Disappointment shadowed his face as he sat back against the worn leather. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what trouble you flee.”
“You are helping me.” Charis blinked back the mist that appeared in front of her eyes. He deserved better return for his generosity than deceit.
She tried to tell herself he was a man, and, for that reason alone, she couldn’t trust him. The insistence rang hollow. Her father had been a good man. Everything told her Sir Gideon Trevithick was a good man too.
She forced a stronger tone. “It’s my turn for a question.”
He folded his arms across his powerful chest and surveyed her from under lowered black brows. “Ask away.”
It frightened her how much she yearned to know about him. Curiosity raged like a fever. But to her utter mortification, the first question that emerged was, “Are you married?”
His laugh held a harsh edge. “Good God, no.”
Shock at his emphatic answer overwhelmed her embarrassment. “You make it sound an impossibility.”
“Believe me, it is.” He looked out the window at the dark landscape.
Helpless to resist, she stared at his profile, perfect as a cameo or a face on a coin. Thick dark hair sprang back from a high forehead. The straight, commanding nose. The proud chin and angular jaw. His physical splendor struck her like a blow.
He turned and caught her studying him. Her color mounted higher. Thank goodness the dim light and her bruises hid her blush.
For a long moment, she stared into turbulent dark eyes. He was in turmoil, and she wasn’t vain enough to imagine she was the cause. No, her little drama briefly intersected with his life and would just as quickly veer away. She stifled the pang of senseless regret that knowledge aroused.
The thick dark eyelashes that veiled his eyes were the only remotely feminine feature on his face. Yes, he was beautiful, but he was also uncompromisingly male.
“My turn. Where are your parents?”
“Dead,” she said starkly before she thought to lie.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked down at where her good hand clenched in her lap. “My father died when I was sixteen. My mother died three years ago.”
“How old are you now?” She was grateful he didn’t pursue the subject. After all this time, it still hurt to talk about her parents.
“Twenty. Almost twenty-one.” Just saying the words reminded her that on the first day of March, she reached her majority. And safety. If she stayed free for the next three weeks, her stepbrothers couldn’t touch her. Or her fortune. “That’s two questions.”
The conversation was odd, prickly. Like a dangerous game. “You can have two now.”
“Tulliver calls you Sir Gideon. Were you knighted by the King?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate, perhaps boast of whatever feats brought about his elevation. But he remained silent.
“So it’s not an old title?”
“That too. I’m a baronet for my sins. Although I wasn’t expected to inherit.”
“Penrhyn is the family seat?”
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
“I was in London.” He paused. “My turn well and truly. Carlisle to Portsmouth is a long journey. Especially for a woman on her own. What prompted it?”
“My circumstances changed.” That at least was the truth.
“So your aunt expects you?”
“Aunt…Aunt Mary desires a companion. She’s…she’s a rich spinster.” Close enough to the truth about her real great-aunt in Bath except her name was Georgiana. How Charis wished she could apply to that wonderful woman for help now. But her great-aunt, for all her fortune, was powerless against the law and the Farrells’ bullying.
“Miss Mary Watson of Portsmouth.” Did she hear skepticism in his deep voice, rich as vintage wine?
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So you can direct us to her house.”
Oh, Lord, no. She should have thought of that complication. She’d chosen Portsmouth as her destination because she imagined there she’d be part of a transient population, as unremarkable as a grain of sand in a gale. But she’d never visited the town, knew nothing about it.
“Of course.” She spoke hurriedly, before he quizzed her further on her mythical aunt. “Why were you in London?”
Did she mistake the haunted look that darkened his eyes? “Cornwall is isolated, especially in winter.”
Except he was tanned. His answers puzzled her. He mightn’t be lying like she was, but he wasn’t completely honest. “Does Akash work for you?”
He gave a surprised laugh. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh properly. His face lit with amusement, and her heart crashed to a trembling stop in her chest. He was the most breathtakingly attractive man she’d ever seen.
“Of course not. He’s my friend.”
“But…” She stopped for fear of causing offense.
“You shouldn’t make simple judgments, Miss Watson.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a flat silver flask. She waited for him to drink, but he held it out to her. “It’s brandy.”
“I don’t take strong spirits.”
“It will help you sleep and dull your aches.”
“Akash’s treatment did that.”
“Once you’ve been on the road a few hours, his magic will wear thin.” Sir Gideon’s voice lowered to velvet persuasion. “Drink it, Sarah. I promise it won’t hurt.”
She found herself reaching out, taking the flask and drinking. All under the power of fathomless dark eyes. As the liquor hit her throat, she coughed. Her bruised ribs protested the abrupt pressure even as comforting warmth spread through her veins.
She passed back the flask. Her brief vitality faded. Exhaustion weighted her aching limbs. Her swollen jaw protested as she fought back a yawn.
She wouldn’t sleep. She didn’t trust her companions enough to fall into unconsciousness. And she needed to be alert to seize her chance to escape.
She wouldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t…
The carriage rolled into Portsmouth the next morning. Gideon had dozed in snatches. That was all he managed these days, whether in a speeding coach or the most luxurious feather bed. Sometimes he thought he’d sell his soul for an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Other days he recognized he didn’t have a soul to sell.
At least his fear of closed-in spaces wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been when he first left India. His confinement in this coach had been uncomfortable, but he’d managed, thank God.
From the bench opposite, Akash studied him in silence. It had started to snow before dawn, and his friend had sought refuge in the vehicle. They’d suggested to Tulliver that they stop at a wayside inn. But Tulliver had proven as immune to English cold as he had to blistering heat on the boat back from India.
Gideon’s eyes alighted on the slumbering bundle at Akash’s side. Sarah lay curled in the corner, pressed against the upholstery as if even asleep she remained wary.
Gideon’s belly knotted with coruscating anger at whoever had hurt her. The craven deserved to rot in hell.
He slid back the blind and caught his first glimpse of Miss Sarah Watson in daylight. The bruising on her face was worse this morning, for all Akash’s arcane skills. Her hair was a rat’s nest. One scratched hand clutched his thick greatcoat around her, hiding the slender curves he recalled with such unwelcome clarity from last night. The other dangled loosely against her breast, suspended from Akash’s makeshift sling.
“Shall I wake her?” Akash murmured.
Gideon nodded. Gently, Akash touched her hand where it clenched in the coat’s thick black wool. Not for the first time, Gideon envied his friend the ease of contact.
He remained still, watching the girl stir. Her eyes—a cloudy hazel in the bright light reflected off the snow outside—opened and slowly focused on him. With accusation.
“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 damnable 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 circumstances.
“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 amusement 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 destitute 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 embarrassment. 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 astonishing 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 passed, 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 prickled 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 shifted under Akash’s hands.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, frowning.
“No,” she murmured.
Akash’s medical skills must be why he assumed 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 shivered 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 sanctity there.
They were so dark, almost black. Intense. Glittering. Full of suppressed passion 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 identity 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 massive 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.
Captive of Sin Page 4
