Captive of Sin (16 page)

After a few taut moments, he turned to her, his face terrifyingly grave. “There’s only one way I can keep you safe.”

She straightened against the chair. One hand clutched her mother’s locket like a talisman against evil. “Are you going to take me away?”

“If they tracked you to the wild edge of England, they’ll find you wherever we go. We can run if that’s your choice, but I don’t fancy our chances if every magistrate in the country is after us.” He watched her steadily, and she caught the ghost of his earlier devastation beneath his purposeful manner.

“And people will recognize you.” Her voice was husky, although for his sake, she tried to sound practical, unemotional.

“My celebrity is a blasted nuisance.”

“Your celebrity saved us from a house search today.”

“True.”

“If we can’t outrun them, what can we do? I could go alone.” She paused and spoke with difficulty. She hated to beg. Worse, she hated to contemplate leaving Gideon. “If I had some money, I could find a room somewhere—London even. It’s only a couple of weeks.”

His face darkened in swift rejection. “Over my dead body.”

She swallowed the dread that clogged her throat. For all her seething unhappiness, his statement filled her with relieved gratitude. “I can’t see an alternative. Apart from the smugglers’ hole.”

“There is one alternative.” His tone was neutral, artificially so, she thought. His eyes didn’t waver from her face. “We could get married.

For one radiant moment, joy flared inside her.

Married…

She rose and took an unsteady step toward him. “Gideon…” she began as wild happiness exploded in her breast.

His troubled expression halted her in her tracks and reminded her of his pain when she’d told him she loved him. She sucked in a tremulous breath and looked at him properly.

Her glittering palace of hope disintegrated. The hands that had risen toward him fell back to her sides and formed fists of anguish.

“What’s this about?” she asked in a flinty voice.

He shifted away from the windows, back toward the fire. He stopped before her, still too far away to touch. Of course.

“It’s the obvious solution, Charis.” An unexpected moment to realize he’d started to use her real name naturally. He spread his gloved hands as if appealing to her to see things his way. “If we’re wed, I have a husband’s legal rights.”

Since she’d met him, becoming his wife had been a hopeless dream. Now he proposed, and she wanted to run away and cry her eyes out. Because he married her to save her, not because he wanted her as his life companion, the woman in his bed, the mother of his children.

“You said you’d never marry. Never have a family.” Her lips felt as if they were made of wood. “That’s changed?”

“No.” He held himself rigid as a soldier on parade. His voice was implacable. “It will be a marriage in name only.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I want.” Then flinched as she saw pity seep back into his eyes.

“It’s all I can give you. That and a chance to lead your own life once we see your stepbrothers off.”

“I want to spend my life with you.”

It was the cry of the spoilt girl, her father’s darling, the indulged aristocrat. As she spoke, she cringed. He offered so much for her sake. She had no right to carp at the price she paid in return.

Even if she knew that price would destroy her.

He sighed again and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of despair. “Perhaps the scheme is doomed after all. I can’t bear to hurt you.”

Sightlessly, she stared into the grate while her fantasies of a fulfilled life with Gideon scorched away to ash. She’d have a life with Gideon, but they’d be two polite strangers. Duty would sustain them, not mutual love. She wanted to scream her denial to the skies.

Now she understood his appalled reaction to her declaration of love. Marriage to a woman eating her heart out for him promised him eternal torment.

She forced herself to answer. “You said we have no option.”

“We could run.”

“I’ll be safer as your wife.”

“This is your whole life we’re talking about.”

“And yours.” He sounded like he cherished no hopes of happiness for himself. The thought cut her like a razor. “I can’t ask this sacrifice of you. It’s too much.”

His face was pale, set, as if he contemplated a death sentence. “Charis, there’s no sacrifice on my part. My life is over. In any meaningful sense. Let me help you.”

He spoke with such a complete absence of self-pity, it stole her breath. How could he say such things? Yet again, she realized so much here was beyond her comprehension.

Before she could summon a protest at his brutal assessment of his future, he went on, his tone abruptly becoming cool and businesslike. She guessed he resented how much he’d revealed in that last dour statement.

“One of the local men will sail us to Jersey. We can’t board the packet in case your stepbrothers have people watching the ports. We’ll marry as soon as we can. Certainly within a day of arrival. Two of the villagers will dress as you and me and take the road to Scotland. They’ll leave in a fast carriage the moment I have your agreement.”

“So Felix and Hubert will think we’ve eloped to Gretna,” she said dully. The extent of Gideon’s planning indicated he assumed she’d fall in with his scheme. Of course she would. What choice did she have?

She stiffened her spine. He did this for her. She owed it to him to make everything as smooth as she could.

“It’s the more usual route, and the ruse should give us breathing space.” He paused, studying her reaction. “We won’t return from Jersey until you’re twenty-one. Then what happens is up to you. For the sake of appearances, I suggest we live under the same roof for at least a year.”

“As you wish.” She had no right to resent his generosity. She should be on her knees in gratitude.

He frowned at her lifeless response. “Are you worried I’m a fortune hunter?”

She hadn’t thought about the money. Odd when it had colored her relationship with every previous suitor. “No.”

“Upon our marriage, your property becomes mine, but I swear I have no intention of keeping it. After the wedding, we’ll have papers drawn up returning your fortune to you after a time, I suggest three months, just in case your stepbrothers try something.”

“You don’t know how much money you give up.”

“I don’t care.”

Strangely, she believed him. Yet again, she thought how remarkable he was. Why in the name of all that was holy couldn’t he see that?

