenched in unwelcome remorse. She came to a trembling halt a few feet away. “What…what did you do with her?” she asked shakily.

Abruptly Gideon’s guilty defiance evaporated. He felt utterly sickened. With himself. With the world. With every bloody thing in Creation.

Except the woman he’d married.

He avoided eyes that held no accusation, just tortured curiosity. Shame rose like bile. Sometimes his shame was so suffocating, he thought it would kill him.

His voice was toneless as he unleashed the mortifying truth. “Not one damned thing.”

Even without watching, he knew the tension drained from her. He braced for a volley of questions. But she didn’t speak. Which somehow forced him to explain.

“I couldn’t. I thought…” God above, this was humiliating. His hands formed fists at his sides. He gulped for air, which seemed in short supply in the dark room. “I thought…I think I’ll hurt you when I…when I bed you. I thought if I could take the edge off, it would go easier for you. I’d give up my life before I…I hurt you.”

Good God, he stammered like an embarrassed schoolboy. Heat prickled his neck.

He risked a glance at her. Astonishingly, her lips curved in a faint smile although her eyes were still somber. “I’d rather you hurt me than you went to another woman.”

He’d expected hysterics, rage, tears. Shock sent him tumbling headlong into speech. “I’d hoped to manage the act with a professional. I haven’t willingly touched anyone since Rangapindhi. And you’ve seen what happens to me when I do touch someone. I’m in a damnable state to bed an inexperienced girl. I’d hoped…if I could touch a stranger, I’d be able to touch you, manage the act without too much pain or clumsiness.” The final sour admission surged up. “But using that woman felt too much like betrayal.”

Her smile widened as if he’d done something wonderful instead of shabby and sordid. Devil take her, what was wrong with the girl? Nothing he said or did, no matter how vile, made her despise him as he deserved.

He couldn’t bear to look into her face any longer. Its beauty, its honesty, its
love
scourged his soul. On feet heavier than lead, he crossed the room to stare out the window.

The sky outside turned gray. His wedding night was over. And his bride was still a virgin.

She padded across to stand beside him. “It’s a new day.”

“We’ve got nothing but darkness ahead,” he said grimly, glancing at her.

“I don’t believe that.” She sounded tired but sure as she looked at him. The honesty in her eyes always cut right through him.

“You will.” He slumped onto the window seat. He felt empty, lost. He had no idea where they went from here. Not for the first time, he wondered if in marrying Charis, he’d inflicted worse harm on her than her stepbrothers ever could.

She stood too close, but at least she didn’t touch him. “Do you want to come to bed?” she asked hesitantly.

“No.” In the strengthening light, he saw her face more clearly. She looked exhausted, devastated. “You go.”

She shook her head and knelt on the thick red-and-blue rug at his feet, pulling his coat more securely around her shoulders. “You’ve had less sleep than I.”

“I’m used to it.”

She drew her knees up and linked her hands around them. With her loose hair tumbled around her, she looked absurdly young. Except the expression in her eyes spoke of heartbreaking experience. She’d changed in the last hour, taken on some of his darkness.

What he’d dreaded had come to pass. The poison of Rangapindhi had infected her bright spirit. And there was no antidote.

Her gaze was somber as she stared across the room at the burning embers in the hearth. Instinctively, Gideon lifted his hand to stroke the soft fall of her thick hair, to offer a moment’s comfort.

Then he remembered that such natural gestures were forever denied him. His heart contracted in agony as his hand dropped away from her.

W
earing only her shift, Charis waited alone in the big bed. It was late, past midnight, and the weather had turned colder during the day so a fire blazed in the grate.

No sound came from the parlor behind the closed door. She knew Gideon was in there, steeling himself for what he must do. She’d been steeling herself all day too. In her belly, huge ugly toads of fear somersaulted over each other. Her trembling fingers crushed the embroidered edge of the fine linen sheet.

Could consummating their marriage push him further into darkness?

Darkness hovered perilously close. She’d recognized that last night, when he’d told her about Rangapindhi. The magnitude of his suffering beggared belief.

Could she heal him?
Could anyone?

And still they both had to get through tonight. She’d told Gideon she could do this. But every lonely second of delay
made her bravado less and less convincing. If he didn’t appear soon, her failing courage would desert her altogether.

Charis bit her lip and closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer for strength. It didn’t help.

When she opened her eyes, Gideon stood on the threshold. The doors in St. Helier’s best hostelry were, of course, well oiled.

“Hello,” she said stupidly, although she’d only left him to his brandy half an hour ago, and they’d spent an entire strained day together, carefully avoiding the subject of what happened tonight.

His beautiful mouth quirked in the wry smile that was indelibly imprinted on her poor yearning heart. “Hello to you too.”

He was in shirtsleeves and trousers. The neck was open, slashing down to reveal a solid chest covered in curling dark hair. The sight shocked her. She’d imagined him hairless, like the marble statues in the hall at Marley Place. His long narrow feet were bare. He still wore his fine tan kid gloves.

All this she took in with one sweeping look, aware he studied her in his turn. What did he see? She kept the covers pulled to her shoulders as she sat against the carved oak bedhead. She’d plaited her hair as usual. It seemed inappropriate to leave it loose, too bridal when she didn’t feel remotely like a bride.

