“You must make it what you want.” He stepped away with an ironic gesture of one gloved hand. “Now go to bed.”
Her temper had stirred distantly as she’d listened to his self-sacrificing statements. Now it sparked. Her jaw tensed. “Are you going to sleep by my side?” she asked in a dangerous tone.
He looked surprised. He needed to learn she wasn’t an obedient hound to leap to his slightest command. He asked her to leave him alone to go to perdition. But she wasn’t allowing him his way. The determination that had gripped her before he appeared returned full force. She wouldn’t let him settle for this barren half-life he mapped out.
“No, of course not.” He frowned. “Haven’t you heard a word?”
“I’ve heard everything, and I agree with none of it.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
Her lips tightened. “I’m sure we will.”
“So good night.” He turned toward the door, then must have realized she hadn’t shifted. He confronted her with a frown of irritation. “Do you want something before I go?”
“I want you to come to bed.”
His lips quirked in a sour grimace. “After what happened there, any normal woman would run shrieking.”
She flinched at the normal woman remark but didn’t budge. “I’m not asking you to do…that again.” Hot color rushed into her cheeks.
“So you want a chaste bedmate?” His voice dripped derision.
She drew a harsh breath. “I want you with me, Gideon.”
“No.”
“All right. I’ll sleep in the parlor.” She folded her arms and stared at him implacably.
“Don’t be absurd,” he said with the beginnings of real anger. She realized until now he hadn’t taken her seriously.
Of course he didn’t. He thought she was a fragile young thing who needed protecting. Before they were done, he’d learn his wife possessed a will at least as strong as his. And a heart as valiant. She meant to fight for her marriage. She meant to fight for his future.
“Get into that bed now,” he growled.
She shivered although the room wasn’t cold. “Make me.”
He straightened, and she watched rage war with frustration on his face. “You’re acting like a child.”
She shrugged and scooped the shawl from where it lay at her feet. “Shall I take the chair tonight?” She spoke with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.
His jaw moved as he ground his teeth. Another shiver rippled through her. There was forbidden excitement in taunting him.
“Devil take you,” he grated out, taking a step closer.
She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and hoped to heaven he didn’t take her at her word and make her sit up all night. The bedroom was warm, the parlor wasn’t. She’d be blue within an hour, and after the last two nights, the prospect of stretching out in a soft bed was alluring.
She angled her chin and sent him the haughty stare she’d employed on a hundred importunate suitors. “Do you mean to herd me into the bed, Gideon?”
“You…”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”
“You damned witch.” His eyes glittered with fury.
Her belly quivered with nerves. And something far more powerful. “Hardly polite.”
“Oh, hell!”
He lashed out and grabbed her around the waist. In one furious movement, he swept her off her feet and bundled her against his chest.
She’d waited for this, prayed for it. Even so, the shock of his arms holding her high, the heat of his skin through his shirt, his sheer vibrating fury made her gasp.
His hands tightened, and he stared straight ahead. “You asked for this,” he snarled, marching toward the bed.
Yes, she had. Thank the Lord, she’d got it. Tentatively, she slid one hand behind his neck, tangling her fingers in the silky hair at his nape. He didn’t seem to notice.
“How dare you use brute force against me?” She wanted to sound outraged. The best she could manage was a dull sulkiness. While all the time, her heart danced.
“You should have thought of that before,” he bit out.
The distant courtesy he cultivated before the world was gone. Instead, he was big, angry, commanding and breathtakingly male. A thrill sizzled through her right to her cold toes.
He reached the edge of the mattress. “Good night, Charis.”
Unceremoniously, he dropped her to the tumbled sheets in a tangle of legs and arms and silky white nightgown.
For a moment, she lay winded, staring up at him. He’d had no difficulty carrying her. For all his leanness, he was very strong. The thought sent another thrill rocketing through her.
“How…” She paused and sucked in another breath. “How are you going to keep me here?”
“I could tie you up.” He still sounded angry.
“You wouldn’t.”
“And gag you. Gagging seems a capital idea.”
She pressed down into the mattress, wondering why the idea of her husband binding her made her belly tighten with excitement. “I’d bite you,” she said breathlessly.
He closed his eyes as if praying for strength. “Devil take you, Charis…”
He turned away. Her heart sank as she waited for him to head for the door. After all her efforts, she’d lost. She ached with weariness. The day had been long and difficult for her as well as him. If she gave up tonight, would she have the will to fight again tomorrow?
Desperately, she scrambled for some argument to stop him retreating into the lonely fortress of the parlor. But she’d reached the limits of her persuasion. He’d touched her, and logic fled. All she knew was she’d do anything to make him touch her again.
He veered left before he exited the room and dropped onto a stool near the door. Violently he began to tug at his boots.
Relief welled. And wild rejoicing. She could hardly believe it. He stayed.
More, he confirmed her theory that at heights of emotion, he escaped his affliction. He’d touched her, carried her. He hadn’t trembled or flinched. He’d been too furious to remember Rangapindhi.
Could a fever of desire achieve similar results?
The light was strong enough for her to see he was still annoyed. It was clear in his jerky movements and the flat line of his mouth.
