Although of course it wasn’t just his conversation that made her head swim with excitement. He was handsome. More than handsome. He was beautiful, like some being sent down from heaven to illuminate dull earth. And strong and virile and manly. No woman with blood in her veins could fail to respond to his attractions.
Perhaps when he knew who she really was, he’d consider courting her. She saw no evidence of huge riches at Penrhyn. Could he overcome his disinterest in her person if he knew he married the greatest heiress in England? The Earl of Marley’s title had lapsed along with the entail upon her father’s death. Every penny, every acre, of the massive Weston inheritance devolved upon the earl’s one direct descendant, his daughter.
Dear Lord, was she so lacking in pride, she’d trade gold to gain the man she wanted even if he didn’t want her? Her belly clenched in sick shame. She needed to leash her foolish imagination before it brought her to grief.
They emerged from the bushes onto the cliff edge. Below, the sea spread like shining blue silk. Gideon paused behind her. She was so attuned to him, she felt his every breath. An unwelcome premonition brushed across her skin and made her shiver. This preternatural awareness seemed more significant than mere physical reaction.
“This is such a beautiful place,” she said softly.
With an unwillingness she immediately recognized, he moved closer. A light wind played with his thick hair. Lucky breeze to take liberties with him that she couldn’t. She closed her fists at her sides to stop herself smoothing the disheveled locks. It disturbed and frightened her, this continual, frustrated need for physical contact. It left her jumpy and awkward.
She watched him draw in a deep breath of crystalline air. The tension seeped from his broad shoulders as if the view fed his soul.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it. The sea. The wind. How…clean it all feels.” His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, but she had the strangest impression he saw something else entirely. Something that haunted him. “When I was in Rangapindhi, I remembered this view. It made me want to live.”
She must have made some sound of protest or surprise because he stiffened and turned his head, fastening those glittering eyes upon her.
“Why wouldn’t you want to live?” she echoed, shocked.
He frowned. “Do you truly not know? My story has been in all the papers. Quite the sensation of the season.” He spoke with a biting sarcasm she didn’t understand.
“My brothers kept me prisoner. I’d never heard your name until we met.” She curled her arms around herself, although the chill she felt was more spiritual than physical. “Those men in Portsmouth called you the Hero of Rangapindhi. Were you a soldier?”
“No.” He bit the word out like a bullet fired from a gun. His unspoken pain was a vivid, twisting, tangible entity.
Charis tightened her arms to stop herself reaching out. A stinging mixture of compassion and desire lodged in her throat. She forced her question past the constriction although she was sure he’d dismiss her curiosity. “Did you hate India so much?”
His regard was unwavering, and his voice deepened with emotion. “No, I loved it.”
It was the same answer he’d given her when she asked whether he hated Penrhyn. Gideon Trevithick seemed to have an ambiguous relationship with love. Again, she wondered at the despair that shadowed him, closer to the surface today than she’d ever seen it.
He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “I wish I was the man you think I am.” His voice was so sad, it made her want to cry. “But I’m not worth an ounce of your regard.”
She sensed the acrid shame beneath his words. He was dauntingly complex, and he drew her more powerfully than anyone else ever had. After a long silence, she dared to ask, “Will you tell me why?”
“No. I don’t want you to share my nightmares.” His smile festered with bitterness. He lifted his gloved hand. For one breathless moment, she imagined he meant to touch her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited to feel the brush of his fingers.
Nothing happened. She opened her eyes slowly to catch poignant sorrow on his face. His hand fell to his side. “But believe me when I say I’m no hero.”
She swallowed, and her voice shook as she spoke. “You’re a hero to me.”
The regret drained from his expression, leaving comprehension and a pity that stabbed her like a knife. “Miss Watson…”
Intent on silencing him, she made a gesture of denial. She didn’t want comforting platitudes. The pity in his eyes indicated he divined her unseemly hunger for him. How could he not? The feeling was too overwhelming to hide, and he was a perceptive man.
She blushed with mortification, and spoke quickly, before he could. “Aren’t…aren’t we going to the beach?”
He straightened, his mouth firming. But he didn’t argue with her abrupt change of subject, for which she was grateful. “The path is just here.”
He walked past, and she realized the ground dipped away sharply. A few steps after him, and she saw a thin track snaking down the cliff.
Charis looked down, and her stomach lurched. Far below, rows of jagged rocks awaited. Resolutely, she lifted her head and stared at Gideon’s straight back in his loose white shirt. As he began to descend, he was utterly at ease in this rough, dangerous terrain. Not hard to imagine a gangly, intense, dark-eyed boy seeking refuge from a troubled home life among these cliffs.
Charis stepped carefully after him, not surprised at his silence. Now he’d guessed how besotted she was, he must wonder what he could say. Humiliation added its sour tang to the poisonous brew of unhappiness and longing stewing inside her.
At first the going was easy, the slope gradual. The path was in surprisingly good repair. But soon the track narrowed, became steeper. She placed a hand on the rock face as the descent grew more precipitous.
For one fatal second too long, her eyes dwelt on the tall man ahead. Every scrap of information she gleaned about him only fed her curiosity to know more.