Her voice was low, not sultry but shaking with suppressed emotion.
“Because I have to.”
“Why?” Francesca waited, her heart a leaden fist in her chest.
“Francesca…” Gyles sighed through his teeth, then he met her gaze, his eyes stormy, impossible to read. “You married me.” His voice was as low as hers but much harder, more forceful. “Even after that last meeting in the forest, you married me. You knew very well what you were marrying-you, of all women, knew that.”
“Yes. But I still don’t understand.” When he turned, she shifted so she could still see his face. She wasn’t going to retreat, to let him shut her out. Drawing in a strangled breath, she spread her arms wide. “What have I done to deserve this? Why are you treating me like a felon in your house?” That struck a nerve. He flicked her a sharp glance. “Yes,” she went on, “like a would-be thief, someone to be watched over at all times.”
“Everything here is yours-”
“No!” Her eyes clashed with his. “Everything here is not mine!”
Sudden silence enveloped them; they both stilled. Teetered on a precipice. Their gazes were locked. Neither breathed. She felt his will reach her, press her to draw back…
Into that stillness, with great deliberation, she let her words fall, “The one thing I want-the one thing I ever wanted from this marriage-is not mine.”
His face closed. He straightened. “I told you from the first what I would give you-have I reneged on anything I promised?”
“No. But I offered you more, more than we had bargained-and you took. Gladly.”
He couldn’t deny it. His jaw hardened but he said nothing.
“I’ve given you more than we spoke of. I’ve tried hard to be all you wanted in a wife-I’ve managed this house, acted as your hostess, done all I promised. And I’ve done more, given more, been more.”
She held his gaze, then more softly asked, “Now tell me, please-what have I done to deserve your distance?”
It was pointless to pretend he didn’t understand, that he didn’t know what she wanted, what she’d hoped. What she’d dreamed. Gyles held her darkened gaze and wished he could, but they’d gone too far for that. From the first they’d dealt directly, at a level of communication he’d shared with no one else, albeit a communication without words. They were attuned-aware of the other’s moods, of the subtleties in their thinking. She’d been transparent from the first. And he’d let her believe that she could see into his heart, into his soul, when in reality his heart was forever shielded and his soul was locked away where no one could reach.
For that-for all she had been and was-he owed her his honesty. “I never promised to love you.”
The emerald of her eyes darkened. She looked at him for a long moment, then, swallowing, she lifted her chin. “Love is not something one can promise.”
She turned and left him, the skirts of her peignoir trailing behind her.
Chapter 17
Love was something that came slowly, on silent feet. Something that crept up on a man unawares and took him prisoner. She’d said she felt like a prisoner now-she was a captive, did she but know it, to the love that had him in its grip. Neither he nor she could break free. Not now.
It was too late for second thoughts. Too late to take evasive action. Once love struck, it was an incurable disease. Ineradicable.
He’d accepted that, finally, not without a fight, but the long hours of the previous night when he’d held her tight against him had revealed a reality far more absolute than he’d believed could be.
Love simply was. It asked no permissions, required no decisions. It lived. It lived in him.
Gyles’s thoughts ran on as he stood beside his tallboy and unbuttoned his shirt. Wallace came back in; sitting in a chair, he allowed him to pull off his boots. Gyles remained in the chair, his gaze fixed, unseeing, across the room.
What to do? The memory of her eyes just before she’d turned and left him was etched in his mind. He could eradicate that look with three little words, reinstate her glorious smile. He could tell her, and then try to work out some framework of existence, together. Was that wise? Could he trust her?
One small corner of his mind whispered yes, the rest of him ran screaming at the thought. Trust a woman with his heart, with the key to his defenses? Give her the ability to destroy him? The concept ran deeply against his grain; if the barbarian was absolute in protecting her, he was equally committed to protecting himself.
There had to be some other way. He rose. Dragging his shirt from his waistband, he continued unbuttoning it.
The terms of their marriage-the terms he’d specified-rang in his mind. She’d given him all he’d wanted. All except…
The truth hit him, rocked him.
His gaze shifted to, then focused on the connecting door. Muttering a curse, he strode across, opened it, stepped through. Remembering Wallace, he shut it behind him.