“Are you all right?” Gideon murmured, leaning toward her as they stood near the grate. It made her wince to hear him sounding like any new groom, mindful of his wife’s comfort.

“Yes,” she said almost inaudibly, concealing her unhappiness by tilting her head, so her bonnet shaded her face.

But, of course, he must guess how she felt.

Her fingers clutched at his sleeve, then she realized what she did and snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.

He loathed her touching him. That much she knew.

He caught her hand in a ruthless grip and dragged it back. “We need to appear like any happy couple,” he growled under his breath, even though she felt him shaking wit

h disgust.

“Then smile,” she hissed.

His lips curved upward, but no warmth entered his eyes. He looked drawn and distant as though his essential self hid away.

He turned to the men. “It’s time to head home. If there’s sign of trouble in Penrhyn, send word under the names of John and Mary Holloway here at the Port Hotel. We’ll make our own way back next month.”

Tulliver bent his head in acknowledgment. “Aye, guvnor. And congratulations. You’ve snagged yourself a fine lass there, make no mistake.”

For the first time, Gideon’s smile looked natural. “I have at that. She got much the worst of the bargain.”

His lies sliced at Charis. She bit back an acid retort.

Tulliver and William left Charis alone with Gideon. Suddenly, the luxurious parlor seemed cavernous, echoing. Across the floor, the door to the equally luxurious bedroom loomed like the gates of hell. She felt ill at ease with him now as she never had before. Even after that desperate kiss at Penrhyn.

“I’ve arranged dinner.” Her husband leaned one arm on the mantelpiece. He’d wasted no time putting distance between them once their onlookers departed. His gloved hand fisted against the ledge, and he looked as if he braced for disaster.

“I’m not hungry,” she said tonelessly.

“Appearances…”

“Must be maintained. I know.”

Charis knew she behaved badly, but she couldn’t help it. She was torn between desperate gratitude and frustrated longing. And slashing guilt because there should only be gratitude.

Lines of tension framed his mouth, and his eyes glittered with stress. Again, she reminded herself he put himself through this suffering for her. Sick shame left a vile taste in her mouth.

If she had a shred of decency, she’d ask nothing further of him.

But she couldn’t silence her wayward heart, which shrieked and clamored and demanded. She longed for him to love her more than she wanted to take her next breath. Nor could anything shake her bone-deep certainty that if he let himself love her, he’d find his own salvation.

Self-serving justification for her hunger? Or truth? She couldn’t say. But he was worth more than this barren bargain they’d struck. She was worth more.

Night had fallen, and she moved around the room lighting candles. There was some relief in the workaday action. As light bloomed, she became conscious of Gideon’s shallow breathing.

“Are you ill?” she asked with deliberate calm, carefully lighting each branch of the candelabra on the sideboard.

“No,” he said hoarsely. His face was paper white. He looked like a man approaching the limits of endurance.

She knew what set that haunted look in his eyes. The prospect of bedding her. She tensed her throat against the agony of that awareness.

Compassion as much as conscience provoked her to speak. “Gideon, we don’t have to do this. The vicar said we’re married right and tight. You’ve already gone to extraordinary lengths to keep me safe.” She extended one hand in a wordless plea for him to lay aside his burdens. If only for one night. “I can never find words to express my thanks. Nothing could repay what your championship of me has cost you. You needn’t make further sacrifices.”

He sucked in a deep breath, then, to her complete shock, he laughed. His dark eyes glinted with self-derisive humor as he straightened away from the hearth.

“Good God, anyone who knew me in my salad days would roll around the floor laughing himself sick to hear you. You’d think I was some shivering virgin.” A cynical expression crossed his face, and he suddenly looked eons older than his twenty-five years. “I have done this before, you know.”

Tags: Anna Campbell Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net