“We can settle legalities before the wedding, if you insist. But the sooner you’re my wife, the safer you’ll be.”

Gideon’s wife. That was all she wanted to be. But not like this. Never like this.

“I trust you,” she said flatly.

He sent her a searching look, then crossed to fill two glasses from the decanter of claret on the coffered sideboard. Like most of the furniture at Penrhyn, it was old and beautiful and completely out of fashion with its heavy seventeenth-century carvings of satyrs and nymphs.

In a day or so, she’d be mistress of this house and all it contained. What a bizarre thought. She’d loved Penrhyn from the first moment she saw it. At the moment, she’d willingly consign it to the sea.

“I know this is difficult for you.” He passed her the heavy
crystal glass. 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 glass 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 astonishingly 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 wineglass 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 surpassing tenderness. “You’re the bravest person I know. A pair of nodcocks 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.”

C
haris stood in the prow of the sleek little boat as it slid into the harbor at St. Helier. Passing 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 circumstance upon bizarre circumstance 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 muffled 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 passage 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 shirt 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 ship 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.

God 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 fashion 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 shifted 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 wishing 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 glassy. 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 sparse 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 astonishing. 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. Blushing, 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 identities 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 identity 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 passed today until you leave Jersey.”

“Good.”

Gideon turned to Charis and crooked his arm. Another action to convince their guests this was a normal wedding. Hesitantly, she rested her hand on his fine woolen sleeve. Beneath the expensive material, she felt his body’s latent power. She fought the urge to curl her fingers into his coat. Goodness, she’d touched him more in the last ten minutes than she had since he’d been insensible with illness.

“Thank you for your assistance.” As Gideon addressed the clergyman, he sounded lordly and cool, not at all the man who shrank from the brush of her hand.

The vicar closed his prayer book. “Will you and your bride join Mrs. Briggs and myself for a glass of madeira at the vicarage?”

Gideon’s expression became more remote. “I’m afraid
that’s impossible although your invitation is kind. Do we need to sign further documents?”

The vicar shook his head, his face almost comical with disappointment. “No. You’re married right and tight.”

“Capital. We’ll wish you good day, then.” The arm under Charis’s hand was rock-hard with tension, but to any observer, Gideon appeared completely in control of himself and his surroundings. “Remember, not a word.”

Tulliver and William approached them as the vicar left.

“God grant you every happiness, Lady Charis,” Tulliver said quietly.

“Aye, my lady,” William said behind her.

Such simple wishes. Such impossible wishes. Furiously, she blinked away tears. She couldn’t cry now. She had to stay strong for what awaited.

“Thank you,” she said in a choked voice.

“Are you all right?” Gideon murmured, leaning toward her as they stood near the grate. It made her wince to hear him sounding like any new groom, mindful of his wife’s comfort.

“Yes,” she said almost inaudibly, concealing her unhappiness by tilting her head, so her bonnet shaded her face.

But, of course, he must guess how she felt.

Her fingers clutched at his sleeve, then she realized what she did and snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.

He loathed her touching him. That much she knew.

He caught her hand in a ruthless grip and dragged it back. “We need to appear like any happy couple,” he growled under his breath, even though she felt him shaking with disgust.

“Then smile,” she hissed.

His lips curved upward, but no warmth entered his eyes. He looked drawn and distant as though his essential self hid away.

He turned to the men. “It’s time to head home. If there’s
sign of trouble in Penrhyn, send word under the names of John and Mary Holloway here at the Port Hotel. We’ll make our own way back next month.”

Tulliver bent his head in acknowledgment. “Aye, guvnor. And congratulations. You’ve snagged yourself a fine lass there, make no mistake.”

For the first time, Gideon’s smile looked natural. “I have at that. She got much the worst of the bargain.”

His lies sliced at Charis. She bit back an acid retort.

Tulliver and William left Charis alone with Gideon. Suddenly, the luxurious parlor seemed cavernous, echoing. Across the floor, the door to the equally luxurious bedroom loomed like the gates of hell. She felt ill at ease with him now as she never had before. Even after that desperate kiss at Penrhyn.

“I’ve arranged dinner.” Her husband leaned one arm on the mantelpiece. He’d wasted no time putting distance between them once their onlookers departed. His gloved hand fisted against the ledge, and he looked as if he braced for disaster.

“I’m not hungry,” she said tonelessly.

“Appearances…”

“Must be maintained. I know.”

Charis knew she behaved badly, but she couldn’t help it. She was torn between desperate gratitude and frustrated longing. And slashing guilt because there should only be gratitude.

Lines of tension framed his mouth, and his eyes glittered with stress. Again, she reminded herself he put himself through this suffering for her. Sick shame left a vile taste in her mouth.

If she had a shred of decency, she’d ask nothing further of him.

But she couldn’t silence her wayward heart, which shrieked and clamored and demanded. She longed for him to love her more than she wanted to take her next breath. Nor
could anything shake her bone-deep certainty that if he let himself love her, he’d find his own salvation.

Self-serving justification for her hunger? Or truth? She couldn’t say. But he was worth more than this barren bargain they’d struck.
She
was worth more.

Night had fallen, and she moved around the room lighting candles. There was some relief in the workaday action. As light bloomed, she became conscious of Gideon’s shallow breathing.

“Are you ill?” she asked with deliberate calm, carefully lighting each branch of the candelabra on the sideboard.

“No,” he said hoarsely. His face was paper white. He looked like a man approaching the limits of endurance.

She knew what set that haunted look in his eyes. The prospect of bedding her. She tensed her throat against the agony of that awareness.