Chapter 12

Twelve

K eats woke up to soft sheets and cloudy pillows instead of green grass stained red. He felt like he'd been ripped in two. Oh yes, that's right. He had been. By Hutchens's bloody bullet. Bloody now. Ha ha. Oh damn, hurt to laugh.

Better to go back to sleep. Brain was foggy, listed toward sleep anyway. The bandage itchy around his chest revealed he'd been treated. By the Devil Doctor, likely. Fog caused by laudanum, then. Yes, sleep better than this. But the pain sank its teeth in and wouldn't let him go. No matter how long he kept his eyes closed, no matter how still he lay, his brain whirred in wakefulness to the tune of too many questions. Had Palmerson and his son left Dorking? Once in London would they leave Alex alone? Would it be better for Alex to stay out of sight? Would Hutchens try to put another bullet in him?

Soft warm fingers fluttering about his forehead offered another question—who was that? The fingers brushed hair away from his brow and placed a cool cloth there. And then the faint scent of heather swept through him on a shaky inhale.

Lucy.

When he opened his eyes, she was leaning over him, and the world narrowed entirely to big brown eyes, pale cheeks, yellow curls come undone, and kissable lips that didn't even tremble.

"You're awake," she whispered. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been shot. How bad is it? Where am I?"

"My brother's house. If there's no infection, you'll live. The bullet ripped through the fleshy bit of your side. No major organs were damaged. You're quite lucky."

"Not lucky. Good . I hit Hutchens's shoulder purposely and angled my body to give him a smaller target."

"That means Hutchens is good, too, because he still hit that smaller target."

"Yes. Well," Keats grumbled. He attempted to raise his hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek, but pain exploded up and down his side. "Damn."

"Don't move."

"Then could you please lay your cheek near my hand so I can feel it without lifting my arm?"

Her lips bounced into a brief smile she squashed. She rolled her eyes.

When she stood, he risked the very pain of Hell to reach for her and catch her wrist. "Where are you going?"

"My brother said to tell him when you wake."

"Where's Alex?"

"At Hawthorne House."

"And Palmerson and Hutchens?"

"They seem to have left, gone back to London, I presume. Your friend the earl has returned to London as well."

"I must leave, too." He rubbed his thumb over her pulse. Her skin was soft everywhere, but at her wrist it was maddeningly so. Her pulse hopped. At his touch? Or because of the possible danger of an unvanquished enemy? "I'm sorry."

"You should be. For fighting a duel and getting shot. It was quite thoughtless of you."

"Not for that. I'm not sorry for that at all."

She returned to her seat on the mattress just beside him. "You should be." She dropped her head, hiding her expression. "You scared me."

"I never wished to do that."

"You scared Alex."

"Not my wish, either. But I will put a bullet in the heart of any man who tries to hurt either of you." She pulled her wrist away, and his fingers were lonely without the warmth of her skin, the beat of her pulse. "I regret being a careless fool up till now. I regret not showing you greater respect. By revealing the truth sooner."

Her nose wrinkled. "You have always been terribly forward. There was that kiss in the lake. But… you have respected me by listening to me. By not taking offense when I propositioned you."

"I would not mind if you propositioned me again."

"Do you… truly want me, then?"

Bloody hell, her doubt hurt worse than the hole in his side. "If you have to ask, I've not been obvious enough, which means I need to be more obvious, and I fear you might find that obnoxious. How do you feel about me using rose petals to write out in large letters on some field in Hyde Park exactly how I feel about you? I might write, ‘Lucy Jones is the most cock-stirringly adorable woman to?—'"

"Stop." She laughed.

"See. Adorable." He dug his fingernails into his palm. "I should have told you who I was when I knew you were helping my sister, when I knew I… wanted you."

She picked at a wrinkle in her skirt. "Perhaps we should have trusted each other with more than our bodies."

"I have trusted you." He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, and while the indescribable curve of her hip brushed against his knee, he could not reach her with his naked hands, with the needy tips of his fingers. He tried to reach her with words, instead, as he'd never done with any other woman. "I've never told anyone about how women… giving birth scares me. I've never told anyone how empty I feel at times, not even Griff. Only you."

She nodded, her gaze still heavy on her lap. "Do you know, I've never asked anyone for anything. Except to help the women of the ton. I asked for that, but that wasn't for me. It was for them. I don't like being a bother. But you made me want something for myself. You made me feel comfortable asking for it. As if asking for something was not selfish."

"It's not. You're not." The words raw in his throat. Please God that she believed him.

The tiniest shake of her head and the slightest rush of pink crossed her cheeks. "Perhaps you did not tell me your name because you had already told me in other ways who Keats is. I was listening. I know."

"You don't know exactly how much of a rogue I've been. But I'll spend every hour of the rest of my life being better. I know you do not believe me, but?—"

"I do believe you."

He risked it all—pain and his torso ripping in two—to push upright and lean forward, to take her hands and press them into his chest.

She tried to force him back down to the mattress. "You'll open your wound. Hades will have to stitch you up again, and he'll be quite displeased."

He resisted her, his muscles screaming. "I cannot lie down as I tell a woman I love her."

Her hands remained on his chest, but they went still, as still as the rest of her body. Only the light in her eyes beamed brighter.

He kissed her palm. "I love you, Lucy. And I want you to be my wife. You do not have to answer now or return the words. I simply beg you to give me a chance."

"A chance. Hm." Hope like dawn rose bright and fierce across his soul, warming faster when she met his gaze with an adorable almost smile that popped a dimple into her cheek. "I think I might like to become better acquainted with you."

"You're asking for a courtship. Very well. I accept."

She laughed. "I'm the one who must accept."

He shrugged, then groaned, then managed to say, "Perhaps you should propose to me. I've proposed enough."

"What's the fun in that? I know you'll say yes. But if you propose to me, I can keep you on your toes."

"Minx." And then he sighed and said, "Angel." And then he got a little bold, and he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles and said, "Mine?"

She inhaled as she leaned forward so close their breath mingled, and then with a happy hitch of her lips she kissed him. "Mine."