Chapter 19 #2
A smile touched his lips. “They fascinated me. Whenever Father was drunk and took the strap to me for doing my lessons badly, I’d run and hide behind those curtains in the drawing room, hoping that the fire would protect me.
” His eyes met hers. “I guess, in a strange sort of way, it did. He never found me when I was behind those curtains. And whenever Miss Mulligan discovered me there, she gave me milk and cookies and let me curl up in the bed with her while Father slept off his drunk. For a boy of six, that was heaven. She was kind and motherly and smelled of rosewater. I used to love the smell of rosewater.”
A lump formed in her throat. She could just imagine Gideon as a small boy, hiding fearfully behind the curtains of a drawing room, turning to an old woman for comfort. She touched her fingers to his cheek. “Did your father . . . take a strap to you often?”
His gaze met hers, startled, then aloof, like the look a sleepwalker gives a person who wakes him.
Lying back on the bed and tucking one arm under his head, he stared up at the ceiling.
“Often enough to make an impression on me, if that’s what you mean.
” He cast her a quick, cool glance. “You probably think he should’ve done it a few more times, to flail some goodness into me.
What’s that the Bible says? ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’? ”
“Oh, don’t quote that wretched verse! It’s awful how people use it to justify cruelty. Beating a child doesn’t teach him anything but humiliation and fear.”
He stared at her a long time as if trying to fathom her. “Yes,” he finally said. “That’s exactly what it teaches.”
Her heart twisted in her chest. Poor Gideon. No wonder he sought to create his own paradise. The world he’d been raised in sounded as if it were far from paradise. More like hell even.
“Where was your mother while all this was going on?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Did she approve of your father . . . beating you?”
His face grew shuttered. Abruptly, he rose from the bed and drew on his trousers. “She wasn’t around.”
Sitting up in bed, Sara clutched the sheets to her breast. “What do you mean? Did she die?”
Folding his arms over his bare chest, he rested his hip on the edge of his desk. His features were as remote and cold as the figurehead on the prow of his ship. “Something like that. It doesn’t really matter, does it? She wasn’t there.”
She sniffed. “If you don’t want to talk about her—”
“I don’t.” When she cast him a wounded look, he added, “We’ve more important things to discuss, Sara. Like what’s going to happen today.”
The abrupt change of subject threw her off guard. “Today?”
“When the women choose their husbands. Or have you forgotten?”
Oh, yes. That. Actually, in the wake of the fire and their night together, she had forgotten.
He went on without waiting for an answer.
“Obviously we can’t wait until new lodgings are built.
That’ll take weeks. The men who went to Sao Nicolau returned this morning, so there’s no reason to delay.
I need to know—” He broke off, a vulnerable expression crossing his face.
“That is, I want to know whom you intend to choose.”
“Why? So you can approve him?” she snapped.
“What in blue blazes is that supposed to mean?”
It took all her effort to force some calmness into her tone. “The last time we discussed this, you made it quite clear you didn’t wish to marry me yourself.”
“That’s not true. As I recall, I said I wanted to ‘sample the goods first.’”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” She hugged the sheet protectively to her chest, unable to hold back her bitter words. “Now that you’ve ‘sampled the goods,’ did I pass your test with flying colors? How many of the other women have you ‘sampled’ in your quest to find the perfect bedmate?”
“Confound it, Sara, you know I haven’t touched another woman since I met you.
” He raked his hand through his hair, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him.
“What we did together last night . . . that was not a test. But it did prove something to me. If I were doing the choosing, I’d choose to marry you and no one else.
Unfortunately, by the terms of our agreement, I’m not doing the choosing.
You are. And the question is, who will you choose? ”
Confused and torn, she wrenched her gaze from his.
Marry him? How could she? Though it would likely be more than a month before Petey and Jordan arrived here, they would come.
She felt sure of that. And when they did, she intended to leave with them.
On the other hand, the thought of staying with Gideon on this intriguing island, helping him build a new world, was so enticing, she could almost say yes to anything he wanted.
