Captive Of Sin Part 30

More bravely, she moved her tongue until the kiss was no longer invasion but ecstatic dance.

She made an inarticulate sound and edged closer, sliding awkwardly on the seat. He ripped his mouth from hers. He breathed in great gusts, and his eyes were blacker than ebony. He released a startled laugh and pulled her up against him.

"A curricle's not designed for lovemaking," he said unsteadily.

Charis was still dazed. Joy resonated through her like music. "I don't care. It was wonderful."

She sounded like a besotted ninnyhammer. What matter? She was a besotted ninnyhammer.

He loved her.

He touched her cheek with a gesture that split her vulnerable heart open. She'd loved him from the first, but until now she'd had no idea how physical pleasure turned love into something so vivid, it became a living ent.i.ty.

"Shall we go back to the inn?" His voice was velvety with antic.i.p.ation.

She curved into his side. For the first time, his arm circled her shoulders. She basked in the closeness. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss. Strangely, that kiss had changed things between them more than either time he'd used her body.

Hope poured into her br.i.m.m.i.n.g heart.

He loved her. She loved him. What could defeat them?

Eighteen.

Across the remains of the meal he'd ordered in their rooms, Gideon watched his wife. The hostelry was famous for its cuisine. For all the attention he'd paid to the elaborate fare, it might have been sawdust.

Instead, his heart, his mind, his soul were full of his bride.

Charis.

Beautiful, beautiful Charis. His delight and his despair.

She'd been quiet on the drive back from the countryside. Nor had she spoken much during dinner. Like him, she'd toyed with her food. Now she looked up. Doubt swam in her hazel eyes like sharks in a clear sea.

She set down her fork with a decided click. Her slender hand clenched against the table. "What made you change your mind?"

Gideon didn't pretend to misunderstand. She was too clever to let his new att.i.tude go unremarked and too brave to avoid the subject.

After a moment's thought, he gave her a frank answer. "I'm not sure I have."

He was guiltily aware that he played dangerous games with their future here. He still believed her best chance for happiness lay in a life separate from his.

But it was more than mortal flesh could stand to share a bed with his delectable wife and not touch her. Especially after the desolate h.e.l.l he'd subsisted in since Rangapindhi. Charis thought because they loved each other, they had a chance. Gideon knew in his bones that love only made the price they'd both pay for their current indulgence more excruciating.

He should stay away from her. But he couldn't.

Of all his many sins, perhaps this was his greatest.

Her lips compressed with impatience, and she fiddled with the stem of her winegla.s.s. "You're happy to touch me now."

He remembered this afternoon's delicious kisses, and he couldn't suppress a reminiscent smile. "More than happy."

His reply didn't mollify her. Her color rose, but her regard didn't waver. "What changed?"

He briefly studied the white damask tablecloth, then glanced up. "Well, there's the fact that I can touch you."

She blushed more furiously. "So you're reconciled to living as my husband?" He heard her difficulty forcing the question out.

He sighed, and his voice deepened into gravity as he answered with equal difficulty. "Charis, I'm not doing you any favors with what's happened. If I had a sc.r.a.p of decency, I'd leave you alone."

Yes, he could touch her without turning into a beast. This morning hadn't proven that, but this afternoon had. He loved her, if anything, more than ever. If she asked him, he'd catch the stars from the sky for her.

But the factors that made him an unsuitable consort for this glorious girl remained as stark as ever.

Whatever private bliss life with his wife now promised, he was still a physical and mental wreck. His immediate strained reaction today to St. Helier's bustle confirmed that. The frail seedling of hope that had uncurled inside him this morning had shriveled as he'd felt the old, crushing, sick reaction to the crowd. Painful reality had crashed down upon him in all its inexorable grimness.

What a fool he'd been to believe this temporary reprieve meant a permanent cure to his ills. He'd never lead a normal life, he'd always have to hold himself apart, isolated. He couldn't lock someone like Charis away from the world and h.o.a.rd her like a miser h.o.a.rded his gold. It wasn't fair, and eventually, he knew, she'd chafe at the restrictions of life with a recluse. He couldn't bear to see her bright spirit flicker and go out.

