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.
She bent to pick up her shawl and stumbled to her chair. Standing so long had tested her strength. Across the room, Gideon didn’t say a word, just watched the snow drift past the window. She told herself she had no right to feel slighted by his indifference.
The arrival of breakfast interrupted her dour thoughts. Charis kept her head down and shrouded in the shawl. She couldn’t help her ill-matched costume, but if the servants saw her hair and bruised face, they’d identify her immediately if her stepbrothers asked about her.
Feverishly, she tried to plan her escape even while Sir Gideon’s nearness was a persistent tug on her senses. The bad weather was both savior and pest. If she could get away, it would hide her. But she wasn’t dressed for such cold. She resigned herself to stealing the greatcoat. It was a loan rather than a theft, she assured her howling conscience. In a few weeks, she’d return it and repay Sir Gideon for his kindness.
Surely tracing Sir Gideon Trevithick of Penrhyn in Cornwall wouldn’t be difficult. If they made contact again…
She put a brake on foolish dreams.
First she had to survive the next three weeks and stay out of her stepbrothers’ clutches. She had to find shelter and food and some way of supporting herself, all without revealing her identity. Or the identity of the powerful men who sought her. Hubert was Lord Burkett and Felix was a rising figure in Parliament.
Gideon, Akash, and she settled down to another silent meal. Tulliver must have retreated to the taproom. Charis was grateful for the lack of conversation. She’d choke on any more lies. And she had a foolish desire to cry at the thought of leaving Sir Gideon. How had he gained this astounding power over her emotions in such a short time? It was like a strange madness possessed her.
After the servants cleared the plates, she managed to inject an appropriate note of feminine embarrassment into her voice. “Would it be all right if I had a few moments of privacy?”
A look passed between Gideon and Akash but both stood readily enough. “We’ll send someone to assist you,” Gideon said.
“No need,” Charis said hurriedly, her chance at escape evaporating before her eyes.
“I insist.” Gideon, curse him, waited while Akash left to summon the servants.
A parade of maids brought hot water and towels and a range of grooming articles. She couldn’t help sighing with pleasure when the last item laid out before her was a cheap brown cotton gown. She was desperate to change her ragged, dirty dress.
Goodness knows where Sir Gideon found the frock at such short notice. Yet another sign of his thoughtfulness. Again, she suppressed that rebel urge to confess everything and beg him to help her. Men changed when they saw the chance of filling their pockets with gold.
Gideon stood by the door and dismissed the staff. “Tulliver’s outside if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” How she wished she could say more, say good-bye, express her gratitude, tell him she wished she could know him better.
But it was impossible.
For a long moment, she stared at him, drinking in his physical magnificence, the strength and intelligence in his compelling features. Already she knew she’d never forget him. She turned away and pretended interest in the items on the tray. If she kept looking at Gideon, she’d start to cry.
The door closed softly. At last Charis was alone. She let out the breath she’d been holding. Yet she didn’t immediately put her plan into action. Instead she slowly approached the cheval mirror in the corner.
Ridiculous, really, given her legion of troubles, that the mere act of checking her reflection needed every ounce of courage.
She braced to confront the woman in the mirror. When she did, she couldn’t stem a broken peal of laughter.
Had she read desire in Sir Gideon’s eyes? What a vain, deluded fool she was. No man could look at her now with anything but pity. Or revulsion.
She’d expected to be shocked. What she saw was worse than her wildest imaginings. Her face was a mottled mixture of purple and yellow. Her jaw was grotesquely distorted. Above the bruising, familiar hazel eyes stared back with a dazed expression.
She bit down hard on her quivering lip, but the jab of pain couldn’t dam her tears. She was a monstrosity, a hobgoblin, a gorgon. So stupid to mourn what would mend, but she had to lift her good hand to dash the moisture from her streaming eyes. Akash had assured her the damage was superficial, but the words seemed meaningless when she looked at the woman in the mirror.
The once-elegant blue dress was streaked with dirt and torn beyond repair. Her shaking hand shifted to touch the matted hair that tumbled around her shoulders.