But that was a foolish thought. She didn’t belong here. And in any case, he was just looking for a convenient bedmate. For some reason, he’d chosen her, but that didn’t mean anything.
“It’s not as if I really have a choice at all,” she said evasively.
“I’d prefer not to marry anyone, but you won’t allow that.
If I don’t choose you, you’ve already said you would choose for me, so that means I either choose you for my husband or let you assign yourself as my husband. It’s all the same, isn’t it?”
Eyes blazing, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “You would choose not to marry at all rather than marry me? Even after what we shared last night, you think me not good enough to marry?”
“It’s not that, Gideon!” But when he stared at her, clearly waiting for an explanation, she found herself at a loss for one.
She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth—that she expected to be rescued from the island soon.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . I’m just not ready yet.
Marriage is so very final. If given the choice, I wouldn’t marry on so short an acquaintance. ”
“How forward-thinking of you,” he bit out. “Giving your virginity to a man isn’t final, but marrying him is.” He stared at her another long moment, his eyes bleak and angry. Then he stiffened. “Very well. You won’t have to ‘marry on so short an acquaintance.’ I certainly won’t force you to.”
Scooping up his shirt, he headed toward the door.
“Wait! What do you mean? What are you saying?”
Without a word, he stepped outside the door and picked up a bundle of clothes, then tossed them inside the cabin. “Here. These are clothes I had them bring you from Sao Nicolau. Get dressed. I expect to see you on deck in half an hour.” And before she could ask him anything else, he was gone.
She stared at the closed door, a disturbing emptiness settling in her chest. What had she done? What was he up to now? She should never have given in to him last night. This was a complete disaster! And how in the name of God was she to get herself out of it?
Gideon stood on top the quarterdeck a half hour later, his face grim as he scanned the crowd in search of Sara. Where was she? She had to be here for this.
If he was going to make this sacrifice, he wanted her to witness it. After all, he was only doing it for her and her precious women. God knows nobody else would be pleased by his pronouncement. His men would howl.
But he didn’t care. He’d made his choice, and he fully intended to see it to the end, even if it meant angering his men. Besides, what he was doing would help their situation, no matter what they thought.
It would certainly help his. It might be the only thing that would.
He surveyed the crowd again. It looked very different from the last time he’d stood on the quarterdeck to address the men and women.
True, the mood was just as somber as it had been then, thanks to last night’s fire.
But the fire had also drawn them closer.
The women were more easy with the men, and the men more considerate.
Some of the men and women had already paired off, and the sight of that pleased him.
Sara might not approve, but at least his plan was working.
Suddenly, the object of his thoughts emerged from beneath the quarterdeck, glancing up at him with an expression of dread.
His pulse quickened at the sight of her, like that of a blasted cabin boy with his first woman.
She was wearing the white, embroidered native blouse and flowing plum skirt he’d had the men buy for her.
She looked wonderful in it, her hair loose and free about her shoulders and the wind blowing the thin cotton to cling to her legs, leaving little to the imagination.
Bedding her should have put an end to this unreasonable desire for her.
But it hadn’t. It only made it worse. He wanted her again, this very minute.
The irony of it was enough to make him choke.
After all those years of sneering at English noblewomen, to be craving one now was a real blow to his pride.
But he’d never been foolish enough to let his pride keep him from pursuing what he wanted, and he wanted Sara . . . in his house and in his bed. He’d chosen his wife. Now all he had to do was make her choose him.
Wrenching his gaze from her, he faced the group. It was time to take the first step in his plan for doing just that.
“Good morning. I’m glad to say that we all seemed to have survived the fire intact.
No one was lost.” He leaned forward to plant his hands on the rail.
“We did lose all the dwellings last night, but I don’t intend to let that stop us.
Someone—” Here he broke off, his gaze flickering briefly to Sara before returning to the crowd.
“Someone made me see that Atlantis is worth fighting for.” There was a murmur of approval among his men, echoed to a smaller extent by the women.
“Now that the rest of the men have returned from Sao Nicolau,” he went on, “we have most of the materials we require for rebuilding. What they haven’t brought, we can probably get on the island.”