Chapter 41

Forty-One

KIT'S APARTMENT, LONDON - JUNE 29, 1816

WILLIAM

I'd never wanted to open my eyes less. My head was big. Surely it hadn't always been this size, so thick and heavy. It throbbed with every beat of my heart. That was how I knew I was, in fact, alive, despite all evidence to the contrary.

My stomach and ribs throbbed with every breath. Inhaling was a chore I wasn't overly interested in. The ribs were broken, I had no doubt of that. It had happened once in France, and what followed was a memorable few weeks. By memorable, I meant agonizing.

Not like this though. I'd never felt like this.

Someone was talking at me, soft and warm words I couldn't fully make out. That was nice. They had my hand wrapped in theirs too. It was the only part of me that didn't hurt and the touch was a comfort.

My memories seemed intact. The damn bird had been there, warning me about Bates and the other one. I remembered the start of the fire. Celine, too, with her knife like an avenging warrior goddess. She was probably the one holding my hand now. It felt right, the way it always did when she touched me.

Liquid dropped onto my hand in uneven drips. My sluggish thoughts took a moment to label them as tears. That was enough for me to attempt to open my eyes.

Attempt and fail.

A single flutter was all that was necessary to determine it was far too bright. Now that I noticed it, the sun blazed, even through my closed lids. Hadn't it been evening?

Also, the left eye refused to obey my commands at all which would be more concerning if I were in less pain.

A sharp pinch to my free hand forced my eyes open. "Ow!"

"Will? Oh Lord, William?" It was Celine with her hands wrapped around my uninjured one.

"Cee?" I mumbled through the feeling of cotton stuffed in my throat.

"You know me?"

I squeezed her hand as a yes, hoping desperately she wouldn't ask me to open my eyes again.

"Was that a yes? Can you hear me?"

No luck. "Yes… hurts."

"I know, love. I know. We can't give you anything because of your head. Can you open your eyes?"

"Sun."

"The sun is too bright?" I squeezed her hand again. She rose, leaning over me to close the drapes. Where was I? That was not where the window was in my… Oh, my apartment. Was it even standing?

Her hand settled on my cheek, brushing a thumb against the bone. "'S nice," I mumbled.

"What do you remember?"

"Tired. Later?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I've been pushing. I'll just leave you to rest."

"Stay?"

"You want me to stay?"

"Yes."

"All right, I'll be right here." She settled back into whatever chair she had been in before I woke.

"Up here."

"What?"

"On bed."

"You want me on the bed?" If I didn't love her so damn much, this conversation would have had me plotting to kill her.

"Yes."

"But… I'll hurt you."

"Don' care."

"But…"

"Cee, on bed," I snapped. It seemed to do the trick because she slid beside me, tentatively curling on her side. She was unbelievably careful not to injure me, resting a hand on top of my heart. The one I knew was still beating because each one corresponded with a throb in my head.

Her soft breath brushed over my neck in even pants as she traced designs over my heart. That was how I fell back to sleep.

It was dark when I woke again, and my head felt less like cotton. I was warm and surrounded by the soft scent of Celine, still pressed against me.

An inconvenient urgency woke me. The minutes stretched, achingly slow. Loath as I was to wake her, it was no longer an option.

All it took was the shift of my shoulder and she darted awake, hovering above me. I could still only see out of the one eye, and I was afraid to ask after the other.

Even so, she was lovelier than ever. Golden curls curtained us and worried green eyes searched my face.

"'Lo."

"You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Bit better. Need to get up."

"What do you need? I can get it."

"Need to use the pot. Gonna do that for me?"

"I can… assist. If you need it?"

"Lord, no. A bit of dignity."

"Should I fetch Kit?"

"'S'at where we're at?"

"Yes, it was closest." Ah, not good for my apartment. Or the office.

"Have 'im wait outside?"

"Of course," she rose carefully, then found the chamber pot and handed it to me. She slipped out the door, peering around the corner as she closed it.

I managed well enough without assistance, then called out to Kit. He popped his head in, slightly hesitant.

It was good to know where the boundaries of friendship were drawn.

Once I confirmed I was decent, he came in and made himself comfortable in Celine's long-abandoned chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Less like death than earlier."

"That's good. Do you remember anything?"

"Remember everything, I think."

Suddenly a two-toned squawk sounded from the other side of me by the window. I turned, and to my astonishment, horror, and amusement, there was the damn bird. It had one wing bandaged to its side and its feathers were mangled and rumpled. But it still glared at me in irritation with its beady eyes. That explained the pinch earlier. Blasted bird.

