As she gazed into his blazing black eyes, she couldn’t look away, and the breath caught in her throat. Heat flooded her and settled like lava in her belly. The overwhelming emotion that flooded her was heady, uncontrollable…terrifying. He had such power over her, and she was helpless to resist.
He stared at her as if he thought she was a princess. It was cruel. He didn’t want her. She opened her mouth to speak but had no idea what she meant to say.
Someone knocked softly on the door. The charged silence shattered.
She sucked breath into starved lungs. Gideon gave permission for the servants to enter. Everything turned to movement as waiters set out dinner.
She’d seen Gideon leave a substantial tip when they’d registered. He’d explained he and his bride insisted upon privacy. If they left Jersey without undue disturbance, he’d see the staff were suitably rewarded.
With a flourish, one waiter produced a bottle of champagne. “The compliments of the house, Mr. Holloway. To you and the new Mrs. Holloway, our very best wishes for a long and happy life together.”
Charis finally had some idea how Gideon felt when people hailed him as a hero. That he existed in two realities operating side by side but forever disconnected. She kept forgetting that as far as the outside world was concerned, this was the happiest day of her life.
The strain of reconciling the contradictions left her disoriented, sick, detached from any reality at all.
The waiter opened the champagne and poured it into two heavy crystal glasses befitting St. Helier’s finest hostelry. There was more bustle as servants pulled out chairs and unfolded napkins and served the first course, a fish soup fragrant with garlic and herbs.
Finally, she and Gideon were alone. A painful tension tightened around them like a steel net.
“It looks delicious.” She lifted her spoon, then put it down again, the soup untouched.
“Yes.”
There was a pause while they both stared at their plates.
He looked up. “Perhaps I should see what’s next.”
“Perhaps you should,” she murmured, although she knew she wouldn’t eat that either. She felt like a boulder blocked her throat.
He lifted the covers and rich savory aromas drifted into the air. “Poulet
à la persane. Boeuf en daube. Lobster. It’s a feast.”
“Didn’t you order it?”
“I said to send up whatever they recommended. What would you like?”
“Anything.”
She watched as he filled two plates from the serving dishes.
“You know, I used to dream of dinners like this when I was in India.” He slid her plate in front of her and took his place opposite, shaking out his napkin with an elegance that made her breath catch. Even such a simple gesture left her aching with desire.
Could she endure a lifetime of this relentless longing?
“What did you eat there?” It was a neutral enough topic. Would she spend her years making meaningless conversation with the man she’d married? The cold unhappy future stretched before her like an endless steppe.
He shrugged, his hand playing with the stem of his glass. He still wore gloves. “Curry. Delicacies fit for a rajah. Cold rice with weevils.”
Painful memories she couldn’t hope to understand shadowed his face. Before she could inquire further, he raised his glass. “I’m remiss in my husbandly duty. To my lovely bride.”
It was more than she could bear. She shoved her plate away and rose on wobbly legs. “Please don’t.”
He put down the champagne, like his dinner, untasted. “I too find my appetite lacking.” He stood. “I’ll take a walk. There’s a bath coming. No hurry. I’ll be away for several hours.”
Snatching privacy to fortify himself for the onerous task ahead, she guessed with another stab of pain. “I wish you a pleasant stroll,” she said lifelessly.
He bent his head in a courtly salute. “Thank you.”