“Do you want some help?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Don’t push it, Charis,” he said grimly. He stood up on his bare feet and prowled across to the bed, umbrage bristling from every line of his long body.
She moved to give him room and snuggled under the blankets. The intimacy of his presence tonight seemed more intense than yesterday’s reluctant consummation.
He slid into the bed and stretched out on his back. No part of his body touched hers.
“Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, although the question was inane. He lay next to her fully clothed. Clearly he meant to remain that way.
“No.”
Heavens, he even kept his gloves on. She realized with a shock she’d never seen his naked hands.
That abruptly struck her as significant. Gentlemen wore gloves as a matter of course, and it was winter. But Gideon didn’t feel the cold, and she’d seen him without neckcloth and in his shirtsleeves, both far greater faux pas than forgetting his gloves. It seemed odd he was punctilious on this one matter of dress.
Odd. Mysterious. Important.
He settled himself more comfortably. She was overwhelmingly aware of his physical presence. The way the mattress tilted under him. His scent, so familiar now. The regular rise and fall of his chest.
“Gideon…”
As he turned his head on the pillows to stare at her, she caught the glint of his eyes. “Good night, Charis.”
He sounded resentful. He’d hate being manipulated into enforced proximity. She couldn’t blame him.
But he was here. That was all she cared about.
She’d achieved her first victory. Now she had to work out how to ignite his passio
n so the next time they shared this bed, he touched her as her husband.
How she wished she knew more about men. All she had to work on was instinct and last night’s painful and embarrassing joining. Surely the delicious feelings he aroused in her weren’t meant to end in desolation. There must be pleasure in the act. Else why would people risk so much for passion?
Perhaps one day soon she’d find out.
“Good night, Gideon,” she whispered, linking her hands at her waist to stop them reaching for him.
Sixteen
Since Rangapindhi, horror and pain had poisoned Gideon’s dreams. This dream belonged to a different, more benevolent world. Slender arms cradled him. A soft female breast curved under his cheek. A woman’s breath sighed in time with his.
The piercing isolation that scored his every waking moment vanished. In this bewitching fantasy, he rejoined the human race.
Dear heaven, let him not wake.
Not yet.
Convulsively, he tightened the arms he curled around the woman’s waist. He buried his face deeper in the lush bosom. A peppery floral fragrance teased his senses.
A familiar fragrance.
He knew who he dreamt about. He’d known from the first.
“Charis…” he whispered into the frail silk veiling her breast.
His dream wife stroked his hair back from his forehead. The gesture’s tenderness slashed his heart. Her fingers brushed his face, and he felt the breath stall in her lungs.
The dream’s physical detail was so rich. So real.
Too real.
It was too late. He knew he wasn’t asleep. The brief warmth was cruel mockery. Already he shrank from contact. Charis’s scent became the oversweet stink of putrefying flesh. The touch of her hand, the grip of dead fingers.
His belly churning with nausea, he rolled away. As he sat up, he kept his back to her. He didn’t want her to see the revulsion that he knew darkened his face.
“Hell,” he groaned, burying his head in shaking hands. He tensed his throat against rising nausea.
“Gideon?” One word quivering with distress.
Of course she was distressed. She’d married a damned madman.
Through his agony, he was vaguely aware of how massively aroused he was. Hard as oak. Hot as Hades. It was a spiteful caprice of his affliction that his body continued to react like any virile twenty-five-year-old’s.
“Gideon, are you all right?”
“Yes.” He was lying.
Sunlight burned behind the closed curtains. Bedclothes rustled as she rose onto her knees. Damnably evocative sound. Desire became a hammering demand in his veins, so loud it drowned out the caterwauling in his skull. He wasn’t sure whether desire or demons inflicted worse torture.
“I don’t believe you.” The mattress dipped as she shifted closer. Then—God help him—the insidious warmth of her hand on his tense back.
He went rigid, fighting the urge to wrench away. Fighting the urge to whirl around, fling her onto the sheets, and ravish her.
“Don’t you know not to touch me?” he forced out through clenched teeth. Every breath strained his constricted lungs. His heart pounded so hard, he thought it must burst.
“I know you spent the night lying in my arms,” she said quietly. Without, confound her, taking her hand away.
He’d broken into an icy sweat when he returned to full alertness. Now heat pooled where she touched him, making his blood simmer.
“I was asleep,” he growled, loving her touch, hating her touch.
“I know,” she said patiently, her palm rubbing in tantalizing, tormenting circles. He wore a shirt but the sensation of her touch was so intense, he might as well have been naked.
He was amazed steam didn’t rise from his quivering flesh. His cock throbbed with the demand to be inside her. The memory of thrusting into her was so sharp, he could taste it.
“The difficulty is in your head. It’s not in your body.” She spoke slowly, as if trying to explain a mathematical problem to a dim student. How could she sound so calm when he was on the verge of exploding?
He could bear it no longer. He had to get away before he did something irrevocable, unforgivable. He lurched to his feet, spinning to confront her.
