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

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Morwenna brought her husband upstairs to the bedroom she’d slept in for the last few months. When she’d first come to London, she’d lived with Sally, Lady Norwood, as part of their pact to play Dashing Widows, women of independent spirit who had fun and dazzled society. But Sally had recently married Sir Charles Kinglake, and was touring Italy on her wedding trip. Morwenna desperately wished Sally was here in London—she had a suspicion she might need a friend before everything was settled with Robert.

Her maid put aside the mending to greet her mistress with a curtsy and quickly hidden surprise at a man’s presence in this, until now, purely feminine territory.

Well, the girl would find out plenty once she went down to the servants’ hall. Morwenna had been in Town long enough to know that Robert’s return would be the subject of conversation from cellars to attics in every house in Mayfair.

Let them talk. She didn’t care. Her love was alive.

But right now, Robert wouldn’t want an audience, so she sent the girl away. Although heaven knew how she’d get out of this gown without help.

Once they were alone, Robert didn’t shift from the threshold. The hand on her wrist was trembling. Tiredness? Anger? Some mysterious illness?

Morwenna didn’t know. And she didn’t feel she could ask this stranger, who wasn’t entirely a stranger.

Because his touch made her burn the way she hadn’t burned in five years. And his scent teased dormant senses back to tingling life. The shabby coat reeked of salt and old fish, but beneath it, even after so long, she knew that warm, male smell. At an animal level, her body immediately recognized this man as her mate.

She tipped her head to study him. He seemed dazed, and at last she saw his bone-deep weariness. Caro was right. He looked ready to drop from exhaustion.

With a soft sound of distress, she reached to touch his face. “Oh, my dear,” she whispered, hating how he flinched away. “Tell me what you want.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. By now, his trembling was visible. She expected another monosyllabic response, but he shot her a sharp look and said, “Now, there’s a question.”

She frowned, wishing she was clever like the Nashes, clever enough to know how to heal him. Before she could summon an answer, he pulled away, pressing his hand to the doorframe in a silent admission that he couldn’t stand unsupported. Morwenna began to reach for him again, until she recalled how he’d shied away from her.

“You know, I should leave you.” He started to turn toward the corridor. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

To her surprise, she found herself saying, “No, stay.”

She found the courage to take his arm. He went rigid as a gatepost under her hold, apart from that awful trembling. She had no idea what he’d been through, but she knew enough to understand that whatever had happened to him left him stretched to the absolute limit.

He didn’t look at her. “I’m not fit company tonight.”

She made a disgusted sound. “I’m your wife. You don’t have to be company.” She almost spat out the last word.

He leveled a flat gaze on her. “I wasn’t sure you remembered you were my wife.”

A spurt of temper briefly overcame her lingering guilt. “It’s been five years, Robert, and everyone was certain you were dead.”

He looked startled, as well he might. So far, she’d been a bit of a mouse in the face of his antipathy. “I remembered you for five years,” he said harshly.

And I remembered you, my love.

She didn’t say it. Now wasn’t the time for declarations of love. Although she was heartened to hear that he’d never stopped thinking of her. “There are things you need to know.”

Those marked black brows contracted in a scowl, and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Let’s leave the confessions until tomorrow, Morwenna.”

This was the first time he’d spoken her name since his return. She wished those straight white teeth didn’t bite it off like something unpleasant.

It was her turn to frown as she assessed what he’d said. She’d referred to Kerenza, not to any misbehavior in his absence, although he must wonder about her engagement to Garson. “I wasn’t...” she began, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without sounding particularly apologetic. “I have no right to carp. You’d had confirmation of my death.”

“You have the rights of a husband,” she said.

His lips twisted, but not in a smile. “A dead husband has no rights.”

“Robert...”

He stepped out of her hold and at once, she missed the contact, despite the tension rising between them. “You should have let me leave you alone tonight.”

She met his stare, again wishing she was sure of herself with him. One thing she was sure of—she’d never seen a man look so lonely. Despite the way his family had welcomed him, isolation clung to him like an icy shroud. “Do you want to go?”

He didn’t reply, but the quickly concealed hunger in his eyes was answer enough. Not the hunger of desire, but something else. She could only think it was a hunger for warmth and human contact.

Her lips tightened. His pride was familiar. When she’d first come to know him, his pride had surprised her. After all, he was accounted the most agreeable of fellows and always brightened any gathering.