Captive of Sin (4 page)

The relationship between the men was puzzling too. Tulliver seemed on friendly terms with his masters. Akash was surely also an employee, yet he and Sir Gideon treated each other as equals.

Gideon opened the carriage door for her. Again, he didn’t assist her inside. The easy, automatic action of a gentleman. Yet he didn’t do it. Instead, Akash stepped forward and helped her into the carriage. Wearing the greatcoat loose around her shoulders and with her sling, she couldn’t have managed otherwise.

“Miss Watson.”

“Thank you, Akash,” she murmured, and was hardly aware when he moved away.

Instead, her eyes fastened on Sir Gideon, who waited outside. A cloud covered the moon, and the striking face became a mixture of shadows and light. Still beautiful but sinister.

She shivered. “Who are you?” she whispered, subsiding onto her seat.

“Who are you?” His dark gaze didn’t waver from her as he resumed his place opposite, his back to the horses, as a gentleman would.

Charis wrapped the coat around her against the sharp early-morning chill and settled her injured arm more comfortably. “I asked first.”

It was a childish response, and she knew he recognized it
as such from the twitch of his firm mouth. Like the rest of his face, his mouth was perfect. Sharply cut upper lip indicating character and integrity. A fuller lower lip indicating…

Something stirred and smoldered in her belly as she stared at him in the electric silence. What a time to realize she’d never before been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative. The moment seemed dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with her quest to escape Felix and Hubert.

“My name is Gideon Trevithick.” He paused as if expecting a response but the name meant nothing to her. “Of Penrhyn in Cornwall.”

“Is that a famous house?” Perhaps that explained his watchful reaction.

Another wry smile. “No. That’s two questions. My turn.”

She stiffened although she should have expected this. And long before now.

“I’m tired.” It was true, although a good meal and Akash’s skills meant she didn’t feel nearly as low as she had.

“It’s a long journey to Portsmouth. Surely you can stay awake a few moments to entertain your fellow traveler.”

She sighed. Her deceit made her sick with self-loathing. But what could she do? If she told the truth, he’d hand her over to the nearest magistrate.

“I’ve told you my name and where I live. I’ve told you the disaster that befell me today. I seek my aunt in Portsmouth.” Her uninjured hand fiddled at the sling and betrayed her nervousness. With a shuddering breath, she pressed her palm flat on her lap. “We’re chance-met travelers. What else can you need to know?” She knew she sounded churlish, but she hated telling lies.

In the uncertain light, his face was a gorgeous mask. She had no idea if he believed her or not. He paused as if winnowing her answers, then spoke in a somber voice. “I need to know why you’re so frightened.”

“The footpads…”

He made a slashing gesture with his gloved hand, silencing her. “If you truly had been set upon by thieves, you wouldn’t
have hidden in the stable. Won’t you trust me, Sarah?” His soft request vibrated deep in her bones, and for one yearning moment, she almost told him the truth. Before she remembered what was at stake.

“I…I have trusted you,” she said huskily. She swallowed nervously. His use of her Christian name, even a false one, established a new intimacy. It made her lies more heinous.

Disappointment shadowed his face as he sat back against the worn leather. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what trouble you flee.”

“You are helping me.” Charis blinked back the mist that appeared in front of her eyes. He deserved better return for his generosity than deceit.

She tried to tell herself he was a man, and, for that reason alone, she couldn’t trust him. The insistence rang hollow. Her father had been a good man. Everything told her Sir Gideon Trevithick was a good man too.

She forced a stronger tone. “It’s my turn for a question.”

He folded his arms across his powerful chest and surveyed her from under lowered black brows. “Ask away.”

It frightened her how much she yearned to know about him. Curiosity raged like a fever. But to her utter mortification, the first question that emerged was, “Are you married?”

His laugh held a harsh edge. “Good God, no.”

Shock at his emphatic answer overwhelmed her embarrassment. “You make it sound an impossibility.”

“Believe me, it is.” He looked out the window at the dark landscape.

Helpless to resist, she stared at his profile, perfect as a cameo or a face on a coin. Thick dark hair sprang back from a high forehead. The straight, commanding nose. The proud chin and angular jaw. His physical splendor struck her like a blow.

