Only now did she understand what those words truly meant. Perhaps the anguish of the consummation made the joining so irrevocable. Perhaps if they’d embarked on married life in lighthearted hope, she wouldn’t suffer this dark obsession with her husband.
She knew Gideon felt the connection too. For all he tried so staunchly to stay separate.
For the sake of that connection, she meant to take a huge risk. A risk not only for her and her bruised, longing heart. But also a risk for Gideon’s grimly retained sanity and health. Heaven forfend she was wrong. The consequences would be tragic.
In the long dark watches of the night, she’d felt at the crossroads between two futures. The future Gideon planned—cold, divided, lonely. A future where she didn’t resist his decision to give up on hope and love.
Or there was another future. A future where they grew together, confronted their challenges, created a family and a home.
Was there a chance she could make this second future reality?
Charis didn’t fool herself about the magnitude of the obstacles. But last night as she’d witnessed his pain, something in her screamed denial at abandoning him to suffering. She yearned to cherish him. She wanted to restore his trust in life. More, his trust in himself. She wanted to give him back his capacity for happiness.
All huge tasks.
Impossible?
No. She refused to give up. Whatever it cost her.
Half an hour ago she’d left him in the parlor. He’d been drinking brandy, and the bleakness in his eyes had made her want to weep. The desolation had always been there, but now she knew his past, it cut her to the bone.
He’d already decided his life was over.
Well, the woman he’d married meant to shatter that resolution. She loved him so much, she couldn’t lose.
Brave words. She wished she felt half as confident.
She looked up from her troubled thoughts to see Gideon standing in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him arrive. He always moved like a cat, so that was hardly surprising. His hair was ruffled, and one gloved hand negligently encircled a glass. He’d removed his neckcloth, and his shirt was open, giving her shadowy glimpses of his hard chest.
His masculine beauty was a constant goad. Sometimes, like now, it stopped her heart.
Her belly clenched as his half-dressed state inevitably reminded her of last night. His remorse at what he’d done that stabbed her like a blade. His sorrow afterward that made her want to die.
He didn’t advance into the room. “I’ll say good night, Charis.”
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” The question emerged as a husky invitation.
She licked lips dry with nerves. His gaze fastened feverishly on the movement. His gloved hand tautened on his brandy. The warm air swirled with sudden sensual turbulence.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze above her head. “I’m sleeping in the parlor. I think…I think it’s best.”
With unsteady hands, she grabbed a shawl and slid out of bed. Ignoring the resistance in his face, she stepped close enough to read ravaging torment in his dark eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gideon. It’s cold and uncomfortable.”
He looked at her. “After Rangapindhi, it’s the height of luxury.”
“Oh, my dear, Rangapindhi is over,” she said in a low voice. It seemed a sign of progress that he mentioned his captivity without prompting. She extended one hand toward him, then let it drop to her side. “You’re free.”
His smile held no amusement. “I’ll never be free.”
This acceptance of his fate angered her. “If you don’t fight, you won’t.”
His tall, lean body vibrating resentment, he stalked across to the fireplace. He tossed back his brandy and set the glass down sharply on the mantel. He focused a furious glare on her. “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”
She mustered her fading courage. She couldn’t fail at the first hurdle. Worse difficulties awaited before she gained what she wanted for him. A chance at happiness. Liberation from his past.
Her mind filled with a sudden memory of the stark desire in his face as he’d looked at her body last night. Had she nerve to use that weapon to break him?
With excruciating slowness, she let the beautiful shawl slide down. Her new nightdress was silk, and while far from immodest, had been designed by Madame Claire with a honeymoon in mind.