She said she loved him. But for all her sweet pa.s.sion and determination, he wasn't convinced she suffered anything more than a particularly virulent case of hero worship. What he was firmly convinced of was his complete unworthiness. He'd failed so many times. He couldn't bear to contemplate failing her. As he surely would. Better he set her free to find the man she deserved.

He bit back his agony at the idea of her falling in love with someone else. He had to think of her future and not his own selfish desires.

Except that right now, his own selfish desires were paramount, unstoppable. He should leave her to sleep alone, but he already knew he wouldn't. The astonishing joy he'd found in her arms, when he'd thought any joy at all lost forever, made restraint impossible.

St. Augustine's self-serving prayer flickered through his mind. Lord, grant me chast.i.ty and continence. But not yet.

Charis lifted her wine but didn't drink; instead, she stared into the red depths with a troubled expression. "If you're sure it's an almighty mistake, why did you kiss me?"

Ah, smart girl, to pick the kiss as the betrayal of his principles rather than this morning's volcanic lovemaking. He told her the simple, incontrovertible truth. "Because, G.o.d help me, I can't resist you."

Startled, she looked up, and a smile of utter delight curved her full lips. "Really?"

She was so pleased with herself, he couldn't help laughing. Although he was a villain to encourage her belief that they could find happiness. It was a role he suspected he'd become accustomed to in coming days. Because, having tasted her, there was no way on this earth he could keep his hands off her while they shared these rooms.

Still, even as he acknowledged her power, his reply held an edge. "Yes, d.a.m.n you, really."

"Well, that's all right, then." She put down her wine, stood, and rang for the servants.

Surprised, he turned in his chair to watch her. "Is that it? No more inquisition?"

"For the moment."

He heaved a sigh of masculine relief although he didn't trust this sudden docility.

As the maids cleared dinner, tidied the room, built up the fire, prepared the bedroom, he stood beside the mantel, holding himself apart. Just this much activity around him, and his sinews tightened with revulsion.

No, he was far from cured, G.o.d d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l.

The chilling knowledge seeped into his bones. Briefly, he closed his eyes, trying to summon will to deny Charis-and himself. But will was putty against the potent lure of desire.

He and his wife would make love tonight. Antic.i.p.ation fizzed in his veins. He sipped at his claret, wondering when he'd last spent an evening with a lovely woman, knowing they'd end up in bed.

She looked across from where she sat, pretending to read a book, and sent him a secret smile. She knew how the night would end too.

Gideon drew a deep breath as the door closed behind the last servant. Now just he and Charis remained, and the air suddenly seemed clearer, cleaner. He ignored the howl from his conscience that he had no right to touch his wife when he was such a disaster.

His eyes fastened on Charis as she set aside her book. He stayed where he was, enjoying the crescendo of expectation. His hands itched to drag her close for a drugging kiss. To discover what marvels lay under her lovely red gown.

She stepped up to him and took his winegla.s.s away, her fingers brushing his gloved hand. Even that much contact would have once set him shaking and sweating. Now it just aroused sizzling need. Her carnation scent drifted out to whisper promises of paradise.

"Will you do something for me, Gideon?" she asked softly.

A dim warning sounded. In his besotted daze, he hardly heeded it. "It depends."

Her lips tilted upward as she placed the gla.s.s on the mantel. "That's hardly gallant. A true gentleman would obey my slightest whim."

"I'd say that gentleman didn't know you very well."

She laughed softly, and the husky sound made his gut churn with longing. For all his brave words, he'd lie down and die if she asked him.

"So suspicious."

"Suspicion has kept me alive on numerous occasions. It's a highly underrated characteristic." He sent her a searching look. "What do you want, Charis?"

She sucked in a steadying breath, and he realized that beneath the flirtatious humor, she was nervous. The warning clang became more insistent. "I want you to allow me to do with you what I will."

Charis resisted the urge to twine her hands together. She needed to convince Gideon she was a confident, self-aware woman, not a silly girl. Acting as jittery as a canary in front of a hungry cat wouldn't advance her cause.

