Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,77

clear eyes.

But she did feel hurt. She’d given all of herself—not just tonight and during this—but in the last few days and weeks when they had been together. She was the kind of person who always gave all of herself, and she’d been hurt before. But she couldn’t remember a time when the pain had felt quite so sharp or so deep.

“I should go back to my chamber.” Her voice sounded wooden and flat. Nash’s shoulders went rigid, and she knew he heard her pain. But he didn’t turn and take her in his arms, as she’d hoped and wanted. He continued to face away from her.

Pru found her shift and pulled it on, twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, and went to the door. “If the rain holds off, we’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” she said.

“I think that’s for the best,” he said.

“I’m sure you do.” She took the key, unlocked the door, and opened it. She hesitated, almost looked back at him, then walked away, keeping her head high and her shoulders square.

Sixteen

“Stop walking around like that,” Rowden said, looking up from the paper in disgust.

“I can’t help how I walk.”

“Then go walk somewhere else.”

“Go sit somewhere else,” Nash said. “This is my bloody house.”

Rowden, of course, ignored him. He turned the page and continued reading. But now he read silently. He’d been reading to Nash, but Nash didn’t want to hear about life in London, the contrivances of the Prime Minister, or the price of crops. He probably should be listening to the last of those. He had his own crops to sell. He told himself he would go over prices with Forester later.

Today was Sunday and there were no workers hammering and sawing. Nash should have been pleased at the peace and quiet. He should have spent a pleasant morning eating food Mrs. Blimkin had sent and listening to Rowden read the paper.

But nothing was pleasant, nothing was right, without Pru.

It had been five days since he’d last seen her. Scratch that. It had been five days since he’d sent her back to her room without so much as a good night. He’d taken her to bed then sent her away like she was a common trollop. He hadn’t meant to dismiss her that way. He hadn’t meant to dismiss her at all, but in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he’d been gripped by a crippling fear—he could hurt her. He could mistake her for an enemy and shoot her dead. He’d almost killed Duncan over the summer. Nash couldn’t trust himself with Pru or with anyone.

He’d tried to talk Rowden into leaving the next day, but Rowden was as immobile as ever. Undoubtedly, that’s why Draven had sent him. Rowden had told him to stubble it—but in less complimentary terms—and he’d stayed right where he was.

“If you miss her so much,” Rowden said, turning another page of the paper, “why don’t you send for her?”

Nash stopped pacing. He’d been pacing for the last half hour, and not only because it helped alleviate his restlessness. He knew it annoyed the hell out of Rowden. Of course, he’d forgotten Rowden could take a punch to the face stoically, so of course he could put up with Nash’s petty annoyances. Now Nash was the one irritated.

“Send for whom?” Nash asked.

“Stop playing the idiot.”

It seemed a role he was destined to play, though. He shouldn’t have sent Pru away as he had. He should have been gentler. He should have taken more time. It wasn’t always best to shoot for the head. Sometimes one could fire a warning shot, give a bit of notice.

“I’m not sending for her,” Nash said, pacing again. “She’s better off without me.” He could almost hear Rowden rolling his eyes.

“She probably is, if this is how you treat her after taking her to bed.”

“I never said I took her to bed.”

Rowden made a sound something like a laugh. “I saw the way the two of you looked at each other that night. A team of horses couldn’t have kept you apart.”

Nash took a wrong turn and rammed his knee into a piece of furniture. He winced. “I sent her away for her own good. She’s not safe here with me.”

“You plan to shoot her like you shot Duncan Murray?”

Nash sank onto the chair. “I didn’t plan to shoot Murray, and that’s exactly the problem.”

Nash breathed through the long moment of silence. “You thought you were