Page 23 of Catching Captain Nash
Morwenna gave a wry laugh. “No, it’s far too angelic, and she appears content to sit still. Whereas she was a nightmare for poor Mr. Danvers who painted her, and I only got her to cooperate when I told her I’d think about getting her a puppy.”
“A clever little negotiator, then?” Robert managed to ask past the boulder of emotion blocking his throat. Almost fearfully hereached out to lay a finger on the delicate pink in the child’s painted cheek.His daughter…
“Just clever all round. She’s definitely a Nash.”
“She is, at that,” he said, staring down at this child he hadn’t known existed until an hour ago.
“She...she looks like you,” Morwenna said in a whisper.
“Yes, she does. And like Helena. The dark Nashes are always hellions.”
Was it imagination to feel an immediate affinity with the striking child in the pictures? As a baby, she’d been all staring black eyes and thick ebony curls. His late mother had always carried a miniature of his sister Helena as a baby. The two children could have been the same person, down to the hint of temper and determination starting to peek from each infant face.
“She’s got Helena’s nose,” he said softly.
“She has. I know Helena hates her nose, but I’ve always thought it suited her much better than some sweet little button.”
“I agree.” He switched his attention to the more recent painting.
This child did look like a little angel, but he’d seen too much of the devil in the first picture to be convinced. The promise of character was fulfilled. He looked into eyes the mirror of his own and silently vowed that he would make his absence up to her. So far, his little girl had grown up without a father. But he swore he’d never let her down again.
“She knows she’s loved, and she knows she has a hero for a father.”
He shifted uncomfortably, unable to look away from the pictures. “That’s doing it a bit brown, Morwenna.”
“No, it’s not. It’s true. She’s already talking about running away to sea and becoming a ship’s captain like her darling papa.” Pride and humor vied in Morwenna’s voice.
“Is she, by Jove? What a little champion.”
“I think you two will get along—she really is just like you. Well, you’ll get along, apart from when you’re butting heads. She’s got your stubbornness, too.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m a perfect lamb.”
She gave a choked laugh. “No, you’re not. And I thank God from the bottom of my heart for that. A perfect lamb wouldn’t have survived what you have. A perfect lamb wouldn’t have lived to come back to me.”
He tore his eyes from his daughter’s face and saw that his wife’s cheeks were shiny with tears. Gently he closed the leather folder and placed it on the carpet at his feet.
Last night, he’d have hesitated to touch her. Now it seemed natural to place his arm around her and draw her into the shelter of his body. Just as it seemed preordained that she should curl up against him, as if there was no place she’d rather be than at his side.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his chest. “I promised myself I wouldn’t weep all over you and make you uncomfortable.”
He leaned his chin on the silky hair at her crown and tightened his hold. “I’m not uncomfortable,” he said, and was astonished to realize that it was true.
He’d been terrified that his family would engulf him in great waves of emotion that would wash away his barely maintained sense of who he was. When he’d recounted his story, he’d done his level best to avoid any dramatic details.
But while he hated to see Morwenna cry, her tears didn’t threaten his grip on sanity.
“Curse these tears. If I could manage to keep from wailing like a banshee when you told us the appalling things you’ve faced, surely I can control myself when we’re talking about our daughter.” She finished with a hiccup.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he murmured.
“Don’t you dare say that.” She pulled away, glaring at him out of drenched eyes. “I’m your wife. I should know what you’ve been through. If you can live it, I can hear about it.”
What could he say? Her courage moved him to the depths of his being. He leaned in and kissed her in silent homage, then stood up. “Where are your handkerchiefs?”
She made a vague gesture toward the dressing table. He stepped across and found himself transfixed. “That’s my picture.”
She sniffed and blinked in surprise as she looked up at him. “Of course it is.”
