Part 21 (1/2)
”You're unwell,” she said in a raw voice, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to generate some warmth.
”No, just drunk and heartsick.” He made a sudden savage gesture with one gloved hand. ”For the love of Christ, Charis, go back to bed.”
”No,” she said stubbornly, tightening her arms to hide her shaking.
”Not twelve hours ago, you promised to obey me.”
”And you promised to love me,” she snapped, then immediately regretted the words.
His face tautened with pain that made her flinch. He looked terrible. His clothes were torn and streaked with dirt. A graze marked his cheekbone, and blood stained the open collar of his s.h.i.+rt.
The elegant man she'd married was only a memory. He'd lost his neckcloth, his gloves were filthy, and his jaw was dark with bristle. Now she was closer, the reek of alcohol was unmistakable.
Worst by far was the expression in his eyes as he stared at her. He looked haggard and ill and as if he wished he were dead.
Still, his voice deepened into kindness. ”Go back to bed, Charis. Everything will look better in the morning.”
It was the facile, meaningless promise one offered a child. There are no monsters under the bed. Let me kiss it better. There will be a happily ever after.
Even though she quaked with nerves, her tone was firm. ”No, everything won't. You need to tell me the truth, Gideon. I'm your wife. I deserve to know what's wrong.” She paused, then made herself push on. She was tired of fighting imaginary horrors. The truth couldn't be worse than the phantoms in her mind. ”Are you sick because...because of what you did with those women in India?”
He recoiled. For a horrible moment, she wondered if her guess was accurate.
”Venereal disease, you mean?” He shook his head. ”No, I'm clean. In fact, my body is in perfect working order. In every way.”
The emphasis struck her as odd. ”What do you...?” Then she realized what he meant. ”Oh.”
”What's the point of lying? Close confines will soon make my condition plain.” The words slurred slightly with drink as his control wavered. She doubted she'd get this much frankness out of him if he wasn't half-seas over. His deep voice vibrated with feeling. ”I ache with desire for you.”
The candle flame burned unflickering. Silence fell. Lengthened.
A coal exploded in the grate, snapping the tension. Charis's paralyzed brain began to work again. And harsh reality shone a stark light on his lie. How could she think him kind? He was crueler by far than her stepbrothers. They couldn't hurt her heart. Gideon could.
”Don't mock me,” she said sharply, rubbing her arms.
”If there's a joke, it's on me.” Despair dripped from every word. His eyes sharpened on her. Abruptly he stood and ripped his coat off. ”You're cold. At least put this on.”
”Thank you.” Her frozen hands took the garment. When she pulled it on, warmth and the subtle lemon scent of Gideon filled her senses. It was almost like he touched her. ”You don't want me. You jump ten feet if I come near you.”
He gave a short, unamused laugh as he dropped into his chair. He leaned his head back and studied the shadowy ceiling. ”That's the vilest element of my affliction, dear wife. I can want to the point of insanity, but I can never have. A punishment worthy of a d.a.m.ned Greek myth.”
She shook her head, ignoring the lingering twinges of headache. Perhaps the champagne had damaged her mind in some fundamental way. ”You said you weren't sick.”
”I said my body worked fine. The trouble, my love, is in my head. I should have warned you before you tied yourself to me for life. Your husband is possessed by devils.”
My love? For a moment, the world faded to nothing. Had she imagined that endearment? Surely she had. She wasn't his love. He could hardly bear sharing the same room as her.
She drew the scrambled remnants of her concentration together and addressed the immediate issue. ”You're not mad,” she said shakily. She believed that to her bones.
He clutched at the wooden arms of his chair as if they offered his only link to reality. ”If I'm not mad already, our marriage will be the end of me.”
What was he telling her? Her dazed mind struggled to sift fact from fantasy. She didn't understand what troubled him or what she could do to help. But it was astonis.h.i.+ngly clear that what she'd always believed una.s.sailable truth was categorically false.
”You want me?” she asked in dawning wonder.
His lips twisted in another of those grim smiles, and at last he looked at her. ”Indubitably.”
Letting her arms fall to her sides, she stepped nearer. ”Surely that means...”
He surged to his feet and lurched toward the wall behind him. ”d.a.m.n it, Charis, don't touch me.”
He pressed against the wall. She heard the uneven rattle of his breath. She stopped and frowned. ”I can't touch you, yet you say you...want me.”
”I told you it was insane.”
All of a sudden, a whole range of memories came into focus and made sense in a way they never had. If anything about this bizarre situation made sense. She spoke slowly. ”You can't touch anyone. That's why you got sick after Portsmouth. All those people.”
He was as tense as if she attacked him with a rapier instead of words. She expected him to lie or refuse to answer. But he gave an abrupt nod. ”Yes.”
She retreated carefully as if she tried to calm a wild animal. With one unsteady hand, she felt behind her until she gripped the back of a chair. ”I won't come near you.”
”Thank you,” he said quietly, a world of relief in the words.
She kept her voice even, as if indeed he were an animal caught in a gamekeeper's trap. ”Won't you sit down?”
He hesitated, then returned to his chair with jerky movements. In the feeble light, he looked tired but composed. Slowly she sank into the chair she held, curling her cold toes under her.
”Were you always like this?” She thought and answered her own question. ”No, you can't have been. You've had lovers.”
”Charis...”
Twining her hands together in her lap, she raised her chin. Her courage faltered, but she steeled herself. She was guiltily aware she took unfair advantage of his weariness, his inebriation, his wretchedness. But she had to seize her chance.
She forced out the question she'd always been afraid to ask. ”What happened in Rangapindhi?”
Thirteen.
Even in the dimness, Charis saw the blood drain from Gideon's face. His eyes became opaque, as if he stared at gruesome specters visible only to him. He gripped the chair arms like a drowning sailor s.n.a.t.c.hed at driftwood to keep himself afloat.
Anyone with a sc.r.a.p of sympathy would relent. Tell him he was welcome to his secrets.
She remained silent and waited.
When she'd given up hope of an answer, he sucked in a rasping breath and focused on her. ”My tutor at Cambridge recommended me to the East India Company.”
”Your knack with languages.” She kept her voice carefully neutral.