Home.
But no. Not quite home, was it?
Home was Pensteague. The great yew bed. Home was Penelope.
And he had yet to reach that shore.
He remained by the duke’s side until he was certain the duke slept. Then, he quietly withdrew.
The sitting room beyond had not changed in thirteen years, if he did not count the musty scent in the air. The last time he had been in this room, he’d agreed to take the naval commission.
In return, the duke had signed papers acknowledging his marriage.
He knelt beside his wife. His clever, loyal, intrepid wife. A wife he did not deserve.
He touched her face.
Her lids fluttered open.
“Oh,” she said, blinking. She lifted her head, gazing into the duke’s bedchamber before sliding her gaze back to Cheverley. “What’s happened?”
“You bid me come and speak with the duke.”
“And you spoke with him?’
He swallowed. “Yes.”
She frowned. “Will you go?”
He hesitated.
“Please don’t,” she whispered.
Quick calculations flitted behind her eyes.
Always planning, his Pen.
“You’ve calmed him. The least I can give you in return is a proper bath. You haven’t had one, have you? Not since you returned home?”
He shook his head no.
The terrible readiness still clenched in his shoulders. His back. His gut. Her cool hand touched his cheek—matching the sensation he’d had before. He allowed himself to be guided.
“A bath would be welcome.” He rubbed his chin. “And, perhaps, a shave.”
“It’s settled then.” She rose. “I will send Mrs. Renton to you.”
Chapter Fifteen
STEAM CURLED UPWARDfrom the large copper basin full of heated water, beckoning Cheverley like a lady’s crooked finger. He cocked his head, observing the bath as if he were an interloper—a Peeping Tom gazing on something never meant to be his.
He closed his eyes, drifting back to the days when salted sea frothed in every direction. On the ship, the air so thick with salt spray, his skin had become rough as sand. A tub full of fresh, hot water?
Such was luxury. And extravagance. Something beyond his means and his imagination.
Purposely, he called forth the pirate’s whisper.
Tu n’es rien.You are nothing.
