Part 20 (2/2)
One hour pa.s.sed. Two. Her apprehension turned to hurt defiance. She knew why he avoided her. Because he couldn't bear to touch her.
She wanted to send him to the devil. She wanted to beg him to love her the way she loved him.
With rankling hostility, she drank the champagne, as if the act somehow got back at him. Even after she started to feel sick, she kept drinking. She drank until the bottle was empty, and the room whirled in a wayward waltz.
Eventually, inevitably, her empty stomach rebelled, and she was vilely, painfully sick. By then it was past midnight and still no sign of her husband of mere hours.
Tears she'd dammed through the agonizing day welled up. Painful, humiliating, unstoppable tears. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms as she battled for control. But nothing helped. Sobbing in ugly gulps, she'd curled up on the bed. Crying, she must have fallen asleep.
To wake with a headache, a rebellious stomach, and a heart br.i.m.m.i.n.g with shame.
Vaguely, she wondered what time it was. A heaviness in her limbs indicated she hadn't slept long enough to overcome her fatigue. Or perhaps the wine made her ache. She'd never had more than a gla.s.s or two at once before. The foul taste in her mouth made her swear one gla.s.s was too much in future.
The inn was silent, and no noise rose from the street. She felt suspended in some dark coc.o.o.n. Alone forever.
”Stop it,” she whispered. Why she kept her voice down, she couldn't say. She was on her own.
Except something had disturbed her.
She held her breath and listened.
Not a sound.
Gideon obviously hadn't returned.
Curse him.
She should lie down. Rest her throbbing head. Still, she sat bristling with awareness, straining to discern the slightest sound through the enveloping darkness.
Very carefully, she edged off the bed.
Nothing stirred in the next room.
Icy fear trickled down her spine. What if Felix and Hubert lurked out there, ready to s.n.a.t.c.h her back to Holcombe Hall?
With shaking hands, she slid a large china jar from a chest of drawers. Its pale glimmer made it easy to locate. The jar wasn't much of a weapon, but, armed, she felt less vulnerable.
Crunching her toes against the chill, she padded on bare feet across the floor until she reached the door. The parlor beyond was quiet, empty. The fire had burned down, but its low glow revealed that n.o.body was there.
Except...
”I know you're here.” Relief mixed with a fortifying dose of irritation trickled down her spine. Her voice sounded scratchy and unused. Speech made her sore head ache.
No answer.
She stepped farther into the room. The floor was cold against her soles. She took another step, so at least she stood on the rug and could curl her toes into the wool.
The silence continued.
Her lips thinned with annoyance. ”It's no use pretending.”
More silence.
She bent and placed the heavy jar on the floor. Unless she lost her temper and smashed it over Gideon's thick skull, she wouldn't need it.
Would he continue this foolish game?
She heard a shuddering sigh from the corner of deepest shadow. ”How did you know?”
”I always know when you're near,” she said wearily, and felt her way across to the sideboard.
”I'm sorry I woke you.”
”It doesn't matter.” Perhaps it was the desolate feeling attendant upon the early-morning hours, but right now, she felt that nothing in the world mattered.
The air was so still, she could hear the even susurration of Gideon's breath. His chair creaked as he s.h.i.+fted. The fire crackled in the background. The intimacy was intense, fraught, electric. At the same time Charis felt that a thousand miles of frozen sea separated her from Gideon.
Gooseflesh p.r.i.c.kled her skin. She should have grabbed a blanket before leaving the bedroom. She picked up a candle, intending to light it in the coals.
His eyesight must be better than hers in this darkness because he spoke quickly. ”Please don't light it.”
She paused and faced him, leaning against the sideboard and s.h.i.+vering in the cold. ”Why?”
He didn't answer. Or not in words anyway. ”Go back to bed, Charis.”
”Alone?”
”For G.o.d's sake, yes.” His voice cracked. ”We'll talk in the morning.”
”What's the point?” She sucked in a deep breath and realized the sour alcohol smell didn't come from her or the empty champagne bottle. ”You've been drinking.”
It wasn't an accusation but of course it sounded like one. His chair creaked again as he straightened. ”Yes. And I've been fighting.” His voice sounded odd. Flat and unmusical as she'd never heard it.
With sudden determination, she stepped across to the hearth and lit the candle. A feeble glow bloomed. Her hand trembling, she turned and raised the candle in his direction. Against the back of her legs, the fire's warmth was welcome.
She expected him to jerk away but he sat unmoving as she illuminated the thick darkness around him. When she saw him, Charis couldn't contain a choked gasp.
”I take it I'm not too pretty?”
Her hand shook so badly, she had to slide the candlestick onto the mantel. But the uncertain light had revealed enough to make her feel sick all over again.
His lips lengthened in a grimace that she knew was meant to be a smile. He answered his own question. ”Obviously not.”
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