She overcame her crippling shyness to glance into his face again. His fleeting amusement had evaporated. He was pale, and that telltale muscle flickered in his lean cheek.

“What…what do you want me to do?” she asked almost soundlessly.

Why, oh, why did this have to be so awkward? Surely people consummated marriages—or did this without legal niceties—all the time. Yet she was so nervous, she felt sick.

He stepped into the room and shut the door after him. “Lie down. Close your eyes,” he said in a somber voice. “I’ll try to be quick.”

Charis’s heart clenched with misery. She was sure when those other people came together, they said more than that. But those people wanted what was to occur. She bit back a protest at the bleak crudeness of it all.

He didn’t come nearer. “Would you like me to blow out the candles?”

She started to shake her head, then nodded. “Yes, please.” What happened was better done in shadow.

She watched him move around the room with his usual catlike grace. Soon the only light was the fire’s flickering golden glow.

He stopped beside the bed. With his back to the hearth, she couldn’t see his expression. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. She itched to rise on her knees and smooth it. But, of course, she couldn’t touch him.

The agony of that knowledge carved a crack in her heart as wide and deep as the sea they’d crossed to reach Jersey.

“Are…are you going to undress?” she asked uncertainly.

“No.”

She bit her lip again. Her fingers tightened on the sheet until they ached. Gideon stood close enough for her to hear the uneven hiss of his breath. She looked at the superb man she’d married and wished with every particle of her being she was anywhere but here.

“Charis, I’ll have to pull the covers away,” he said with gentle insistence.

She realized she clutched the sheet like a shield. Absurd. She’d agreed to this. He was here for her sake and at great cost to himself. Too late to cavil at the bargain she’d made.

“Of course.” With difficulty, she relaxed her clawlike grip.

Down, down the blankets went, until she lay revealed to her bare toes. She closed her eyes because she wasn’t brave enough to look into Gideon’s face. Uncontrollable heat rose in her cheeks. He’d see she was naked beneath her shift. A nauseating mixture of nerves and embarrassment kept her stiff and unmoving.

He was so still, standing next to the bed, that she couldn’t even hear him breathing anymore.

He’d warned her he’d be clumsy. She was smart enough to believe him. She braced for him to grab her, but nothing happened.

What was he waiting for? Dear heaven, did the sight of her shatter his resolution? Now the moment of truth arrived, was he unable to go through with it?

“My God, but you’re glorious,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes flew open with disbelieving shock. “What?”

His expression remained troubled, but his gaze was avid as it traced her body. “Charis, you’re beautiful beyond a man’s wildest dreams.”

How could he say such things? It was too painful. She couldn’t find pleasure in his praise when he shook with disgust at her slightest touch.

“Please…” She swallowed to dislodge the lump of distress in her throat. “Please get it over with.”

His face contorted with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Charis.”

“Don’t say any more.” She closed her eyes, partly to stem her foolish tears, and slid down in the bed. “Just…do what you must.”

“As you wish.” He sounded remote, as though he too retreated behind some inner bastion.

The mattress sagged with his weight, then she felt encroaching warmth as he straddled her legs. She knew the act would be less painful if she relaxed, but every muscle tensed in fearful expectation.

After a moment, he raised the hem of her shift. To her thighs. Then past her hips. The cold air on her skin made her shiver.

She placed shaking hands over her mound. Which was stupid. He’d do more than look at her before he was finished.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her…there. His face was taut with such anguish and longing, she couldn’t bear it.

Hesitantly, he placed one gloved hand on the soft plain of her belly. Her breasts tightened, and restless heat settled between her legs. She was ashamed that she couldn’t stifle her powerful and immediate reaction.

He snatched his hand back as if she scalded him. He was shaking. Of course he was. Touching her, even for such a short time, required every ounce of will.

She bit her lip so hard, she tasted blood. The urge to beg him to stop fought up through her closed throat. She could see in his strained, colorless face what this cost him.

She remained silent.

Still silent, she lifted her hands away from her sex.

Gideon stared at Charis in helpless wonder while his gut churned like a millwheel. She was the most exquisite creature he’d ever seen. His hunger was a raging storm.

The shift bunched under her breasts, but he clearly saw the rich pink of her nipples. Nipples that peaked like ripe raspberries the moment he touched her.

Her swift response was just another of fate’s mockeries. She was formed for pleasure, but she’d find no pleasure with the man she married. Nonetheless, his eyes feasted on the treasures of her body. The delicious inward curve of her waist. The flare of her hips. The long, coltish legs.

His cock was hard and swollen and pulsed against the front of his trousers. If he took her now, he’d rip her to pieces. His mind might deem touching her as torture. His prick didn’t care.

Dazedly, she stared into his face. She was white as new snow. She’d hardly looked at his body, although if she dropped her gaze, she couldn’t miss his arousal.

He gritted his teeth and stroked the smooth skin of her thigh. For one heady moment, even through his glove, he felt her enticing warmth.

Then, as always, his mind went black. Screams echoed in his ears. Her flesh turned to rotting carrion. Her peppery carnation scent became the stink of death.

