Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(10)

“Good night,” she mumbled back. And just on the verge of sleep, “I’m so happy you’re back , Robert.”

If he replied, she didn’t hear him.





Chapter Four





* * *



Robert lay on his back beside his wife, wide awake and burning.

He’d spent long, lonely years hungering for just this. The comforts of home. The warmth of family. Above all, Morwenna, whose presence had fed his soul from the first time he saw her.

But reality turned out to be a horribly distorted version of the visions that had sustained him.

Seeing his family again had been wonderful, of course it was. But their open affection and joy had made his skin crawl. He wasn’t used to dealing with crowds of people yet, despite eight weeks on the whaler that had rescued him. Those rough Norwegian sailors had largely left him alone, once they met his immediate physical needs for food and clothing, and once they’d done their best to patch up his wounds. The language barrier and also the code of hard men who faced danger every day of their lives had preserved Robert’s privacy.

Entering that packed room downstairs had tied his gut in knots.

Now he stretched stiff—in all senses of the word—and wakeful on a soft feather mattress in the finest linen sheets. And his body, accustomed to a hard wooden pallet and freezing cold and damp, couldn’t adjust to the change. He was dead tired, so exhausted every muscle ached, yet he couldn’t sleep.

Nor could he stop stewing about the woman curled into a ball on the edge of the mattress, as though even in sleep, she could hardly bear his nearness.

His wife, who had told him there were things he needed to know. Did those “things” include a love affair with the man she’d planned to marry?

Dear God, perhaps she’d taken more than one lover. After all, he’d been gone a long time, and nobody knew better than Robert what a passionate creature Morwenna was.

Savage masculine rage settled in his gut, even as he knew he was unfair. While his animal self might want the woman he loved to swear a vow of eternal chastity in her widowhood, the civilized man who still existed—just!—knew he was acting like a bear.

That civilized man told him he should be glad she’d gone on to find new happiness.

That civilized man could go to hell.

Whatever evil it spoke of him, he couldn’t get over believing Morwenna was his forever. On this side of heaven or the next. And be damned if he’d tolerate her making sheep’s eyes at another man.

He wanted her like the devil. That was no surprise. He’d wanted her naked and in his bed since the first time he saw her at that woefully provincial assembly in Truro.

But he’d imagined on his homecoming, gratitude and sentiment would outweigh desire. In his captivity, he hadn’t known a woman’s touch, and for most of that time, he’d borne his celibacy with reasonable patience.

That wasn’t the case right now. Celibacy in his wife’s presence itched like the devil. Morwenna was lucky he hadn’t pushed her down in front of that glittering crowd downstairs and claimed his rights. Just after he stuck a knife into that much admired gentleman, Lord Garson, so the bastard never again poached on Robert’s dominion.

Lying beside her now, he barely contained his urge to tup her.

Which made him feel like a barbarian.

He hadn’t missed the fear in her eyes when she’d looked at him. Fear and guilt. She’d trembled when he’d touched her, and almost collapsed with terror when he’d helped her with her dress. By the dickens, that had been a test of his willpower.

Perhaps she was right to be afraid. He didn’t trust himself to touch her.

Robert closed his eyes, praying for oblivion. He struggled not to brood upon whose bed Morwenna had shared while her husband starved in a rancid pit.

Tonight life had granted him everything he’d wished for during his exile. Years when he’d been convinced he’d never see England or the people he loved again. He had it all back, yet life made it impossible for him to enjoy any of it.

Life had a bloody sick sense of humor.

*



Morwenna moaned in her sleep, disturbing Robert’s restless doze. The soft murmur, so close to the sounds she made when he took her—their separation hadn’t dulled that memory—had his cock standing to attention.

As she shifted, he clenched his hands at his sides and fought the urge to grab her.

She moved again, with another of those damned husky sighs. He closed his eyes in agony. He should have taken Caro’s offer to sleep in the blue room.

But he’d hated the thought of being shut away from Morwenna, when at last he’d found her. And there had also been the childish need to stake his territory. By then, Garson had gone, but Robert couldn’t help thumbing his nose at his rival.

See? She’s sleeping with me tonight, you thieving scoundrel.

I’m the king of the castle.

He didn’t feel like the king of the castle. He felt lonely and unloved and bereft, like a dog left to starve outside an inn full of carousing travelers. Bliss hovered so close, he could smell it. Yet it remained denied.

Actually he really could smell bliss. Morwenna had straightened out, and her wriggling released the humid scent of her skin. Floral soap with a salty hint of warm woman.

Although he knew it would extend his torture, he sucked in a lung full of Morwenna-tinged air. Through the filth and stink of the pirates’ camp, he’d struggled to recall that particular perfume. But he’d never been able to summon every subtle note.