as if he had a fever. Only the last remnants of stubborn Trevithick pride kept him upright. At least now she didn’t touch him, he gained some control over his nausea. It would be the ultimate defeat if he lost his breakfast in front of her.
“Is it me?” Her voice shook with anguish. “You keep saying it’s not.”
He wished to heaven she were another woman, one who would blush and scuttle away to hide her humiliation. But another woman wouldn’t set herself so impulsively after what she wanted.
However misguided that wanting was.
“No,” he forced out. His blood pounded like heavy surf after a wild storm, blocking out everything else.
Except Sarah.
He was agonizingly conscious of her standing behind him. Of every jagged breath she drew. Of how close she was to tears.
“I don’t believe you. I disgust you.”
“No!” Turning his head in her direction was harder than turning back the tide.
For the first time, he saw her clearly. She was haggard, and silent tears ran down her white cheeks. The trails shimmered in the uncertain gold light.
He wanted to say so much, tell her everything. Explain, excuse, soothe, comfort.
None of it would do any good. None of it would change him into a man worthy to call her his.
So he said again the only thing he could. “No.”
“Then why…” She made a helpless gesture with one trembling hand.
“Sarah…”
The thunder in his ears became louder. He closed his eyes and prayed he’d dredge up the right words. Though he knew there were no right words to be found.
Then he realized the thunder wasn’t entirely in his imagination. Someone clattered up the stairs to the attic. Someone heavy and wearing boots.
“Sir Gideon!”
“Tulliver?” The intrusion came from another world.
The usually impassive Tulliver reached the top of the staircase and stood panting. “Strangers riding up the drive. The local magistrate is with them.”
Nine
What the devil happened to the men watching the road?” Gideon snapped.
Charis flinched at Gideon’s anger, then realized just what Tulliver said. Terror locked every muscle. Her stepbrothers had found her. Because who else would visit Penrhyn with an officer of the law? She braced herself to run. But where could she go?
Dear Lord, could this vile day get any worse? In her belly, fear, humiliation, and, to her disgust, frustrated desire stewed in a bilious mixture. Despair, heavy, draining, black and thick as tar, leaked into her soul.
“They came to warn us quick smart enough.” She knew Tulliver noted her tears but with his usual consideration, after the first glance, he kept his attention on Gideon. “But nobody could find you or the lass. We searched high and low to no avail.”
“Hell,” Gideon breathed. “I’m sorry, Tulliver. I should have told someone where I was. This disaster is my blasted fault.”
“What do you want to do?” Tulliver was back to sounding his imperturbable self.
Gideon straightened and sent his henchman a flashing grin that reminded Charis of Black Jack. Just thus must the reckless privateer have faced down the Spanish galleon that carried his destiny. The shaking, distraught man of seconds ago might never have existed.
Black Jack had prevailed. So would Gideon.
Courage leached back, stiffening her backbone. Gideon might reject her, but her faith in him remained unshaken. He was her Percival, her Galahad, her Lancelot. From the first moment she’d seen him, he’d been her bulwark. After all they’d been through, he wouldn’t let her fall into her stepbrothers’ hands.