Captive Of Sin Part 18

"I know this is difficult for you." He pa.s.sed her the heavy crystal gla.s.s. As if she pressed on a bruise, she noted his care that his fingers didn't brush hers. "I wish I could make it easier."

You could love me, she silently told him. She stared mutely at him while her hand tightened around the gla.s.s until her knuckles shone white. "It's not your fault," she said through stiff lips. "My stepbrothers' greed instigated this disaster."

He sipped his wine, then placed it back on the sideboard as if it weren't to his liking. She knew what wasn't to his liking-tying himself to a woman he could never care for. And who cared for him too much.

He faced her, his eyes like black stones. "What you do after the marriage is completely your choice. If you take a lover, I'll acknowledge any children as legitimate. Within my power, I'll ensure your happiness."

She summoned some last shred of resistance although her strongest impulse was to run from the room and cower from the fate that closed around her. "What if I ask you to live as my husband in reality?"

His expression remained somber, implacable. "That's not within my power."

Bitterness surged. She thought her heart broke now. How would she survive endless years of this? "And you? Will you take lovers?"

"No. I pledge my fidelity." His voice contained an undertone of irony that perplexed her. "You needn't fear gossip about an unfaithful husband."

Charis drank some wine, needing the courage, however spurious. If only she embarked on a future of love and hope instead of this arid bargain.

"Yet you're prepared to play the cuckold yourself." Despite her best intentions, sharpness edged her response. "That seems uncommonly generous."

His face was stark with tension. This couldn't be easy for him. Yet again, she reminded herself he put himself through this for her benefit.

"Charis, you're too warm and vital to endure life without love. With your money and freedom, in fact if not under law, you'll be the envy of every woman in the ton."

Her lips tightened against the pain that shafted through her. "I doubt it. I'll be that most pitiable of creatures, a woman in love with a man who can't bear her."

His brows drew together, more in regret than anger, she thought. "I hold you in the greatest esteem. If things were different, I'd..." He stopped and dragged in a shuddering breath as he straightened.

"You esteem me so much, you consign me to a future of deceit and adultery."

She had no right to berate him. Guilt cramped her belly. An apology hovered, but she couldn't quite squeeze it out. She swung away to stand near the fire, but its warmth couldn't thaw the ice inside her.

"If this course is repugnant, we needn't pursue it," he said steadily. How she wished he'd be angry instead of endlessly understanding. She didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve this astonis.h.i.+ngly heroic act he made on her behalf.

She turned back to him. "What choice do we have?"

"We run. We hide. We hope to blazes your stepbrothers don't find us." He picked up his wine and stared at it as if it held the answer to all the universe's questions. "Or we stay here, and I bluff them into thinking I'm not involved in your disappearance. I doubt they'd find you in the smugglers' hole."

"If I'm discovered, you'll be arrested."

As he glanced at her, his expression was grim. "It's not the plan I'd choose. But the decision is yours."

She clutched her winegla.s.s like she'd clutched his hands when she'd stumbled on the cliffs. He'd saved her then. She knew he'd save her now.

But at what cost?

"How can I bear marrying you in such a coldhearted arrangement?" she asked rawly.

She waited for another patronizing comment about her love not being real. Instead, he sent her a smile of surpa.s.sing tenderness. "You're the bravest person I know. A pair of nodc.o.c.ks like the Farrells can't defeat a girl of your spirit." His smile faded. "Charis, there's something else."

Her lips compressed in a grimace, and she slumped back into her chair. "I don't think I want to know. Can you tell me tomorrow?"

"The truth will be no easier tomorrow. It never is."

"What a bleak statement."

She noticed he looked uncomfortable. He hadn't looked uncomfortable when he'd informed her he expected her to seek another man's bed. Or when she'd told him she loved him. No, he'd looked devastated then. As if every hope he'd ever cherished came to nothing.

"Although nonconsummation isn't grounds for annulment, your stepbrothers will challenge the marriage on any basis they can. You're a minor and acting against their wishes."

"Surely if we marry in Jersey, the wedding is legal."

"Yes. But your stepbrothers will seek or manufacture evidence of collusion or coercion or fraud. We're safer if we preserve appearances."

She swallowed. "Spend the days together?"

"And at least one night."