He turned and caught her studying him. Her color mounted higher. Thank goodness the dim light and her bruises hid her blush.

For a long moment, she stared into turbulent dark eyes. He
was in turmoil, and she wasn’t vain enough to imagine she was the cause. No, her little drama briefly intersected with his life and would just as quickly veer away. She stifled the pang of senseless regret that knowledge aroused.

The thick dark eyelashes that veiled his eyes were the only remotely feminine feature on his face. Yes, he was beautiful, but he was also uncompromisingly male.

“My turn. Where are your parents?”

“Dead,” she said starkly before she thought to lie.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked down at where her good hand clenched in her lap. “My father died when I was sixteen. My mother died three years ago.”

“How old are you now?” She was grateful he didn’t pursue the subject. After all this time, it still hurt to talk about her parents.

“Twenty. Almost twenty-one.” Just saying the words reminded her that on the first day of March, she reached her majority. And safety. If she stayed free for the next three weeks, her stepbrothers couldn’t touch her. Or her fortune. “That’s two questions.”

The conversation was odd, prickly. Like a dangerous game. “You can have two now.”

“Tulliver calls you Sir Gideon. Were you knighted by the King?”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to elaborate, perhaps boast of whatever feats brought about his elevation. But he remained silent.

“So it’s not an old title?”

“That too. I’m a baronet for my sins. Although I wasn’t expected to inherit.”

“Penrhyn is the family seat?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you there now?”

“I was in London.” He paused. “My turn well and truly. Carlisle to Portsmouth is a long journey. Especially for a woman on her own. What prompted it?”

“My circumstances changed.” That at least was the truth.

“So your aunt expects you?”

“Aunt…Aunt Mary desires a companion. She’s…she’s a rich spinster.” Close enough to the truth about her real great-aunt in Bath except her name was Georgiana. How Charis wished she could apply to that wonderful woman for help now. But her great-aunt, for all her fortune, was powerless against the law and the Farrells’ bullying.

“Miss Mary Watson of Portsmouth.” Did she hear skepticism in his deep voice, rich as vintage wine?

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So you can direct us to her house.”

Oh, Lord, no.
She should have thought of that complication. She’d chosen Portsmouth as her destination because she imagined there she’d be part of a transient population, as unremarkable as a grain of sand in a gale. But she’d never visited the town, knew nothing about it.

“Of course.” She spoke hurriedly, before he quizzed her further on her mythical aunt. “Why were you in London?”

Did she mistake the haunted look that darkened his eyes? “Cornwall is isolated, especially in winter.”

Except he was tanned. His answers puzzled her. He mightn’t be lying like she was, but he wasn’t completely honest. “Does Akash work for you?”

He gave a surprised laugh. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh properly. His face lit with amusement, and her heart crashed to a trembling stop in her chest. He was the most breathtakingly attractive man she’d ever seen.

“Of course not. He’s my friend.”

“But…” She stopped for fear of causing offense.

“You shouldn’t make simple judgments, Miss Watson.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a flat silver flask. She waited for him to drink, but he held it out to her. “It’s brandy.”

“I don’t take strong spirits.”

“It will help you sleep and dull your aches.”

“Akash’s treatment did that.”

“Once you’ve been on the road a few hours, his magic will wear thin.” Sir Gideon’s voice lowered to velvet persuasion. “Drink it, Sarah. I promise it won’t hurt.”

She found herself reaching out, taking the flask and drinking. All under the power of fathomless dark eyes. As the liquor hit her throat, she coughed. Her bruised ribs protested the abrupt pressure even as comforting warmth spread through her veins.

She passed back the flask. Her brief vitality faded. Exhaustion weighted her aching limbs. Her swollen jaw protested as she fought back a yawn.

She wouldn’t sleep. She didn’t trust her companions enough to fall into unconsciousness. And she needed to be alert to seize her chance to escape.

She wouldn’t sleep. She wouldn’t…

The carriage rolled into Portsmouth the next morning. Gideon had dozed in snatches. That was all he managed these days, whether in a speeding coach or the most luxurious feather bed. Sometimes he thought he’d sell his soul for an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Other days he recognized he didn’t have a soul to sell.

