More, he confirmed her theory that at heights of emotion, he escaped his affliction. He’d touched her, carried her. He hadn’t trembled or flinched. He’d been too furious to remember Rangapindhi.
Could a fever of desire achieve similar results?
The light was strong enough for her to see he was still annoyed. It was clear in his jerky movements and the flat line of his mouth.
“Do you want some help?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Don’t push it, Charis,” he said grimly. He stood up on his bare feet and prowled across to the bed, umbrage bristling from every line of his long body.
She moved to give him room and snuggled under the blankets. The intimacy of his presence tonight seemed more intense than yesterday’s reluctant consummation.
He slid into the bed and stretched out on his back. No part of his body touched hers.
“Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, although the question was inane. He lay next to her fully clothed. Clearly he meant to remain that way.
“No.”
Heavens, he even kept his gloves on. She realized with a shock she’d never seen his naked hands.
That abruptly struck her as significant. Gentlemen wore gloves as a matter of course, and it was winter. But Gideon didn’t feel the cold, and she’d seen him without neckcloth and in his shirtsleeves, both far greater faux pas than forgetting his gloves. It seemed odd he was punctilious on this one matter of dress.
Odd. Mysterious. Important.
He settled himself more comfortably. She was overwhelmingly aware of his physical presence. The way the mattress tilted under him. His scent, so familiar now. The regular rise and fall of his chest.
“Gideon…”
As he turned his head on the pillows to stare at her, she caught the glint of his eyes. “Good night, Charis.”
He sounded resentful. He’d hate being manipulated into enforced proximity. She couldn’t blame him.
But he was here. That was all she cared about.
She’d achieved her first victory. Now she had to work out how to ignite his passio
n so the next time they shared this bed, he touched her as her husband.
How she wished she knew more about men. All she had to work on was instinct and last night’s painful and embarrassing joining. Surely the delicious feelings he aroused in her weren’t meant to end in desolation. There must be pleasure in the act. Else why would people risk so much for passion?
Perhaps one day soon she’d find out.
“Good night, Gideon,” she whispered, linking her hands at her waist to stop them reaching for him.
Sixteen
Since Rangapindhi, horror and pain had poisoned Gideon’s dreams. This dream belonged to a different, more benevolent world. Slender arms cradled him. A soft female breast curved under his cheek. A woman’s breath sighed in time with his.
The piercing isolation that scored his every waking moment vanished. In this bewitching fantasy, he rejoined the human race.
Dear heaven, let him not wake.
Not yet.
Convulsively, he tightened the arms he curled around the woman’s waist. He buried his face deeper in the lush bosom. A peppery floral fragrance teased his senses.
A familiar fragrance.
He knew who he dreamt about. He’d known from the first.