For a confused moment, she didn't understand. The statement seemed to contradict everything else he'd said.

It took her a few moments to speak, and she stumbled over the words. "You mean to share my bed."

"As your husband." Gideon paused, and the betraying muscle jerked in his cheek as he visibly strove for composure. "Charis, you can't return to Penrhyn a virgin."

Eleven.

Charis stood in the prow of the sleek little boat as it slid into the harbor at St. Helier. Pa.s.sing a castle on a causeway, they cut through green water toward the dock.

Ordinarily, she'd be excited to visit the island.

Ordinarily? What in her life had been ordinary since her stepbrothers had forced her to leave her great-aunt? And these last days had piled bizarre circ.u.mstance upon bizarre circ.u.mstance until her head felt ready to explode.

Yesterday she'd accepted a marriage proposal from the man she loved. Who categorically didn't love her. Who intended to set her free to fill another man's bed. After he'd made use of her body.

Once.

Tonight.

She placed a shaking hand over her roiling belly. Her queasy stomach wasn't the result of seasickness but of crippling nerves.

Dorcas had lent her a rough gown and a thick red woolen cloak more practical than decorative. The village girl who had set out for Gretna in disguise wore a gorgeous emerald velvet cape that had belonged to Gideon's mother. She and the tall, heavily m.u.f.fled man who accompanied her had departed with great clatter the evening before.

After that, dinner had been strained and silent. Gideon then sent her upstairs to sleep for a few hours before they left under cover of darkness. But she'd lain awake, struggling to come to terms with her desolate future.

Fate granted her dearest wish and blighted her hopes. All in one stroke.

Before midnight, she and Gideon took the secret pa.s.sage to the beach. He rowed a small boat past the breakers to where Tulliver and William, one of the villagers, waited to sail them to Jersey.

Since then, their journey's speed had astonished Charis. The elements conspired to ensure that her wedding met no delay. A cowardly part of her wanted the voyage to last forever.

She brushed aside windblown strands from her tightly coiled braids and glanced back at Gideon. He stood at the helm like a pirate. Like Black Jack. His hair blew wildly around his face. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, and his white s.h.i.+rt billowed in the breeze. He looked happier and more at home than she'd ever seen him.

At his side stood Tulliver; William sat near the open vessel's stern. The two men would take the boat back to Penrhyn after the wedding.

Gideon's ease with the s.h.i.+p had surprised her. Although of course it shouldn't have. He'd grown up on the coast, and the blood of Black Jack Trevithick flowed in his veins.

Was there anything he couldn't do?

Oh, yes, he couldn't bring himself to live with his wife, could he?

The rancorous thought made her turn to watch the approach of the dock. It should pour with rain to match her mood. But the sky was blue, and the waves sparkled and danced in the sunlight. It was still afternoon. Plenty of time left to get married today.

Then she'd have to make sense of the rest of her life.

G.o.d help her.

Charis stood dazedly beside Gideon while a plump-cheeked vicar droned the words of the marriage service.

Gideon was dressed in the height of fas.h.i.+on in his dark blue coat. He looked like any girl's dream prince. Tall, handsome, openly solicitous for his young bride's welfare. Next to him, Charis felt like a beggar maid in Dorcas's cheap pink gown and straw bonnet with its matching ribbons. Heaven knew what the clergyman made of such an ill-matched pair.

In her gloved hands, she clutched a ragged bunch of flowers. To her astonishment, Tulliver had pressed the bouquet on her just before the vicar arrived at their hotel rooms.

The unexpected kindness had come close to shattering the numbness that had possessed her since she'd stepped off the boat. She'd acted like an automaton all afternoon, hardly speaking while Gideon found lodgings and arranged the wedding. If such a sad, shabby event deserved that festive name.

She couldn't let herself think or feel. If she did, she'd break down and cry. She refused to humiliate herself. Nor, more importantly, would she humiliate the man who made her his wife so much against his inclination.

"The ring?"

Would Gideon have remembered a ring? What they did today made a mockery of such a symbol of eternal love.

"Charis?" Gideon prompted.

She raised her eyes from her bouquet, sweet freesias that wouldn't grow on the mainland for weeks yet. Gideon extended his hand. Automatically, she s.h.i.+fted her flowers to her right hand and offered her left.

