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.
Now her scent filled his head, as familiar as if he’d slept beside her last night. And every night since the day they married.
He thought she’d settled, but she rolled over with another sigh. The sound held a troubled note. It was almost like she searched for something.
He knew that feeling well enough.
Just who was she dreaming of? Was she missing her lover Garson? If she spoke the bugger’s name, Robert might just lay waste to this pretty chamber.
When she curled in his direction, still without touching him, the breath jammed in his lungs. Every time she moved, he tensed up taut as a sail in a high wind. He wanted her touch. God alone knew how much he wanted it. But if she got too close, he couldn’t rely on his control.
Her head tossed on the pillow, and she gave a mew of displeasure.
Robert wanted to comfort her. He heard distress now, and however much he might question her faithfulness, he couldn’t bear her suffering. From the first, he’d have cut off his arm to save her from pain.
Then she wriggled closer and pressed that soft, sweet, damnably female body against his side. A lusciously round breast cushioned his arm.
She sucked in a shuddering breath, then released a deep exhalation of what sounded like contentment. Her arm in its silky sleeve snaked across his chest, and she cuddled into him, laying her head on his shoulder.
His heart stopped, then slammed against his ribs. His head buzzed with her nearness, and the shameful tears he’d fought all night pricked at his eyes. Just so had she slept beside him during the few weeks when they’d been together. Just so had she rubbed her cheek against his skin in a wordless declaration of love.
How he loved her. How he wanted her.
And how the devil was he to keep his hands to himself, when all his dreams were wrapped up in one slender woman who clung to him as if they’d never been apart?
He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that he’d lived almost five years without her. One more night made no difference.
But when he’d survived without her, she hadn’t been snuggled up against him, soft as a kitten. She hadn’t been so near that he merely had to twitch a finger to touch her.