Part 22 (1/2)
”A year. Mostly in a dark pit the size of a grave.” His voice was still flat although his heart beat like a drum as he revisited the agonies of Rangapindhi. Not that they were ever far from his thoughts. But somehow putting what he'd endured into words revived all the vile reality.
Now he'd released the floodgates that dammed the memories, he couldn't stop. ”Parsons died within the first week. Gerard, poor devil, hung on for over a month. G.o.d knows why I didn't die too. I should have. The jailers gave me just enough food to keep me alive. I've never been sure why. Just as I've never been sure why of the three of us, I survived.”
She released the chair and wrapped her arms around herself. Standing there in her cheap, borrowed dress and a coat far too large for her, she should have looked absurd. But her beauty shone like a beacon, stole his breath.
”You wanted to die,” she said bleakly.
His lips flattened. ”Believe me, death would have been welcome. But I was too blasted stubborn to kill myself and give those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds the satisfaction of besting me. And for all the pain they put me through, they never quite finished me off.”
Raising her chin, she cast him a defiant look. Her voice emerged with unexpected ruthlessness. ”So you were a hero.”
He stiffened and stepped back. No hero he. A hero never begged for mercy from his torturers. A hero never longed for death to spare him another day's pain. A hero never succ.u.mbed to devils in his mind.
”No, I wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y hero.”
Her voice deepened into irony. ”Because you told the Nawab what he wanted to know.”
”Believe me, keeping my mouth shut was the extent of my courage. When the Company's men finally dragged me out of that pit, I was a babbling lunatic.”
She made a sound in her throat that indicated disagreement, but mercifully she didn't argue. Strain marked her features. ”And it's the torture that makes it impossible for you to...touch anyone?”
He met her perceptive gaze and decided he'd gone too far to prevaricate. He folded his arms in a futile attempt to hide his shaking. ”We were chained together in the pit and left.”
He thought at first she hadn't understood. Thank G.o.d.
Then he realized what scant color she retained leached from her face. ”The three of you?”
He stiffened. d.a.m.nation, he should never have started this. Why didn't he make up some easy story about comfortable incarceration and eventual rescue?
But he couldn't look into her eyes and lie.
”Yes.” The word was choked. He battered back memories of month after month chained to rotting corpses. Through the humid airless heat of an Indian summer. Through the savage cold of winter. The unrelenting stink, the decay of once-healthy flesh.
Horror dawned in her expression. And a compa.s.sion that stabbed at his pride.
Because he couldn't bear her to imagine even a hundredth of what he'd been through, he spoke quickly. ”It was almost a relief when the Nawab exhibited me for general mockery. He loved having a captive sahib who stank like carrion and could hardly cover his nakedness. I was quite the highlight of his divans until the stench got so bad, even he couldn't stomach it.”
”How did you escape?” she asked huskily.
”British troops ousted the Nawab. Akash entered Rangapindhi with the invading forces. He knew if I was alive, I must be in the palace. He found me in the lowest depths of the Nawab's prisons.”
”Thank G.o.d for Akash,” she whispered, closing her eyes briefly as if the words were a prayer.
”I was burning up with fever, barely able to walk, half-mad.” More than half-mad. He'd spent a long time convinced his rescue was another sick fantasy.
Charis's brow creased in a thoughtful frown. Her voice was stronger, although still thick with emotion. ”Your health has improved since.”
”I can walk and talk without humiliating myself. Most of the time. Quite an achievement.” He bit back the sarcastic edge. It wasn't her fault he was a wreck.
He crossed to stoke the fire again. The flaring flames revealed her somber, troubled expression. Unfamiliar shadows swam in her unblinking gaze. Shadows he'd put there. He cursed himself for a selfish swine. He should have found a room, slept off the drink, left her to innocent dreams.
Except he couldn't bear staying away from her.
”Charis, I've had months to recover.” She was better facing the bleak truth than nurturing the smallest hope that he'd ever offer her a whole body and mind. ”My physical health is as good as it will get. Nothing has s.h.i.+fted the devils in my mind. Nothing will.”
She swallowed again. He expected a protest, but she spoke with perfect calm. ”You believe you'll never touch another person?”
”Not without difficulty.”
Her expression was unyielding. ”Then how can you hope to consummate our marriage?”
He tensed. The attack was unexpected. He dredged his response from the deepest part of him. ”I must. I will. I can.”
Something in his face must have alerted her to the shame roiling in his gut. ”Gideon, what is it?”
He swung away although she didn't approach him. Confound it, why didn't he hold his ground? He acted like he'd done something wrong. ”Nothing.”
Her voice was sharp. ”Where were you tonight?”
Why did she have to be so d.a.m.ned acute? ”I told you. Drinking. I got into an altercation with a couple of ruffians. They came out the worst, I'm pleased to say.”
Then she did step closer, her skirts rustling. Christ, don't let her touch him. Not now. After telling her about Rangapindhi, he felt like he'd sc.r.a.ped off several layers of skin.
She exhaled in a long, impatient breath. ”There's more.”
Oh, she was d.a.m.ned right about that.
His guilt surged. Fought with the absurd urge to confess, to receive absolution. When he knew there was no real absolution for him ever, for this sin or his other, more heinous transgressions.
She waited for his answer. Strange how he'd withstood agonizing interrogations in Rangapindhi without cracking, but his wife's bristling silence made him frantic to spill his secrets.
Oh, h.e.l.l, why shouldn't she know what he'd done tonight? Perhaps it was best she recognized what a craven she'd married. He'd tried to tell her so often, but she refused to heed him, devil take her foolish stubbornness.
He drew himself up to his full height, turned, and surveyed her down his long nose. ”I paid for a tart,” he said harshly.
As her expression darkened with hurt, his gut clenched in unwelcome remorse. She came to a trembling halt a few feet away. ”What...what did you do with her?” she asked shakily.
Abruptly Gideon's guilty defiance evaporated. He felt utterly sickened. With himself. With the world. With every b.l.o.o.d.y thing in Creation.
Except the woman he'd married.
He avoided eyes that held no accusation, just tortured curiosity. Shame rose like bile. Sometimes his shame was so suffocating, he thought it would kill him.
His voice was toneless as he unleashed the mortifying truth. ”Not one d.a.m.ned thing.”
Even without watching, he knew the tension drained from her. He braced for a volley of questions. But she didn't speak. Which somehow forced him to explain.