Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

He pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Cat was asleep on her bed, a book still in hand. A fire blazed in the hearth and a copper tub, full of water, sat in the middle of her chamber. She had been naked. Or perhaps not naked but wrapped in a wet, translucent shift.

He nudged the door open a few inches more.

Her blond hair was unbound and spread out in waves across her pillow. It would most likely be damp from her bath and smell of roses. She’d pulled on a green silk robe but her lower arms and legs were exposed to the heat of the room. He’d forgotten how elegant she was. The shape of her face, the curve of her ankle, the milky-whiteness of her skin.

He had missed her.

The realization hit him like a fist to the gut. Like he could no longer make sense of his breath. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and took his time looking at her.

His wife.

The word still felt awkward. She was Cat, the girl he’d known forever. The girl he’d wanted as long as he could remember. And when he finally got her, he’d left.

He could just make out the shape of her slim calf in the shadows. He knew her body. Knew it with a thousand caresses. Knew it as well as his own.

No matter how he’d tried to push her from his thoughts in their years apart, she always came back in his dreams. Long limbs. Full breasts. Hair spilling as it was now.

He dragged his gaze up her legs to the mound of her sex. She would be soft from her bath. Warm. He could be hard for her in a moment. Was already hard.

She was naked beneath her robe.

His cock throbbed, and he forced his gaze away. She’d redecorated the room. The purple and silver suited her in its refinement with a hint of passion beneath. Vases full of roses sat atop her bedside table and her dressing table.

The second bloom of late summer roses always was her favorite. “It’s as if they know winter is coming and are eager to give away all of their beauty,” she once said.

His gaze found its way back to her. The fucking would be the easy part. It was the forgiveness that would be a challenge. He’d not forgotten how she’d hurt him. The weight of his anger had been a chain around his neck for all these years.

He did not wish to carry it anymore. What is it they said? Forgiveness frees the one who had been wronged.

Could he possibly forgive his wife?

Would she welcome him into her bed if he did not?

Jamie took a deep breath. It was odd, this ache in his chest. He could not account for it. One felt such things upon leaving a beloved land or watching a particularly inspired sunset. Not spying on one’s estranged spouse as she slept.

Cat’s lady’s maid slipped in from another door. Jamie recognized the woman, but could not recall her name. Beneath her white cap, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a hard scowl. She appeared ready to stomp across the room and slam the door in his face.

Once, he might have reprimanded the audacity of her disrespect. Now, irritation burned across his chest, but he did not react.

He knew the servant was no fool. She saw written on his face what he could not hide from his heart.

Ancient anger. The fire of ache. And the signs of an internal war.

Casting one last glance at his sleeping wife, he stepped back into his room and pulled the door closed.





Chapter Three





THE SEPTEMBER DAY WAS LOVELY, as was often the case in Nottinghamshire. Cat tried to focus on the sunshine and the work ahead of her rather than thoughts of her husband.

Three days and he had yet to seek her out. She did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved. She should be thinking of her future, of the plans she had created for herself. Plans that did not include the presence of the marquess. Despite the suddenness of Jamie’s return, and the boldness of his demand, nothing had changed.

Jamie’s lack of attention did not influence her toward wanting to start a family with him. She desired a child, but that child needed a father.

A large patch of Michaelmas daisies bloomed in the open plot between the Wentons’ and Rogers’s cottages. Bees hummed in the purple flowers, content to be busy on this fine day. Cat crossed the street to walk in the shade. Honey and sunshine and soft sounds invited a languidness she could ill afford. Already her blood moved in a slow rhythm, exhausted from the previous evening. She’d lain awake in the dark. Wondering if Jamie would visit. Telling herself she would not welcome him into her bed and imagining it all the same.