Chapter 8 #3
At last, he emerged from behind the screen, swathed from neck to ankle in striped cotton, sleeves stretching to the ends of his fingers as he pushed them back.
He hung his jacket, breeches, and waistcoat on the pegs behind the door and stuffed his linens into a drawer of the clothespress.
After banking the fire and pinching out all but one candle, he returned to his side of the bed where she finally got a good look at what he wore.
Penny suppressed a giggle. “What is that?”
Hugo stepped to the bed with as much dignity as he could manage. “It’s a nightshirt. Obviously.”
“Do you often wear a nightshirt to bed?”
He flipped the edge of the covers back. “Sometimes. In the winter, or onboard ship.”
“Did you not bring one with you?”
He shot her an exasperated look. “I did not expect to be gone more than a single night.”
“Oh.” Penny bit her lip to keep further amusement at bay.
The garment must belong to the innkeeper, because it was far too large on Hugo.
Somehow, he still managed to keep his dignity even in the oversized garment.
As he settled himself against the pillows, the neck of the nightshirt parted a little.
She could see that fluff of dark hair springing up from the hollow of his throat again, a little lighter than the hair on his head, and she looked away before she could wonder where else on his body he had hair like that.
He pulled a pillow from the stack at the head of the bed and placed it between their bodies. “Go to sleep, Penny.”
He leaned across her to blow out the last candle and then lay down with his back to her. She lay down as well, first checking to be sure the pillow remained between them. It seemed important to him that it be there.
As she drowsed, she looked over at him in the dim room, lit only by the still-glowing embers of the fireplace.
His hair was over-long for current fashion as it spread over his pillow, and she could not help imagining him standing on the deck of his ship, splendid in his uniform, dark hair blowing in the breeze as he did... captain things.
And he would turn and see her, and hold his hand out to her, and she—
With a gasp, she sat bolt upright, rubbing her hands over her eyes as if to dispel the lingering image. He rolled over sleepily, blinking up at her. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I just had... a bad dream."
"Well, lie down again. You're letting in the cold air."
She glared at him and flopped down, drawing the quilt back up to her shoulders.
She would be nowhere near him and his ship. She would be in Bath with Aunt Nelson learning how to be a rich, eccentric spinster. And Hugo would do whatever it was sailors did far, far away from her, and she would never see him again.
The thought should not have made her want to cry, so she punched her pillow and rolled over with her back to him.
As soon as the snow melted, they would go their separate ways, and that would be best for both of them.
Hugo once again awakened before dawn to a warm, soft armful of Penny, his face half-buried in her loosened braid.
They had gravitated together during the night, and the pillow he had hoped would protect his modesty had slipped down past their knees.
Once again, their hips pressed so closely together that her arse cradled his morning erection, which pushed against her like an eager hound.
Now only two thin layers of cloth separated their bodies, the slight friction torturously delicious.
Hugo had hoped the borrowed nightshirt would make him feel old and staid. Instead, he felt like a young boy again—the same boy who had fallen hopelessly in love with Penny Montgomery even after he understood she could never be his.
And nothing had changed. Except for everything that had.
His interactions with Penny in the safely chaperoned havens of their family gatherings had not prepared him for the reality of seeing her all day.
Living with her. Breathing her in as often as he wanted.
Conversing with her, and watching her when she was not aware of it.
She stirred a little, a tiny frown between her brows, and instinctively he tightened his arm around her. She smiled and settled down, snuggling herself more firmly against him as his heart broke.
He could never let her go… except that he must. For both of their own goods.
With the Montgomery fortune at his disposal, Oliver would be able to provide Penny with the safety and security that he, Hugo, never could.
All he could offer was cramped living conditions, poor food, and the promise of danger, whether that was storms, battles, sickness, or simply Penny’s body betraying her when they were too far from shore to find help.
Hugo had resolved years ago never to marry. After all, the constant separations made being a sailor’s wife a difficult life, and he had no intention of leaving the sea.
But now that he had Penny in his arms, he understood at last there had been another reason for his resolution.
He never wanted to marry anyone other than Penny.