The sight greeting her instead was that of a decidedly uninspiring room. Spare and well-used, outfitted with a fireplace and a scarred table with two chairs, along with a chaise longue and a worn carpet, this room and its somewhat dingy walls bore no comparison to the intricate plasterwork and luxurious appointments of her former lodgings.
Remembrance washed over her.
The room was not the only difference, waking up this morning. There was a big, masculine body in the bed with her, an arm slung about her waist, hot breath fanning her nape, a long leg tangled with hers. Dominic Winter was in the bed with her.
Her husband.
The memory of the night before, his tenderness and the pleasure he had wrung from her body once more, filled her with warmth despite the cold of the chamber. He was a complicated man, but she felt certain, after last night, there was hope for them. He had allowed her to know a side of him she suspected he did not readily share.
His scars were many and vicious, some more so than others. His poor body had been ravaged by wounds. And yet, he had allowed her to touch him. He had held still for her shocked examination.
At her side, he made a low, sleepy sound.
She turned toward him, wanting to see how he looked in slumber. So often, he was harsh and forbidding. A man feared by many. A man who had suffered much, she suspected.
Protectiveness for him surged. His handsome countenance was soft, almost boyish. His dark hair was a charming slash falling over his brow, his full, sensual lips parted. A thin stubble of whiskers darkened his unshaven jaw.
Adele could not contain the urge to feel its prickle upon her palm.
Tentatively, she reached for him. But she had scarcely run her hand along the prominent slant when a manacle grip clamped on her wrist and she found herself suddenly rolled to her back, a heavy weight pinning her body to the mattress.
Her arms were wrenched over her head, held to the bed, and the face hovering over hers did not resemble the man she had been quietly admiring at all. His lip curled in a snarl, his eyes flashed with darkness, and his entire body seemed poised to strike.
Terror leapt into her throat, her heart pounding in her breast. “Dom!”
He blinked. The fight fled him. His body relaxed, his expression shifting. Softening once more, this time with regret rather than boyish charm. “Adele? Fuck, I am so sorry, love. Have I done you injury?”
As he asked the question, he released her wrists and removed his body from hers. Her wrists throbbed with the sudden force he had shown, and his unexpected response still had her pulse racing, but she was otherwise unaffected.
What had happened in Dominic Winter’s life to make him suspect someone was attempting to harm him in his sleep?
“I am fine,” she told him, rubbing her wrists, frowning. “But what of you, Dom? Did you think I was going to harm you?”
“Not you.” He gritted a low curse, passing his hand over his face. “Floating hell, love. I am sorry. I ought to have slept on the floor.”
“On the floor? Why?”
He rose from the bed without offering a response, stalking away from her. Adele was briefly shocked by the sight of him, tall, nude, commanding. His body was well-muscled. She had never seen a naked man. But her surprise was not just in his nudity, which did not appear to concern him at all.
Rather, it was in the scars marring his back and legs. Long, diagonal scars marked his back in a pattern. On his thighs and calves, a map of slashes covered him.
She gasped.
“Fuck,” he growled, bending down to retrieve his discarded breeches from the threadbare carpets and donning them. “Forgive me. I was so damned upset at nearly harming you that I forgot what a monster I am by the light of day.”
“You are not a monster,” she hastened to correct him.
But he was already throwing on his shirt, stalking to the far end of the room, putting distance between them. She gathered the counterpane around her for modesty and slipped from the bed, following him, determined not to allow him to create a deeper chasm than that which already existed.
The haste of her movements proved a mistake.
The vile sickness that had been affecting her returned in a flash. Nausea churned. Her belly tightened.
No, she would not retch now.
Do not be ill. Do not be ill,she charged herself.
Adele swallowed. But the bile was rising. A wave of dizziness hit her, heightening the severity of the nausea. She needed a chamber pot.
