She wanted to touch him now, comb back the hair from his brow, but she was loath to disturb him, to awaken him. The scars trailed down his shoulder front and back. His arm. How devastating the wounds must have been, how painful. Little wonder it had taken him so long to recover. Based upon when the battle occurred and when he returned to England, it must have been months. She wondered—
“Had your fill yet of staring?”
She gasped, startled with guilt. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“I think you’re mad.” He rolled onto his far elbow, giving her a clear view of his back and the sinewy muscles that ebbed and flowed with his movements. He reached through the opening on his side of the bed—for his patch she was certain. “Let back in the darkness as I’ve a mind to have you before breakfast.”
She scowled, refusing to acknowledge the hurt at his callous words. “Such flowery words, Your Grace. Definitely designed to make me swoon into your arms.”
He stilled his movements. He didn’t look back, but she could see the tightness traveling through his shoulders, along his back. “You’re my wife,” he ground out.
“A wife still likes to be wooed.”
“Then draw the drapes, and I’ll woo you with my body.”
“No.” She flung the curtain wider until the sunlight poured in.
“Dammit, Mary!” He swung around—
Froze.
She fought not to cover herself, wondered if he could follow the blush of her skin as the heat traveled over her. She’d not put on her nightdress before falling asleep. She was bared before him, the sheets pooled around her hips. Without him even touching her, her nipples puckered at the heat in his gaze as it roamed slowly over her. She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed.
“You are so beautiful. Fitzwilliam obviously had no clue regarding the treasures you hid beneath your clothes or he’d have never let scandal keep you from him.”
“I told you I was chaste.”
“Still, a man can imagine.”
“You felt me last night. Is this what you imagined?”
Slowly he shook his head. “Only partially.” Reaching out he trailed his thumb around one of her nipples. “I imagined you dusky not pink.” He skimmed a finger over a rounded swell. “And how the devil did you get a freckle there?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t seeing me better than not?”
“But to see you, you must see me.”
“I told you I’m not repulsed by your scars.”
“But to have them so near, to have them looming over you—”
“Youloom over me. With strength and purpose. But my hands are small, so I can’t know all of you. Only what I can touch. I want to know it all.”
“All is hideous.” His voice carried a distraction that pleased her, as he tugged on the sheet, slowly pulling it away from her hips.
She snatched it, held it in place. “Only if the light remains.”
“Until I’ve seen you. Then it goes away.”
“No. If it goes away, so do I.”
“I’m your husband. You will do as I say.”
“I’m your wife. Don’t you wish to see me happy?”
