“Intolerable.” Bile filled Gideon’s mouth as he imagined what would have happened if she hadn’t fled. She’d survived a purgatory he understood better than most.
Her hands twisted more tightly in her skirts. “During the beating, Hubert knocked me out. Only for a few seconds. When I woke up, they started badgering me again. I wouldn’t relent, so Felix slammed out in a temper, taking Hubert with him. It was the first time they forgot to lock the door. Perhaps because I’d made no attempt to escape, they believed I wouldn’t or couldn’t try to get out. While they were arguing downstairs, I crept into another room and climbed out a window that opened onto an oak tree. Thank goodness I knew the countryside enough to reach the Winchester Road.”
“Thank goodness we found you in that inn.” Nightmare images filled his mind of Sarah’s rape and abuse. He had no doubt her stepbrothers would have carried out their threats. But now she was with him, and nobody would hurt her again. The determination to keep her safe stiffened every sinew.
Her voice became concerned. “I meant just to travel to Portsmouth with you, then disappear. By helping me, you’re in danger too.”
“I can handle your stepbrothers.” He looked forward with bloodthirsty enthusiasm to exiling such scum to the lowest circle of hell.
His confident response drained some of the tension from her face. “You were amazing in that fight in Portsmouth.”
Heat mottled his cheeks. He abhorred that only the spilling of blood made him a whole man. Violence dissipated the fog that possessed his mind, gifted him with clarity of purpose and unhesitating action. “I was a thug.”
“You were a hero,” she said with a conviction that made him wince. Dear God, what was he going to do about her misplaced admiration? He needed to scotch it now, but nothing he said made any difference. Knowing she wouldn’t listen, he bit back arguments about his unworthiness.
Her head bent in apparent thought, she walked farther along the beach. He didn’t follow. The wind lashed at him as he watched her retreat.
It was time they returned to the house. She must be freezing. Still, he didn’t move to fetch her. He needed a moment of privacy to rein in his blistering rage at her stepbrothers.
Long ago he’d guessed she came from a good family, but her fortune must be enormous to provoke this frenzy of greed. Gideon recalled no great families called Watson, but then he’d never moved in high society. The Trevithicks were only minor gentry. His experience of the haut ton was limited to his recent sojourn in the capital. Those weeks were a painful blur. Concealing his illness from the avid mob had been almost impossible. Mostly he’d just felt an overwhelming desire to escape.
And, of course, Sarah’s stepbrothers would hav
e a different last name. It hardly mattered. Duke’s daughter or shopkeeper’s daughter, Sarah was utterly out of reach. A man like him couldn’t start to think about taking a wife.
His hungry gaze fastened on her as she paused to pick up a pebble and pitch it into the sea. Her stepbrothers assumed their ward lacked powerful friends. Perhaps at last, being the Hero of Rangapindhi might prove of some use. Those bastards would pay for their crimes before he was done.
It would be his parting gift to Sarah.
He’d see her safe and happy. Then the kindest thing he could do was forsake her forever. With a grim knell in his heart, he trudged up the beach to where she silently stared across the waves.
Eight
After so many hours in Sarah’s company, Gideon inevitably dreamt of her. Such cruel fantasies to torment him when he couldn’t lay a hand on her in the real world. At dawn he woke, sweating and restless and painfully aroused. He desperately needed to escape the house, partly because he couldn’t bear to meet Sarah’s clear gaze and recall what an insatiable satyr he was.
At least in his dreams.
After an early breakfast, he set out for a long ride along the cliffs on an unfamiliar mount. Akash hadn’t yet arrived with Khan and the other horses. Now he strode along the gallery, heading for his rooms and a quick wash before he settled to the estate papers. And hopefully no intrusive thoughts of hazel-eyed houris.
From either side, his ancestors stared down. He didn’t count on their approval. How could he? His forebears must resent knowing all their labor, all their ambition, all their hopes ended with him.
God knows what would happen to the estate once he was gone. In the meantime, he’d devote his life to restoring it. Not for the sake of these louring faces but for the people who lived here. Dark, secretive, taciturn. And loyal to death to the Trevithicks.
He hadn’t expected to survive to see his homeland again. But he had—to return to news that Harry was dead. How ironic that his father and his brother perished too young in safe, peaceful England. While Gideon had come through untold dangers.
With such somber thoughts for company, Gideon rounded the bend in the gallery and almost ran Sarah down.
“Sir Gideon!”
He reached out as she stumbled. Then he remembered and snatched his gloved hands back. Blood pumped through his veins in primitive demand. He hardened with uncontrollable swiftness. Untrammeled images from his dreams swamped his mind. His body moving in hers. Her bronze hair flowing about them like wild silk. Her soft moans of pleasure.
For one burning instant, he stood close enough to catch her scent. A hint of carnation soap. The essence of Sarah herself. Then she found her balance and shifted away, thank God.
Sucking in a deep breath, he retreated a step. The extra distance did nothing to curb the storm inside him. “Sarah…”
At his withdrawal, her eyes darkened with hurt. He wanted to tell her again it wasn’t her, but he stopped himself. Better by far she never learned his filthy secrets. He couldn’t burden her so.
She bit her lip and glanced at the painting she’d been studying. “He could be your twin.”