different than someone with a cataract. A cataract covers more of the eye, though, whereas this is just a thin slice.”
He gripped her hands hard. “And it doesn’t disgust you to look at it?”
“No,” she said, gripping his hands back. “Even if it looked ten times worse, nothing about you could disgust me, but believe me when I say, this is not much more than a small scar. You’re a very handsome man, with or without it.”
His throat felt tight at her words. She wasn’t simply saying them to be kind. He knew she meant them. He knew she told him the truth. For the last several years, he’d imagined the worst. He’d imagined himself looking like some sort of monster. But she made him feel almost normal again, like the wound he had made so large and grotesque was little more than a scratch. He felt lighter and freer than he had in years.
“Are we done talking now?” she asked, rolling her hips.
Oh, they were finished. He didn’t think he could have said another intelligible word even if his life depended on it. Her movements quickened, her body taking him deeper, her grip on his hands tightening even as he felt the muscles of her sex constrict around him. He wished he could see her face, but he could hear the rasp and catch of her breath and her soft moans. He could feel the way she slid over him, bringing him pleasure even as she took her own. He could smell the scent of her—a mixture of pine and Pru and her arousal.
And then she took his mouth, and he could taste her, taste the need on her lips. He caught her gasp as she tipped over the edge. Her inner muscles clenched hard around him, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from following her over the edge. Instead, he lifted his hips, driving deeper into her until she was crying out with pleasure and begging him for more and more and yes, yes.
And then her body went slack, and he rolled her over, thrust once more, causing her to moan in pleasure, before he withdrew and spilled his seed on the bed clothes. Then he collapsed on top of her, his mouth against her shoulder, both of their bodies heaving and gasping for breath.
Somewhere in the house, a door slammed. Nash stiffened, the vague image of a battlefield rising in the back of his mind. “I’m sure it’s just Mr. Payne returning,” she said, her voice thick. Her hand touched his back, rubbing it soothingly as though she knew the images unexpected noised conjured in his mind. “I should dress,” she said.
He didn’t want her to dress. He wanted her to stay right where she was, warm and naked and underneath him.
He heard the front door open and close again and the sound of voices, and Nash sat, alert and concerned now. Pru slid off the bed, and he could hear her rustling beside it, probably pulling on her shift and stockings. “Mr. Payne probably has Mr. Forester with him,” she said. “Nash. Nash.” She waited until he turned his head in her direction. “Remember where you are. This isn’t France. You are home at Wentmore.”
Yes, he needed to remember that. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from opening the drawer of the table near the bed and removing his pistol. The weight of it felt safe in his hands. He could breathe again with the familiar walnut gunstock warming in his palm.
“Where the devil is everyone?” a man’s voice called. Nash tightened his grip on the pistol. Of course, the enemy wouldn’t announce himself that way, but that wasn’t Rowden’s voice. Someone was in the house, his house.
“Get behind me, Pru,” he said.
“Nash, I don’t think—”
“Get behind me! I don’t want to hurt you.”
He climbed out of bed and wrapped the sheet around his waist, never once lowering the pistol. Pru didn’t argue with him. He felt her move behind him and knew she was safe. She shouldn’t be here. He knew she wouldn’t be safe with him. If she were back at the vicarage, she would be far safer than here with him.
“Well, this is a fine welcome,” the voice said.
“Nash, it’s not an enemy. It sounds like a gentleman.”
The voice did sound familiar, but Nash could hardly hear it. In his mind, he heard the boom of cannons firing, the shout of voices speaking French, and the clink of a hammer