Captive of Sin

Gideon recoiled and stared at her with what she could only interpret as horror. “Hell,” he breathed.

Blindly, he fumbled toward a leather armchair and dropped into it, burying his head in his hands.

Charis felt like she suffocated. At best, she might expect her impulsive declaration to evoke understanding, at worst pity. But this broken desolation was beyond comprehension.

“Hell, hell, hell.” His quiet despair reached far inside her like a hand closing around her heart and crushing it.

She was paralyzed with embarrassment. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe. Remorse, concern, self-castigation, all tangled like hissing snakes in her breast.

If he hadn’t seemed so lost and tormented when he claimed his essential unworthiness, she’d never have made the reckless declaration. But the sight of him looking as if he didn’t have a friend in the world had made her want to die. “I shouldn’t have spoken,” she said in a raw voice.

His shoulders tensed, and he raised dull eyes to look at her. “Your honesty does you credit.”

Her mouth compressed as she fought not to cry. Tears wouldn’t help her through this agonizing moment. “Well, I suppose that’s one response to a declaration of love.” Her tone was flat with control.

A muscle flickered in his cheek. “I can’t give you what you want. I’m sorry.”

The lump in her throat was like a great, jagged boulder. It hurt to force words past it. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t help.”

As compassion filled his eyes, she realized she’d been right to fear his pity. She loathed the way he looked at her right now. It made her want to curl up in a dark corner and never emerge into the light again.

“You’ll hate hearing this. And I know you won’t believe me. At least now.” The kindness in his voice made her cringe. This was even worse than she’d expected. She guessed what he meant to tell her before he spoke.

“Charis…” He paused and closed his eyes as if struggling to find the words. “I’m touched and flattered by what you’ve said. Any man would be. You’re a remarkable girl. You’re…”

She felt sick. He lied to spare her feelings, and every false word flayed another strip from her soul. She took a step back and raised her hands to fend off his words. Why, oh, why had she let her foolish tongue run away with her? “Please, don’t say any more.”

Gideon’s jaw firmed, and he leaned forward. Pain flared in his dark eyes and his voice was urgent. “I must. I hate to see you hurt. But what you feel, it will pass. You hardly know me. You can’t love me. Not really. The way we met, it’s given you a false impression. You’ve barely had a chance to catch breath since. When you return to a normal life, you’ll…”

“What? Forget you?” Resentment at the futility of her dreams frayed the question.

“No.” Drawing an unsteady breath, he made one of his familiar truncated gestures. “But you’ll see more clearly. Right now you imagine I’m some sort of hero, but you’re wrong.”

“You are a hero.” Her rubbery knees threatened to collapse under her as she ventured closer. She knew he hated that she argued, but she had to make him see himself as she saw him. “You’re the famous Hero of Rangapindhi. Even my stepbrothers know who you are.”

He flinched against the chair as if she struck him. “The reality of Rangapindhi was far from heroic, Sarah.” He paused. “Charis. I’m sorry. You’ve always been Sarah to me.”

She swallowed more useless tears. Her response emerged as a cracked whisper even as she knew nothing she said would convince him she wasn’t victim to a childish fancy. “Call me what you like. But don’t mistake my sincerity. That’s cruel and unjust.”

He rose, the muscle still dancing erratically in his cheek. “It’s cruel and unjust to let you eat your heart out over a cardboard imitation of a man.”

“You’re not a cardboard imitation of a man,” she said in a low, shaking voice. “And I love you.”

He curled his gloved hands tightly around the back of the chair. Grief ravaged his black gaze. “Never say that again, Charis. For both our sakes.”

“That won’t make it less true.” She brushed stinging moisture from her eyes. She refused to break down in front of him. He already thought she was immature and impulsive. A loss of control would only prove that beyond all doubt. He didn’t believe her love, and she was fatalistically aware that nothing she said would change his mind.

“I know this is painful.” The aching pity in his voice made her want to die. “But one day you’ll see…”

She glared at him from burning eyes. At this moment, she hated him almost as much as she loved him. “Don’t!”

He drew himself up to his full impressive height, and his hands flexed on the chair. She read his withdrawal as though he wrote it on the air in letters of fire. “Very well.”

A turbulent silence fell. He released the chair and began to pace, settling near the desk, where he picked up the bust of Plato and pretended to examine it. Eventually, she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. She turned to stare at the bookcases, although her blurry eyes couldn’t read the gilt titles on the leather spines. She raised shaking hands to catch her tears before they fell.

She could no longer tolerate the tension. “I’ll go upstairs. I’m not…not hungry tonight.”

He sighed with a heaviness she felt in her bones. “I know you wish me to the devil right now. But before you go, there’s something we need to discuss.”