“I know that. It doesn’t mean I’m making it up. God, Charis, if I could…”
He stopped and sucked in a shuddering breath. What use raging against fate? He couldn’t do anything to alter his bleak future.
Although she must know his anger wasn’t targeted at her, she paled under his onslaught. She knelt on the tumbled sheets in that sinful white nightdress. Gideon fought not to notice the provocative jut of her breasts against the transparent silk. He lost the battle. His eyes feasted on those luscious curves, and the moisture evaporated from his mouth. At his sides, his hands opened and closed as he struggled not to grab her.
“Don’t you see what that means?” she asked earnestly, not seeming to register his seething restlessness.
Her voice was faint over the deafening crash of his heart. Had he missed something she said while he ogled her like a randy adolescent?
“Gideon?”
She clearly expected him to make coherent conversation. Didn’t she realize the state he was in? But her eyes remained focused on his face with a sweet determination that only made him want her more.
He turned and snatched the armoire behind him open. He squeezed his eyes shut in an agony of desire as faint floral scent filled his nostrils.
Now that she wasn’t touching him, hunger threatened to overpower him. Only the humiliating knowledge that touching her would unman him kept him from leaping on her.
Blindly, he fumbled in the dark cupboard until his hand fell on what he wanted. He turned and flung the yellow pelisse at Charis. “You’re cold.”
And I’m on fire.
She caught the coat and sent him a speculative look. To his frustration, she didn’t cover her body.
Curse her, it was February. Didn’t the woman have an ounce of sense? Through the buzzing in his ears, he tried to concentrate on what she said.
“…and then you’re free.”
He shook his head to clear the fog from his eyes. “Free?”
Her soft pink mouth took on the tiniest of curves. “Are you listening?”
Itchy heat crawled up the back of his neck. He forced himself to stare at the undistinguished landscape on the wall behind her head. But the image of her perched on the bed, disheveled from sleep, was etched into his eyeballs.
“Of course I am.”
She made a doubtful sound deep in her throat. He couldn’t resist looking at her. Then he wished he hadn’t surrendered to temptation. On her knees in front of him, she seemed all too available.
“It’s important,” she said.
“What?”
The hint of a smile faded, and her voice lowered into seriousness. “When you forget yourself, you’re free.”
He frowned. “I never forget myself.”
“Yes, you do. You forget yourself in violence. You forget yourself in sleep. Perhaps if you wanted it enough, you could forget yourself in…”
“A good swiving?” he finished on a sarcastic note. Frustration sparked. “Every damned doctor in London poked and pried at me. None suggested the sex cure. Perhaps they should have. Even if the remedy doesn’t work, their patients won’t care.” His voice roughened into urgency. “Will you bloody well cover yourself?”
She lifted the pelisse, inspected it with an unreadable expression. And deliberately tossed it to the floor.
“No.” With a languor that in a more experienced woman he’d attribute to purposeful enticement, she leaned to one side and uncurled her legs.
He wouldn’t look. He wouldn’t look.
He looked.
The nightdress hiked up, revealing neat ankles and gracefully curved calves. The night before last, he’d slid between those slender legs and he’d…
His mind slammed shut on the memory. He’d hurt
her and disgraced himself. He couldn’t go through that again for all the gold in Guinea.
She slid her feet to the floor and stood. Still with that eye-catching slowness. To his regret, he watched her hem slither down to her bare feet. God help him, just the sight of her toes, rosy and perfect, made him think of bedsport.
Even during his wild early days in India, no woman had stirred him to this pitch of arousal. He swallowed the constriction in his throat and forced himself to say what he must. “Charis, we’ve been through this before. There’s nothing to be done.”
He strove to sound calm, sensible, resigned. Difficult when his heart raced at triple time, and he couldn’t rip his gaze from the girl standing only a few feet away. One step in her direction, and he’d be close enough to grab her.
What a damned disaster that would be.
“So you say,” she said softly.
Was her voice always so husky? Or did his ears play tricks? He fisted his gloved hands by his sides and prayed for strength.
“What happened…changed me. I’m not a whole man.”
Those sinfully thick eyelashes veiled her eyes. He couldn’t remember seeing anyone in such minute detail before. It was like all the light in the world shone just on her.
“You looked whole the other night,” she said evenly, although color rose in her cheeks.
Oh, dear merciful God in heaven. How could she remind him of that? It was meant to be the one time. It must be the one time.
His aching cock twitched as if to deny that assertion.
“You know what I mean,” he snarled, nearly frantic with the painful heat sizzling through him. Heat that found no outlet. “You know…What the devil are you doing?”
“Unbinding my hair.” She sounded unconcerned. Her deft fingers undid the long plait that curved sinuously across one shoulder.
“Don’t.” The command emerged as a croak.
“I need to brush it out and put it up for the day.”
“Blast you, that’s not why you’re doing this.”
He couldn’t help but watch those busy fingers. Nor could he turn away when she buried her hands in the bronze mane and combed it loose so it fell like a shining curtain. Desire knotted every muscle in his body.
He lifted his hands to touch the glorious mass. Then hesitated midair. Feeling like the greatest fool in Christendom.
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