“Aye. But it will cost ye ten shillings, me handsome gent.”
Ten shillings was a fortune for someone like her. He knew she cheated him, but he didn’t have the heart to haggle. Given what was likely to happen when he came to the business, she’d earn her money before he finished.
“Done.”
She frowned suspiciously. “I want to see yer blunt up front.”
He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a sovereign. The gold glinted evilly in the faint light. He dropped it into her outstretched hand.
His flesh crawled at the prospect of getting closer to her. God knew if he could go through with this. He hadn’t even touched the chit yet, and already he was a trembling mess. The possibility of failure rose like a dark miasma.
“Let’s go,” he said roughly.
The girl stared at the coin, then glanced up with a smile that made her look older than she was. “An eager beaver, ain’t ye, sir?
She waited for him to respond, but he was busy trying to keep his gorge down. God give him strength. He could do this. He could do this. He hadn’t touched anyone since Rangapindhi. But surely he could perform with a stranger when it didn’t matter if he made an utter disaster of the act. Surely he was man enough for that.
She shrugged. “Don’t ye want to know my name?”
He closed his eyes in agony. Only the knowledge that Charis waited stopped him fleeing back to light and warmth.
“No,” he managed to grit out, opening his eyes to shabby reality. “I don’t want to know your name.”
The girl looked at him strangely and pointed to the filthy stairway behind her. “It’s up here, sir.” She sounded subdued, or perhaps that was just the blood pounding in his ears.
Blindly, Gideon followed the plump blond tart upstairs to her room.
Charis didn’t know what woke her. She couldn’t remember falling asleep. It had been late, and she’d been alone. Just as she knew immediately she was alone in the bedroom now.
She cracked open a swollen eyelid. The room was pitch-dark. The servants had drawn the curtains when they came to collect the uneaten meal and take away the cold bath. But as her sight adjusted, she recognized the heavy furniture. Old French oak pieces like something from a prerevolutionary chateau.
As she shifted experimentally, she muffled a moan. Devils with hobnail boots blundered around her skull. She licked dry lips. Her mouth tasted sour and stale. She shifted again and realized her dress twisted around her as she lay awkwardly across the covers.
With a low groan, she sat up. She raised a trembling hand to her sticky face. She remembered now. Every last pathetic moment until she’d collapsed in a stupor.
She’d waited in a lather of nerves for Gideon to return from his walk. Nerves and genuine alarm. After all Gideon’s subterfuges, it was unlikely Felix and Hubert would burst in on her the first night on Jersey. But she felt lost and defensel
ess now her Galahad abandoned her.
One hour passed. 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 brimming 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 glass or two at once before. The foul taste in her mouth made her swear one glass was too much in future.
The inn was silent, and no noise rose from the street. She felt suspended in some dark cocoon. 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.