"Your glove?" he said.

She looked around for someone to hold her flowers, but neither William nor Tulliver noticed. Gideon's lips took on a flat line, then with quick efficiency she could only read as distaste, he stripped away the white lace glove that had belonged to his mother.

His hands shook as he roughly shoved a plain gold ring onto her finger.

It was done. She was married.

Forever linked to this difficult, brilliant, enigmatic, wonderful man.

If only he cared for her, this would be the happiest day of her life. It wouldn't matter that her only witnesses were as close to strangers as made no difference. Or that she was dressed like a milkmaid.

But he didn't care for her.

The knowledge pressed down on her heart like a huge stone.

"You may kiss the bride, Sir Gideon," the vicar said with a heartiness that grated. Everything grated at this moment. Even her own hopeless longing. Especially her own hopeless longing. "A bonny bride she is at that. Felicitations to you both and wis.h.i.+ng you many bouncing babes, Lady Trevithick."

Charis bit the side of her cheek to stop herself snapping at the man. His good wishes made her want to scream. If she had any bouncing babes, they wouldn't be Gideon's. They'd be a betrayal of every word she'd just spoken.

She waited for Gideon to give the man the set-down he invited. Instead, her new husband caught her arm before she turned away. "I'll be delighted to kiss my bride."

Shocked, trembling, Charis couldn't have protested even if she wanted to. For one agonized instant, she remembered how he'd reacted yesterday. If he treated her like that now, she'd lose control of the scream building at the back of her throat.

Unsure, frightened, yearning, she raised her gaze to meet his. The black eyes were gla.s.sy. The hand on her arm was stiff. Not even the vainest woman could think he wanted to kiss her.

Then she remembered they needed to make a show of affection in front of their spa.r.s.e audience in case Hubert and Felix challenged the match. She also remembered Gideon did this for her sake, and temper was poor repayment.

She summoned her courage and plastered a smile on her face. It felt like the rictus grin on a skull, but a glance at the jovial vicar indicated it convinced him.

"I'll be delighted to kiss my beloved husband." At least she didn't have to lie about that.

Admiration lit Gideon's eyes before he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. The shock of the contact made her drop her bouquet. A host of sensations overwhelmed her, vividly familiar even though they'd kissed only once before.

His clean scent. Lemon soap. Beneath that, the fresh, salty tang of his skin. He'd washed and changed. But still he smelt like the sea. His height. Occasionally, she forgot how long and lean he was. He was as hot as a furnace. Standing next to him was like standing next to a great blazing hearth. When she'd been cold forever.

His mouth moved on hers with subtle pressure. Instinctively, she parted her lips and drew his breath into her lungs.

The intimacy was astonis.h.i.+ng. By far the most intimate moment she'd ever shared with anyone.

She closed her eyes. Tingling warmth seeped from his kiss. Down, down, to settle at the base of her belly. She sighed and leaned forward, lifting her arms.

She opened hazy eyes to see him step away. He looked pale but composed as he briefly shook the vicar's hand. She realized she still reached out like a mendicant. Blus.h.i.+ng, she folded her arms before her to hide their trembling.

Gideon only kissed her for show. Still, she'd clung to him like ivy clung to the walls of Marley Place. If she wasn't careful, he'd grow to despise her for this endless need she couldn't conquer.

"What a beautiful couple," the vicar was saying. "I'm happy to be of service to such a gallant gentleman, a hero of the nation."

Of necessity, Gideon had revealed their true ident.i.ties to the man who married them. They'd booked into the hotel under false names. Mr. and Mrs. John Holloway.

Gideon's expression didn't change although Charis guessed the fulsome praise chafed. "Reverend Briggs, remember there's twenty guineas if you keep my ident.i.ty to yourself for the next fortnight. My wife and I seek privacy."

"Of course. Of course. It's an honor for my island to host your nuptials. The Hero of Rangapindhi here. Now that's a tale I can tell my grandchildren."

"Tell them in two weeks." No mistaking the threat in Gideon's voice. The trace of menace pierced even the vicar's rapture.

"You have my word as a gentleman and a man of the cloth, Sir Gideon. No whisper of what pa.s.sed today until you leave Jersey."