Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(5)

“But...” Amy protested, then subsided into silence under Caro’s repressive look.

“I’ll bring you here for breakfast, sweetheart,” Pascal said. “You won’t miss anything, I promise.”

“If I must wait, I must,” Amy said grudgingly. She gave Robert another hug, not appearing to note his tepid response. “Good night, Rob. I’m so glad you’re back.”

Silas turned to the butler. “Hunter, forget the champagne. Instead, please prepare a room for Captain Nash.”

Robert frowned at his brother. Was Morwenna the only person attuned to the subtle parade of emotions on his face? Had anyone else seen the way those tense, straight shoulders under their ill-fitting coat had eased when Caro suggested leaving explanations until the morning?

“The blue chamber,” Caro said.

Robert swallowed, then spoke. He’d been taciturn in the extreme since coming in. Another change from his former self. “No.”

“You’d prefer a different room? Or have you already arranged lodgings?” Silas asked. “Please say you’ll sleep here. Otherwise I’ll wake up and decide I dreamed that you’re back.”

Robert spoke again, slowly as though each word emerged after he’d dredged it out of the depths. “My place is with my wife.”

Morwenna stiffened and stared at him in consternation. Another shiver rippled through her, this one made up of sheer alarm. Heaven help her. Did he mean to chastise her tonight, before she’d had a chance to come to terms with his arrival? She already felt on the verge of shattering. Defending herself to an angry husband asked too much of her right now.

Caro cast Morwenna a concerned glance. “Robert, perhaps it might be better if...”

Stubbornly Robert shook his coal-black head. “No.”

Silas sent her a worried look. “Morwenna?”

Of course he was worried about her. Nobody knew better than he how she’d grieved. He’d been delighted when she’d accepted Sally, Lady Norwood’s invitation to come to London this season to rejoin society and play a Dashing Widow. He’d never been insensitive enough to tell her to take up her life again, but his pleasure in her social success was clear. As clear as his approval of her engagement to Garson.

“Of course.” She forced leaden legs to bring her closer to Robert. She’d never been more aware of how little time she and her husband had spent alone together, and the abyss now yawning between them.

Robert’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t look at her. What happened now? Should she take his arm and show him the way to her room? Did he want her to touch him? She’d quickly guessed that during his absence, he’d become uncomfortable with physical contact.

His hand, tanned, scarred and unfamiliar, snaked out to curl around her wrist. The first time he’d touched her in five years.

Even through her satin glove, she felt the heat. When she jumped, he cast her a narrow-eyed look and tightened his grip. For so long, she’d ached for his touch, but this ruthless hold made her feel like a dog on a tight leash.

“We’ll see you at breakfast,” Caro said with an unconvincing attempt at brightness. “Robert, please say you’ll tell us in the morning what happened to you. We’re agog to hear it.”

“Give the man a chance to catch his breath, my love.” Silas’s smile softened the reproof.

She sent him an unimpressed glance. “You’re as eager to hear as I am.”

He shrugged and slid his arm around his wife’s waist. “Of course I am.”

Once the banter would have amused Robert, but tonight he hardly seemed to hear it. Instead his grip on Morwenna’s arm firmed, until she feared he’d leave a bruise.

On his way out, Silas paused beside his brother and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ve missed you so damned much.”

Without speaking, Robert nodded. Then far too quickly for her to decide on a strategy for handling this daunting stranger, Morwenna was alone with her husband.

“I need to...” she began, not sure what she wanted to say, but frantic to bridge this chasm.

He shook his head again. “Not here. Upstairs.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop bursting into tears. With every breath, she’d wanted him back. Now, against all the odds, he was here.

Yet she was tongue-tied and awkward and miserable. Her stomach churned with relief and gratitude and terror—and disbelief that he was here at all. She gulped back the rising queasiness and tried again. “I’m glad you’re back, too.”

Stale, weak, inadequate words for the way her heart had leaped to life at the sound of his deep voice when he’d burst through the crowd.

He turned his head to study her. She couldn’t read his expression, when once she’d felt she knew his every thought. “Upstairs.”

She told herself that she could survive this. After five years without him, she could survive anything. Even his return.

Straightening her spine, she guided him to the base of the magnificent marble staircase rising to the upper floors. With every step, her heat beat out the stark truth that formed her only defense against crippling fear.

“He’s alive. He’s alive. Nothing else matters a tinker’s damn.”





Chapter Three