He angled one black eyebrow. "Which involves what?"

She bit her lip before she remembered she meant to appear nonchalantly a.s.sured. Raising her chin, she forced herself to meet his wary dark eyes. "Well, undressing you, for a start."

Hot color seeped under her skin. Nonchalant a.s.surance had never been likely. Even coherent speech seemed an unachievable goal. Surrept.i.tiously, she wiped her palms on her skirts.

"I...see," he said slowly.

She waited for more. Anger. Protest. A resounding no. But he remained silent. She rushed into speech. "It's not salacious curiosity."

His lips twitched slightly although she read growing resistance in his eyes. "I'm pleased to hear it."

"This isn't a joke, Gideon," she said in a low urgent voice. "It's important that you've kept your clothes on whenever we've..."

"Made love?"

"Yes," she responded on a thread of sound. Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird against her ribs. Not a sparrow. Something big and fierce like a vulture.

He leaned on the mantel, his long body elegant and powerful. The flames from the grate cast strange, flickering shadows over his face. For a moment, he looked devilish. She licked lips dry with nerves. His eyes fastened on the movement. The blatant interest reminded her she wasn't completely powerless in this war. She stiffened her spine.

One gloved hand fisted on the mantel. His voice was silky with control. "So I hand myself over to your tender mercies? Do I have a choice?"

She knew he resented the way she undermined his defenses. She pressed her palms deeper into her skirts to hide their trembling. "You can say no."

"Then you won't share my bed tonight," he said grimly.

Her heart somersaulted with astonishment. Did he know just what he admitted? "I won't stay out of your bed to gain my way." She licked her lips again. "You see, I can't resist you either."

His appearance of tranquility abruptly shattered. With a furious movement, he jerked away from the hearth. He was visibly shaking. For one horrified instant, she wondered if his affliction was returning. He grabbed the back of a chair, gripping it with hard fingers. "In Rangapindhi, I was tortured."

"I know."

She saw his throat move as he swallowed. "You'll find my scars repulsive."

She blinked with shock. This hadn't occurred to her. Although if she'd thought, it should have. Spreading her hands, she spoke the truth in her heart. "I think you're beautiful. A few marks on your skin won't change that."

His brief laugh held no amus.e.m.e.nt. "You don't know what you're talking about."

She stepped close enough to touch him. "Let me see."

He released the chair. She recognized the gesture as a sign of reluctant acquiescence.

Very carefully she reached for the lapels of his black coat. The wool was warm from his skin. He braced under her touch although he didn't retreat. She took this as tacit permission to continue.

Slowly, she slid the coat from his shoulders and down his arms, then lifted it away. His jaw was set as if she tortured him. He was rigid as an oak board.

Dear heaven, let her instincts lead her right. If Gideon endured this suffering for nothing, she'd never forgive herself.

She tamped down guilt and fear as she turned to lay the coat over the chair. Something deeper than dread or compa.s.sion told her that until he let her see him without the armor of clothing, his essential self would stay hidden.

Her heart careening in a mad race, she steeled herself to face him. He'd dressed more formally than usual tonight. He stood before her in an exquisite white waistcoat, embroidered with silver vines. A snowy neckcloth. Shirt. Biscuit trousers. His hands, as always, were encased in gloves. Tonight, white evening gloves like the ones a dandy wore to a ball.

The betraying muscle flickered in his lean cheek, and he breathed unsteadily. The soft, broken hiss was the only sound apart from the flames crackling in the grate. When she lifted her hands to his waistcoat b.u.t.tons, she felt the ragged rise and fall of his chest.

She flicked open one b.u.t.ton. Two. Three. The beautiful garment sagged open.

She slid her hands under the brocade to slip it off. Now only the fine material of his shirt separated her from his skin. He was hot as a blazing fire and so tense she feared he might shatter.

Before she thought to censor herself, her gaze dropped. His arousal swelled against the front of his trousers in unmistakable demand.

"You know I want you," he said flatly. "You use it against me."

She shook her head, setting the waistcoat over his coat. With every garment she removed, she felt like she seized enemy colors in a battle.