"The bird… Celine insisted on bringing it. Said it saved her. I think she might be in a bit of shock." Kit was tentative, trying to warn me without offending most likely. It was the same tone he used when we had bankrupt lords in our office who still spent like kings.

"She's not addled. She and the damn thing have some sort of… friendship? It visits her every morning. And… I think it saved me too?"

"What?"

"Tapped on the window—let me know they were outside."

"So the bird saved you too…"

"I'm not addled either."

"You were hit on the head, quite hard."

I tried a deep breath for courage, forgetting my ribs for a moment. I was punished severely for my forgetfulness with a sharp, stabbing pain.

Forging on, I asked, "Speaking of… my eye?"

"It's not pretty. He hit you in the brow and you've swollen shut. The doc stitched you up while you were out. It'll scar to be sure."

"But 'll be able to see?"

"Oh, yes. He wasn't worried about your vision, mostly your memory, understanding, that sort of thing." That might have been the single most beautiful sentence Kit had ever uttered. "Lucky for us, it seems your head is solid as granite."

The door slid open with a perfunctory knock. Celine. Most likely she had been standing there eavesdropping for a considerable time. I didn't have the energy to tease her about it though. "William?"

She was carrying a tray of something that smelled delectable, chicken soup perhaps? Until that moment, I hadn't noticed how hungry I was. Now that I did, I was ravenous. If I had ever been this hungry before in my life, I didn't remember it.

Kit helped sit me up while Celine fussed at the tray on my lap with more care than it deserved. Kit stepped away, leaving me to her ministrations.

She pulled the chair up closer to the head of the bed, then ran her fingers through my surely disgusting hair.

Eating proved to be a bit more challenging than anticipated. My hand was unsteady with the spoon, but Celine knew me well enough to let me manage without comment.

It had to be the best soup I'd ever tasted, flavorful, filling, and comforting. I let out an appreciative hum.

"I know, Mrs. Ainsley sent her mother over with it." That explained it then, Mrs. Hudson's cooking was legendary. Far too quickly, I reached the end of the bowl, and she lifted the tray away and set it on the floor beside her.

"Feeling any better?" she asked.

"Much. They didn't hurt you?"

"Nothing like you."

"I should hope not. What did he do?" With a sigh, she pulled back the edge of the frilly thing around her neck. Four perfect fingers and a thumb lined her throat in shades of purple and black. Impotent rage filled me.

"Don't growl—at least not in this context." It took a few seconds to parse her meaning, and I felt my cheeks heat.

"Didn't realize I had."

"Yes, well. I'm perfectly fine. Except for worrying over you to death, I'm the picture of health."

"That you are. Speaking of… Why are you worrying after me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

I swallowed. "Only, I thought you were using me. That you couldn't love me. Don't think most people worry over folks they're using and can't love." It hurt to repeat the words she'd said, to shove them past the knot in my throat that had nothing to do with my stomach or ribs or head.

"Oh, William. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it. I swear. I didn't mean a word of it! I could never." Her eyes filled with tears amid the incoherent declarations.

"Then, why?" It came out an accusatory croak, more emotional than I wanted.

"She warned me. She found me and she warned me that he knew what I was doing. What we were doing. She said he would kill you if I kept searching. And I knew… I knew you would never stop. You're too stubborn and don't care a lick for yourself. But I couldn't. I… It would have killed me. I never would have recovered from it. I may not recover now, and you're still here.

"But I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was lies, all of it. I love you! I do. I love you so much. Please, you have to believe me. I know you don't. I've given you no reason to. But I will. You're never going to doubt it. I swear."

My heart lurched, freezing for a moment before sprinting to some unknown destination. Some future where she loved me and I loved her and we were together, in love, forever.

"I caught maybe a third of that, love. Head wound… remember?" It was true, but I caught the essential part. The part where she said she loved me.

"Oh, Lord. I'm sorry. This was too much. I'm here shouting at you…"

"'S all right, love. Think I got the important bits. Maybe we can go over the rest tomorrow?"

"Right, yes. Of course. I'll just leave you to rest."

"Love, is there any world in which you think I'm letting you out that door tonight?"

"No?" she asked, cautious optimism in her tone.

I made a half-hearted effort to shift over, and she climbed back up into her spot and curled along my side.

She whispered, "I love you," once more before I fell asleep again.