“What’s the point?” She sucked in a deep breath and realized the sour alcohol smell didn’t come from her or the empty champagne bottle. “You’ve been drinking.”
It wasn’t an accusation but of course it sounded like one. His chair creaked again as he straightened. “Yes. And I’ve been fighting.” His voice sounded odd. Flat and unmusical as she’d never heard it.
With sudden determination, she stepped across to the hearth and lit the candle. A feeble glow bloomed. Her hand trembling, she turned and raised the candle in his direction. Against the back of her legs, the fire’s warmth was welcome.
She expected him to jerk away but he sat unmoving as she illuminated the thick darkness around him. When she saw him, Charis couldn’t contain a choked gasp.
“I take it I’m not too pretty?”
Her hand shook so badly, she had to slide the candlestick onto the mantel. But the uncertain light had revealed enough to make her feel sick all over again.
His lips lengthened in a grimace that she knew was meant to be a smile. He answered his own question. “Obviously not.”
“You’re unwell,” she said in a raw voice, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to generate some warmth.
“No, just drunk and heartsick.” He made a sudden savage gesture with one gloved hand. “For the love of Christ, Charis, go back to bed.”
“No,” she said stubbornly, tightening her arms to hide her shaking.
“Not twelve hours ago, you promised to obey me.”
“And you promised to love me,” she snapped, then immediately regretted the words.
His face tautened with pain that made her flinch. He looked terrible. His clothes were torn and streaked with dirt. A graze marked his cheekbone, and blood stained the open collar of his shirt.
The elegant man she’d married was only a memory. He’d lost his neckcloth, his gloves were filthy, and his jaw was dark with bristle. Now she was closer, the reek of alcohol was unmistakable.
Worst by far was the expression in his eyes as he stared at her. He looked haggard and ill and as if he wished he were dead.
Still, his voice deepened into kindness. “Go back to bed, Charis. Everything will look better in the morning.”
It was the facile, meaningless promise one offered a child. There are no monsters under the bed. Let me kiss it better. There will be a happily ever after.
Even though she quaked with nerves, her tone was firm. “No, everything won’t. You need to tell me the truth, Gideon. I’m your wife. I deserve to know what’s wrong.” She paused, then made herself push on. She was tired of fighting imaginary horrors. The truth couldn’t be worse than the phantoms in her mind. “Are you sick because…because of what you did with those women in India?”
He recoiled. For a horrible moment, she wondered if her guess was accurate.
“Venereal disease, you mean?” He shook his head. “No, I’m clean. In fact, my body is in perfect working order. In every way.”
The emphasis struck her as odd. “What do you…?” Then she realized what he meant. “Oh.”
“What’s the point of lying? Close confines will soon make my condition plain.” The words slurred slightly with drink as his control wavered. She doubted she’d get this much frankness out of him if he wasn’t half-seas over. His deep voice vibrated with feeling. “I ache with desire for you.”
The candle flame burned unflickering. Silence fell. Lengthened.
A coal exploded in the grate, snapping the tension. Charis’s paralyzed brain began to work again. And harsh reality shone a stark light on his lie. How could she think him kind? He was crueler by far than her stepbrothers. They couldn’t hurt her heart. Gideon could.
“Don’t mock me,” she said sharply, rubbing her arms.
“If there’s a joke, it’s on me.” Despair dripped from every word. His eyes sharpened on her. Abruptly he stood and ripped his coat off. “You’re cold. At least put this on.”
“Thank you.” Her frozen hands took the garment. When she pulled it on, warmth and the subtle lemon scent of Gideon filled her senses. It was almost like he touched her. “You don’t want me. You jump ten feet if I come near you.”
He gave a short, unamused laugh as he dropped into his chair. He leaned his head back and studied the shadowy ceiling. “That’s the vilest element of my affliction, dear wife. I can want to the point of insanity, but I can never have. A punishment worthy of a damned Greek myth.”
She shook her head, ignoring the lingering twinges of headache. Perhaps the champagne had damaged her mind in some fundamental way. “You said you weren’t sick.”
“I said my body worked fine. The trouble, my love, is in my head. I should have warned you before you tied yourself to me for life. Your husband is possessed by devils.”