At least his fear of closed-in spaces wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been when he first left India. His confinement in this coach had been uncomfortable, but he’d managed, thank God.

From the bench opposite, Akash studied him in silence. It had started to snow before dawn, and his friend had sought refuge in the vehicle. They’d suggested to Tulliver that they stop at a wayside inn. But Tulliver had proven as immune to English cold as he had to blistering heat on the boat back from India.

Gideon’s eyes alighted on the slumbering bundle at Akash’s
side. Sarah lay curled in the corner, pressed against the upholstery as if even asleep she remained wary.

Gideon’s belly knotted with coruscating anger at whoever had hurt her. The craven deserved to rot in hell.

He slid back the blind and caught his first glimpse of Miss Sarah Watson in daylight. The bruising on her face was worse this morning, for all Akash’s arcane skills. Her hair was a rat’s nest. One scratched hand clutched his thick greatcoat around her, hiding the slender curves he recalled with such unwelcome clarity from last night. The other dangled loosely against her breast, suspended from Akash’s makeshift sling.

“Shall I wake her?” Akash murmured.

Gideon nodded. Gently, Akash touched her hand where it clenched in the coat’s thick black wool. Not for the first time, Gideon envied his friend the ease of contact.

He remained still, watching the girl stir. Her eyes—a cloudy hazel in the bright light reflected off the snow outside—opened and slowly focused on him. With accusation.

“You drugged me.” Her voice was slurred. With sleep or her swollen face. Or the opium.

“You needed rest. It was only a drop of laudanum.” More than that. But he’d had no idea how else to grant her the blessing of rest.

“Don’t do it again,” she spat out, sounding more alert by the second. Her remarkable eyes cleared to a deep green, flecked with scattered gold like broken sunlight. Her eyes were the only trace of beauty in her battered face.

He bent his head in acknowledgment. “I won’t.” He paused. “How do you feel?”

Her lips quirked, then she winced as the smile tested her torn lip. Nonetheless, her voice held a trace of dry humor. “Like a mule has kicked me. A big angry mule.”

She confronted her fate with her head held high. No whining or cowering. Her spirit took his breath away. Made him want more than he had a right to ask.

As she’d said, they were chance-met strangers. Useless to
rage against inevitable fate. She was not for him. She could never be for him. No woman could be.

He’d faced that damnable truth months ago.

He hoped she didn’t hear the betraying roughness in his voice when he forced a dry reply. “You’re feeling much better, then?”

She gave a choked giggle at his attempt at a joke and raised one hand to her bruised cheek. “It hurts to laugh.”

“I’m sure it does.” Only the bravest woman would laugh in such circumstances.

“Where does your aunt live, Miss Watson?” Akash asked.

His friend had cast him a searching look and now concentrated on the girl. Heat crawled up the back of Gideon’s neck as he realized Akash must guess his admiration for Miss Watson. And Akash would pity him, which stung Gideon’s pride like acid.

The lilt faded from the girl’s voice, and she sounded stiff as she always did when she lied. “Not far. If you drop me in the center of town, I can find my own way. I’ve imposed enough.”

Gideon’s lips crooked in grim amusement as she avoided his eyes. “We cannot abandon a lady to her own devices.”

She looked down to where her uninjured hand fisted in her lap. Her discomfort was palpable. “My…my aunt is a maiden lady of reclusive habits. It would frighten her if I arrived on her doorstep in the company of three unknown gentlemen.”

“And she’d be perfectly undisturbed to see you arrive hurt, ragged, and alone?”

She cast him a resentful glance under her thick gold-tipped lashes. “When I explain, she’ll understand.”

The carriage pulled, as arranged during the night, into Portsmouth’s best inn. The girl’s hands tightened until the knuckles shone white. “Where are we?”

“We’re changing horses and stopping for breakfast. After that, Akash and I will escort you to your aunt’s.”

“No.”

“No to breakfast or no to our company?”

She had the grace to look a little shamefaced at her bald reply. “I must admit breakfast appeals.”

He guessed she meant to take advantage of one last meal before escaping. It was what he’d do if destitute and in danger. “Breakfast it is,” he said neutrally.