Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(7)

But a core of steel lurked beneath the geniality. That core of steel had helped him rise through the naval ranks with unprecedented speed. She also suspected that core of steel had kept him alive through whatever torments he’d endured.

Which didn’t stop her from wanting to slap him for the way he currently held onto his foolish masculine pride. But at least he became less a stranger with every minute.

Downstairs, this hollow-eyed wanderer had revealed little trace of the man she’d married. Now her confidence revived when she saw that despite time, distance and untold suffering, her Robert existed in there somewhere.

“Then for heaven’s sake, stop playing the martyr and come into the room,” she said with asperity. Still, she was wise enough to move fully inside and leave him space to make his decision.

After a second, he edged through the doorway. She sucked in a relieved breath. She felt like she coaxed a wild creature close enough to eat from her hand. A game of advance and retreat, requiring endless patience and calm.

Robert came to a halt in the center of the pretty, feminine room with its pink silk curtains and graceful furniture. He looked as out of place as a stevedore in Almack’s.

Warily he surveyed his surroundings, until his eyes met his reflection in a cheval mirror. He winced and looked away. “You must think me a complete vagabond.”

He spoke more easily now, she was grateful to hear. Each word no longer seemed to hurt. In the ballroom, she’d noticed that he’d relaxed a tad as the crowd left.

She shrugged, and to save herself from falling all over him in tearful gratitude for his return, she sat in front of her dressing table and began dismantling the elaborate hairstyle she’d worn for the betrothal party. Some instinct warned her that too much emotion would threaten Robert’s barely held control. And he was clinging to his control as if it was his last lifeline. More pride.

“I’m guessing you came straight from a ship.” It was an effort to speak evenly, but those same instincts told her that he’d prefer some semblance of normality to the high drama his return warranted.

He rewarded her circumspection with the longest sentences he’d yet managed. “Yes, we docked this evening. I probably should have waited to make sure I looked marginally civilized before I arrived.”

She stared into the mirror, but really she saw nothing. Her hands continued their busy work without her needing to pay attention. “No, you shouldn’t.”

He moved across to the window and pushed aside the drawn curtains. The clear night had turned to rain. The sound of raindrops splattering against the windows filled the awkward silence.

It was five years since she’d had a man in her bedroom. Had Robert’s presence always been so restless, stirring up currents of disquiet with every breath? She couldn’t help thinking of a lion pacing its cage. Was this lion going to turn and devour her?

“Do you want me to tell you where I’ve been?” he asked, without looking back at her.

Curiosity clawed at her, ferocious as the lion she’d likened him to. But audible reluctance had weighted his question. “Of course I do. But we promised to wait until tomorrow.”

He turned to her, and she was surprised to catch a glimpse of grim humor in his eyes, even if that long mouth remained unsmiling. “You’re a wife in a thousand.”

She wasn’t naive enough to take his remark as an unalloyed compliment. But at least he was talking to her now. “Why don’t you take off your coat?” she said calmly, beginning to brush her thick, black hair out before she braided it.

“I’ve been living in rough shipboard conditions for weeks. I’m not dressed like a gentleman.”

She made herself continue the steady downward stroke of the brush through hair as straight as a ruler. With a hungry expression that was becoming familiar, his attention focused on the everyday action.

“I’m sure I’ll survive the sight of you in your shirtsleeves,” she said drily. With every second, the bed behind him loomed larger and larger in her mind. Not to mention the things they needed to do before they shared it. Undressing for one. “I’m surprised a footman didn’t take your coat when you came into the house.”

He shrugged off the coat with a reluctance she could read and laid it over one of the brocade armchairs near the roaring fire. It looked as out of place there as Robert looked out of place in this room.

“There were no servants at the door. They’d all gone inside to witness your betrothal announcement.” He paused, folding his arms over the threadbare linen shirt that covered his chest. “Did you say something?”

“Just a knot,” she said sweetly, although a gasp of annoyance had escaped her. She could imagine he wasn’t best pleased to find her promising herself to another man, but her reasons had been sound. Someday she’d have to make him understand. But not tonight when they were both so on edge.

“I’m not dressed for a lady’s boudoir.”

“You’ll do,” she said, wanting to tell him she didn’t care what he wore. She only cared that he was here with her.

But while at last they were almost communicating, she trembled on the brink of the chasm still gaping between them.

She bit her lip and struggled to hold onto her spurious serenity. It was difficult now she saw him without the voluminous coat. He’d always been lean, but the man before her was thin almost to emaciation. He wore loose sailor’s trousers in faded black, held up by a thick leather belt with a tarnished buckle, and heavy boots. She couldn’t help remembering the Robert she’d first met, who had been so dashing and spruce in his immaculate naval uniform.