Color lined his slanted cheekbones as his eyes followed the slipping shawl, then returned to trace the dip of the neckline over her breasts. She shivered under that heated gaze and was suddenly overwhelmingly aware that sheer white material clung to hips and buttocks and swirled around her bare legs. The strange hot weight, familiar from last night, settled in her belly. Her heart set up a rapid tattoo of excitement.
“I understand you’ve decided to wallow in self-pity for the remainder of your days,” she said, knowing she wasn’t fair. But this wasn’t about fairness. This was about ripping at his control until his memories lost their grip.
“You have no right to say that.” A muscle jerked erratically in his cheek. He was close to losing patience.
“I’m your wife. I can say what I like,” she said defiantly, standing straight, so her breasts pressed against the delicately embroidered bodice. The cool brush of silk on her nipples teased, built the damp heat between her legs. Her breasts swelled, yearning for his hands.
“This is a marriage of convenience,” he said, sounding strangled. He was taut as a drawn bow. His gloved hands opened and closed convulsively at his sides.
“It’s more like a marriage of inconvenience,” she shot back, taking a step in his direction and tossing her thick plait behind one shoulder.
Feverishly, his eyes clung to her. “We had a bargain.”
“Yes, my safety in return for a lifetime of unhappiness.” She fought to keep her voice steady. Difficult when every reaction she achieved from him stoked the heat inside her. “Forgive me if I seek to renegotiate.”
He turned away and closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. One unsteady hand curled over the edge of the mantel.
“I won’t forgive you if you make this more a nightmare than it already is.” He flung his head up and glared at her like he hated her. His furious black eyes threatened to incinerate her where she stood. “Why the hell would you want to repeat last night’s farrago? Damn it, Charis, I hurt you.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” she said in a ghost of her usual voice.
“For us, it does.” He sounded heartbreakingly sure.
Doubt frayed her resolution. What if she was wrong? What if her plan to help him only damaged him further? She lifted her chin and shored up her courage. “I’m not giving up, Gideon.”
His mouth thinned with anger, but when he spoke, his voice was frigid. “You will. This is a war you can’t win.”
She spread her hands in helpless bewilderment. He had so much strength. Why didn’t he enlist it in his own cause? “Don’t you want a real life?”
His short laugh was so harsh, it flayed like flying shards of glass. “Of course I do.”
She fought the impulse to retreat. She’d known when she chose this path that her greatest enemy would be Gideon himself. “Your memories aren’t always in control,” she said hoarsely. “I saw you in Portsmouth. You knocked down any man within reach. You weren’t afraid to touch people then.”
“Yes, I find relief in violence.” His voice roughened into sarcasm. “Are you suggesting I beat you?”
She blinked back hot tears. How easy to make optimistic promises when she lay alone in her bed. Less so facing his stubborn intransigence.
He was so angry and lost, and he defended himself the only way he could. She knew he acted for her sake. He firmly believed he wasn’t worthy of her love. He believed living with him would destroy her. Limitless self-loathing was one of the toxic fruits of Rangapindhi.
r /> Could she change his mind? Did she have the power to reach him? “Gideon…” she protested huskily.
He stiffened and glared at her. “Don’t be a fool. I’d never hurt you.”
She bent her head. “You’re hurting me now.”
She glanced up to see his face darken with remorse. He made one of those strange truncated gestures she’d noticed from the first. “Charis, don’t.”
She shook her head and twined her arms around herself. She was cold with a chill of the soul more than the body. If only he’d take her in his arms and warm her. “I can’t help it,” she whispered.
He stepped close enough for her to feel his living heat. How could he consign himself to a cold tomb of isolation?
“I’ve done you a great wrong,” he said with a regret that made her want to cry.
“No.”
“Yes, I have. I hoped to preserve your freedom by tying you to a man who made no demands. Instead, I’ve only brought you pain.”
“I want to be your wife,” she said obstinately.