Some of the tightness in her chest eased. Whatever Gavin was, he was no liar; she could see the truth in the molten ore of his eyes. "You haven't... been with her since we met?"
He shook his head.
Another thought assailed her. "Or anyone else?"
"No. Nor have I thought to." He looked at her steadily. "'Tis you I want, Percy."
Even as relief seeped through her, her gaze wandered to the assortment of objects next to her on the counter. Her belly fluttered at the coil of silken, tasseled rope. Swallowing, she waved her hand at the paraphernalia. "And what about this?"
His scar whitened. She saw the flexing of his strong, bare throat and had a revelation. Gavin Hunt was nervous. Hah. Heoughtto be. And she supposed she ought to be shocked by Hunt's proclivities; instead, she felt... intrigued. But mostlyhurtby the fact that he would share his desires with a light-skirt, but not with her.
Does he think I'm too missish to handle his needs? Is that why he hasn't spoken of marriage? I'm... I'm not enough for him?
All of a sudden, she saw herself waiting by the window. Small and insignificant. Not important enough for anyone to return home for.
Though her heart squeezed, she lifted her chin. "I deserve to know," she said.
He straightened, ran a hand over his mouth. "This isn't the sort of thing one talks about with a well-bred miss," he said, dumping salt onto her wounds. "I don't want to shock you, Percy."
"Tell me the truth," she snapped."Tell me, or I will go. And I won't bloody come back."
Perhaps an ultimatum wasn't the wisest approach. But she was too hurt and angry to care.
His hands dropped to his lean hips. "Have it your way, then." A challenging flare lit his gaze. "What do you know about the prison hulks?"
The non sequitur took her aback. A chill of premonition passed over her. "They're old battle ships. They're used to house prisoners when the jails are overcrowded," she said slowly. "The conditions aboard are said to be deplorable."
"There was one moored not far from here, up on the Thames Estuary." Heartbeats passed. "I spent ten years of my life in that stinking hellhole."
Gavin had been aconvict? Shock percolated through her. "For... for what crime?"
"A house burned down, and I was blamed for it," he said in terse tones. "I was innocent, but it didn't matter."
Her chest clenched. "How old were you? What about your family?"
"I was ten." His jaw ticked. "My mother had abandoned me months earlier. She got tired of supporting a bastard. I never knew my father."
Just a boy, with no one to protect him.Eyes welling, she said, "Gavin, I—"
"You asked me once how I got this." He touched his scar, his lips twisting. "'Twas Stewart who gave it to me my first day in that hell. Do you know why?"
She shook her head, a wooden movement.
"Because being pretty gets you buggered. Because if you don't beat the hell out of them first, they'll do worse to you." Gavin's hands fisted at his sides, his eyes burning pitch. "I became a man in that place, and I survived by learning that power is everything."
"You did what you had to," she whispered.
"I lived like a beast," he said darkly. "When another convict tried to steal my food, I cut out his tongue. When a guard flogged me, I took the pain, knowing the scars would toughen my skin. When a whore ridiculed me,"—his knuckles whitened—"I showed her I was a man."
Though she trembled at the savage confession, Percy saw the hidden torment of the man in front of her. For the first time, she began to understand Gavin's complexity. Pieces fell into place... his ferocity and primal need for parity. His compassion for children who'd had to endure too much. And her heart wept a little.
"I'm so sorry," she said, "so sorry you had to go through—"
"I do not want your pity."
The checked rage in his words broke through her numbness. Instinctively, she knew that this was the first time he'd told his story. He was looking at her with a savage expression: as if he expected her to bolt or scream in fear. Oh, her Hades, her scarred hero—did he not know her better by now?
"It'snotpity. Gavin, I—"