He fought back the shrieking demons. Wrestled them until they lay supine and silent. The battle left him shaking. He sucked in a breath that reeked of decay. Slowly, as if he pushed a massive weight up a steep and jagged path, he traced a tentative path to her hip.

He wasn’t a small man. He needed to prepare her. But time was his enemy. The longer he waited, the more likely his demons would master him.

She was rigid with fear. The uncertainty in her beautiful eyes broke his heart. Her breath emerged in unsteady gasps. Not, he was grimly aware, of desire. The air bristled with tension.

He placed both hands on her thighs and carefully spread them. In a room lit only by firelight, her body’s hollows were dark and mysterious. He knelt between her legs, and his nostrils flared as he caught her scent.

With clumsy fingers, he undid his trousers. His cock sprang free. When her eyes fastened on his organ, she made a muffled sound. Her hands curled into the sheet beneath as if she physically stopped herself leaping from the bed.

He hooked his hands under her hips and angled her up. Slowly, he pushed forward.

As he breached her body, she whimpered but didn’t recoil. He pushed again, feeling the tissues give way.

To his grateful astonishment, she was damp. Damp enough to ease his entry.

Even so, she was damned tight.

He paused and sucked in a deep breath redolent of Charis.

She’s alive, she’s alive,
he chanted in his mind as he eased into her.
She’s alive,
he told the ghosts in his head, blocking his ears to their panicked clamor.

She whimpered again and shifted, drawing him deeper.

The voices grew more insistent. He couldn’t hold them
off. Cold sweat prickled his skin. His grip firmed on her hips. As his vision faded, he inhaled. The world shrank to one spark of light.

He had to do this now or fail utterly.

“Charis, forgive me,” he said in a strangled voice. He tautened and thrust.

Pain shafted through Charis with the vivid, immediate brightness of lightning. A scream welled in her throat, but she bit it back.

Still, a choked moan escaped. She felt like she’d been split in half with a blunt ax. It was excruciating. Blinding.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for it to be over.

Breathe. She needed to breathe.

She gasped for air, but Gideon’s weight crushed her into the mattress. He was bigger and heavier than she’d realized. His height and superb coordination disguised how well muscled he was.

Frantically, she dug her fingers deeper into the sheets. He’d done what he needed to. Why didn’t he pull out and leave her be?

Breathe, Charis, breathe.

The part he’d pushed into her chafed tender flesh. He was hard as granite. But unlike granite, he was hotter than a furnace. Stupidly, she’d imagined he’d feel cool, even cold, because of his reluctance to touch her.

His smell, familiar yet unfamiliar, surrounded her. She knew the clean scent of his soap and the essence of his skin. She guessed the extra spice in the air was male arousal.

His breathing was ragged, and he trembled. She raised her hands to grip his back, then remembered he hated to be touched. He wouldn’t want her embrace, even as he lay buried inside her in the closest connection she’d ever known.

She sucked in another breath. An easier one. Where they joined, she still hurt, but the fierce agony faded.

He shifted with a soft grunt. The pressure changed, became less excruciating.

Charis waited for him to pull away. But his muscles tightened, and he thrust again. She bit back another moan and gripped the sheet to stop sliding up the bed.

She’d imagined this would be quick, over in seconds. But he was still inside her. He moved once more, and released a deep groan.

Another thrust. His hips pumped several times, and she felt a liquid heat deep inside her. He groaned again and slumped over her. In a cruel parody of tenderness, his head came to rest on her shoulder, his silky hair tickling her neck.

After all the hardness, the fleeting softness seemed alien, wrong.

After an endless time, Gideon withdrew and carefully pulled down her shift, hiding the tops of her thighs. Then he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His shirt was twisted and flapped free of his gaping trousers.

After one brief glance at him, Charis concentrated on the dark beams crossing the ceiling too. She didn’t want to see the organ he’d pressed into her body.

She supposed she should say something, but she wasn’t certain her voice would work. Her throat clenched so tight, it hurt. Although she was cold, she couldn’t summon energy to reach for the covers.

Who knew how long they lay alongside each other? Not long, she guessed, although every second felt like an hour.

Where he’d taken her, she stung, although the piercing pain had subsided to a constant throbbing. She felt lost in a vast emptiness, as though the world had been destroyed in some unimaginable cataclysm. How odd that this most intimate act of all left her feeling like the only human left on earth.

Slowly, stiffly, he sat up. For one intense second, she felt him study her. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Like distant thunder on a summer’s day, devastation nudged at her awareness. But for the moment, exhaustion kept it at bay.

Jamming her eyes shut, she willed herself not to cry. She was much better hiding in this numbness. Given her way, she’d lie here forever.

Charis listened to him move about the room. Water splashed into a dish. Perhaps he meant to wash. Perhaps he was desperate to rid himself of every trace of her disgusting person.

She recognized she tortured herself and scotched the thought before it went any further. Instead, she sought that cold empty space in her heart where nothing could hurt her.

The rug muffled his footsteps as he moved closer. She couldn’t help tensing at his approach. He stopped by the bed. Unthinkingly, she flinched.