Only when he’d gone did she realize it was the first time he’d left her unprotected since he’d met her.
Twelve
Gideon held himself together until he closed the door behind him and stood in the deserted corridor. He collapsed, gasping, against the wall. Shivers combed through him like breakers up the beach at Penrhyn.
He couldn’t go through with this.
He had to go through with this.
He closed his eyes and banged his head several times against the wood. But nothing could banish the vivid images in his mind.
Charis watching him across the table, her beautiful hazel eyes brilliant with anguish and a longing he shared but couldn’t fulfill.
Charis standing beside him saying words that made her his wife.
Charis telling him she loved him.
Ah, the forbidden sweetness of that moment.
And the desolation.
She had such courage. What a consort she’d make for the man worthy of her.
Damn it, he could never be that man.
His rejection might hurt now, but she’d get over her infatuation. She’d emerge from this stronger, better, bright as a star. The real tragedy was that she tied herself so irrevocably to a wreck like him.
He groaned through clenched teeth. He’d endured unspeakable pain in India. Already he knew that the hell of watching his wife fall in love with another man would outstrip any devilish torture the Nawab devised.
Bear it, he must.
For Charis’s sake.
The gods clearly laughed at his sufferings. They granted him the one woman he’d want for the rest of his days. Then they made it impossible for him to find joy with her.
He desired her to the depths of his being. His very skin ached for her touch. He’d exchange all the minutes remaining to him for one night of freedom in her arms. Instead, in his clumsiness, he was going to hurt her.
Not, by God, if he could help it.
With grim determination, he straightened from the wall. He turned up his collar and pulled down his hat to conceal his face.
He’d do what was necessary. Whatever it cost. His scheme might seem crack-brained, dangerous, but it was the only solution he had. He’d accept any pain if it saved Charis suffering.
He didn’t deceive himself about the pain his plan promised.
As he trudged downstairs and out onto the street, his heart was heavy. It was cold on the seafront. The breeze from the sea had ice in it. Or perhaps the chill was in his grieving soul.
He knew where to find what he required. Behind the smart façades and bustling respectable thoroughfares, every town had its shadow. Despising what he did but seeing no alternative, he turned away from the lights and plunged into the old town’s maze of streets.
The girl was even younger than Charis. Seventeen or eighteen. Although with the lives these women led, who could tell?
Standing on her corner, she retained a trace of country freshness. She was clean, and her dress hinted that some shred of spirit defiantly survived her profession.
Most of all, though, Gideon chose her because she bore absolutely no resemblance to the wife he’d left at the hotel.
“You, girl, do you have a room?”
She brightened as she looked at him, her light eyes, blue or gray, Gideon could hardly tell in the gloom, sparking as she took in his fine clothes. She patted her untidy blond chignon with a gesture designed to entice.