Page 22 of Catching Captain Nash
“I feel like I need to get to know you all over again,” he said slowly.
Something in his tone pierced her rising excitement. “Are you sorry I’m not as you remember?”
His hand cupped the side of her face, and for the first time since he’d come back, tenderness rather than desire was paramount in his expression. “You are as I remember you—beautiful and fascinating. But you’ve changed, too. In so many intriguing ways. I look forward to discovering the differences.”
That bubble of happiness expanded, threatened to break free and fill the entire world. Last night, it had been miracle enough that he was alive. But their growing closeness was a gift beyond her dearest dreams.
“Me, too.”
He kissed her again, softly. “Tell me about Kerenza. I’m agog to hear of my daughter.” He drew Morwenna to sit beside him on the brocade sofa near the blazing fire. “You didn’t say you’d conceived.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know until a couple of months after you’d gone. I wrote, but I knew you hadn’t got the news because the letters weren’t amongst the effects we received back from the ship.”
Morwenna stopped to push back a wave of painful emotion. He might have returned to her, but the shadow of losing him lingered. Speaking of this swept her back to the black days when she’d wished herself dead and with Robert, despite the child growing in her womb.
“Those letters must be lost in the Admiralty somewhere.”
“Perhaps you should ask when you’re there.” She started to rise, remembering that he had other commitments beyond those he owed to her. “Should we do this later, once you’ve made your report?”
“That can wait. This is more important.” He pulled her down beside him and curled his arm around her shoulders. She leaned back, drawing strength from his touch. “I should tell you that I’m going to resign my captaincy.”
She stiffened and sat up to stare at him in consternation. “The navy is your life.”
“Not anymore. I’ve come home now, and I intend to stay. Can you bear the thought of a husband under your feet instead of away at sea?”
Bear it? She wanted it more than words could say. “Of course I can. And Kerenza will be in alt to have her papa living with us.”
“I hope so.” Then in a low, sad voice, “I’ve already missed so much.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Bitter, acid tears like those she’d barely contained when listening in wordless horror to what he’d told the family. It was less than a full day since he’d come back, and she already felt like she’d lived through a lifetime of overwhelming emotion.
Now this opportunity to tell him about their child was painful and joyful in equal measure. She’d never imagined Robert would have a chance to know the mercurial, affectionate, scarily intelligent little being created from their love.
To hide how overcome she was, Morwenna rose and crossed to her dressing table. Last night, instinct had warned her not to drown him in emotion. He looked more human now, and less like a ghost. But she feared the slightest mishandling might put his fragile recovery at risk.
She lifted the leather case that sat open near her hairbrushes, so she saw its contents last thing at night and first thing in the morning. Another leather case stood on the facing side. Another leather case she looked at morning and night.
Only a day ago, she’d made herself put the second case away in a drawer as a gesture toward her new life. This morning, as hope and thankfulness flooded her heart, she’d replaced it in its familiar spot.
She hoped Robert didn’t notice how she fumbled. Her eyes were so full of tears, it was difficult to see what she did. How she grieved to think of everything he’d missed while he’d been alone and wretched and in pain.
With a shaking hand, she held out the first case, open to reveal the two miniatures inside. “This is Kerenza.”
Chapter Eight
“Apicture of our daughter?” Robert’s hands shook as badly as Morwenna’s when he accepted the gold-tooled Morocco case that held two miniatures painted on ivory plaques.
“I have these with me always. This year, because I’ve been in London so much, they’ve been a great comfort. She’s happy with her cousins at Woodley Park, and I love that they’ve become like brothers and sisters to her, but I can’t help missing her. And of course, she’s got adoring uncles and aunts.”
“It’s not the same as having a father.”
“No.” She paused. “But I did my best, Robert. Please believe me.”
“I do.” He caught her hand and squeezed it.
She sat beside Robert as he stared transfixed at the exquisite little paintings. As if he’d asked, she went on. “She’s six months old in the one on the left. The one on the right was done for her fourth birthday last June.”
“So this is what she looks like now?”
