Chapter Eighteen

Fletch afforded himself a quick look out the back window of his chambers. He had watched nothing but Talia's face contorting in pain for the last half hour, and he could take no more.

He could take no more of the bonesetter's rough hands on his wife's delicate skin. Of his chest crushing with every whimper that escaped through Talia's tightly drawn lips. Of her hazel eyes, huge, filled with tears, begging him silently for the pain to stop. Of her body convulsing against his chest as he held her while the bonesetter stretched the contracted muscles in her arm.

He almost wished she hadn't woken up on the way back to the townhouse. He would have much preferred she suffered this in unconsciousness, her pain hidden from him.

The bonesetter was fast in assessing how the bone had broken. But not nearly fast enough for Fletch. He wanted his wife out of pain, and he wanted it with haste.

Talia screamed, but before Fletch could look from the window down at her, she had cut herself off, swallowing the sound.

The bonesetter yanked her left arm, grunting. Fletch had to tighten his grip around the front of Talia's waist and chest, holding her steady as he propped her upright in front of him on his bed. Another yank. The wide span of her back shook against his chest as she gasped for breath and Fletch had to hold down his left foot from kicking the bonesetter away from his wife's body.

"Done." Splints in place, the bonesetter quickly wrapped Talia's arm in a long, tight bandage.

Yet Talia was still quivering, wave after wave of pain rolling through her body.

Fletch felt every single tremble as his own.

The bonesetter stood, collecting his belongings.

Fletch gave him a nod, not moving from his clasp on his wife. "My man will pay you downstairs."

The bonesetter disappeared out the door, leaving them alone, and Fletch remained still, holding Talia against the shudders of her pain.

His lips dropped to the crown of her head. "You could have screamed. It would have helped."

"I could—" She had to swallow back the shake in her voice. "I could not. I could not have Louise hear. She would worry. And she is already in such a state."

"She would understand. You cannot make everything in the world always right for her, Talia."

Talia stiffened under his arms, twisting on the bed and wedging her right hand in between them to push him away. "I can try. For every moment I failed her by not finding her in time, I can try."

Fletch released his arms from her body, his head cocking to the side at her sudden vehemence. She moved gingerly away from him on the bed, collapsing against a stack of pillows by the headboard.

Fletch eyed her. "How did that happen? Where were you going, Talia? Your mother could not get three words out of her mouth—just enough to send me after you."

She winced, and Fletch wasn't sure if it was from pain or his questions.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "It does not matter, Fletch. I got dizzy because I have not eaten, and I fell. And then you were there."

His jaw slid to the side, but he did not press her for details. "You left Wellfork Castle."

She exhaled, the blue in her hazel irises sparking as she opened her eyes to glare at him. "I was not about to stay there and watch you fornicate with that woman. I went there for you—begging—and that—"

Her left elbow twitched, and she closed her eyes, a rush of pain clearly overtaking her words.

Fletch waited until her face slightly relaxed. "You came back to London on your own, Talia. You didn't wait for a carriage. You didn't wait for Reggard. It was not a safe thing to do."

"I have done it before." Her eyes opened, but she refused to look at him and tilted her face to the grey canopy above the bed. "I needed to leave and I thought it would be quickest to do so on a horse."

"But not on the Duke of Wellfork's prized mare."

Her look dropped to him. "That is his prized mare?"

"Yes."

She shrugged, her gaze returning to the canopy. "Then I shall send a groveling apology when I have the mare returned."

"You never should have left the castle alone, Talia."

Her eyes centered on him. "I denied every spec of pride I have to go there for you, Fletch. And then for you to…to…" Her head started to sway, her eyelids dropping as dizziness cut her words. Her mouth kept moving, words slow as they struggled against the faintness overtaking her. "For you to—"

His hand clamped over her mouth. "Stop. We are talking no more until you eat."

***

Two hours later, they were alone together once more in his bedroom, and Fletch sat in a chair by the bed, watching his wife in silence.

Propped against the headboard of the bed, she had eaten—mostly picked at her beef, potatoes, and beets. But her eyes were no longer slipping into random glassiness, and the color had returned to her cheeks.

Most important to him, though, was that her body had—except for the occasional spasm—stopped twitching in pain.

Between her shift and the top of the bandaging that ended at her elbow, Fletch stared at the stretch of bare skin along her upper arm. That was the swath where he could clearly see the pain twinge up her arm, and he was busy willing it into nonexistence.

"What were you doing with that woman?"

Talia's sudden question made him jump. His gaze flickered to her eyes. "What? Who?"

"That woman in black—a widow—the dark-haired beauty at Wellfork Castle."

Fletch sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So you did see that. Reggard said you did."

"Yes."

"What you saw was absolutely nothing, Talia. The woman, Lady Canton, intercepted me in the hall—she surprised me more than anyone. That woman has a host of her own games she was concocting there at Wellfork Castle. Games that I was not a part of until you appeared. And then she attacked me out of nowhere. Unprovoked. Unwanted. I imagine she knew you were within sight."

"It did not look like an attack."

Fletch shifted forward, his hand slipping past her knee to squeeze her thigh through the coverlet. "Believe me, it was. I was searching for you. I would not do that to you, Talia, betray you with another—try to hurt you like that." A wry smile fought through the frown on his lips. "I think it has already been proven I cannot deny you anything, my wife."

"But you were having fun with Lady Canton, I saw you laughing with her at your table when I arrived at Wellfork Castle."

"Fun?" A dry, caustic chuckle from deep in his chest cut into the air. "I have spent my whole life masking what I feel, Talia. What you saw at Wellfork Castle was exactly how I lived my life before you dropped into my world and took it over." He stopped, looking up at the bed canopy with a shake of his head. "I am a good guest. A witty conversationalist. A pleasure to be around. Polished. But there is no real feeling behind it."

"Not real?" The ire had eased from her voice.

"No." His look dropped to her. He shifted from the chair to the bed, setting himself next to her, his hand wrapping along her far thigh. "Not like I am with you, Talia. Real feeling. Real desire."

He leaned in, twisting back a red-blond lock of her hair so he could set his mouth next to her ear. "You are the one that makes me feel, Talia. You."

His head dropped, his lips finding the strong line of her neck. "With you I am a man with purpose, Talia. With you I am genuine. I am real."

"And complicated. Aggravating. Stubborn. Vexing. Hard. Amazing. Brave. Strong. Kind. Generous." Her words went soft as her head tilted, giving him access to her neck. "And sending me to my knees."

He took full advantage of her body's invitation, his lips dragging across her skin, his tongue moving in slow circles, just enjoying the way her flesh sparked under his taste, the way she stretched, opening herself even more fully to him. "As long as I am under you, I like you on your knees, Talia."

She grabbed his face with her right hand, her fingers hard on his cheekbone, her thumb digging along his jawline as she pushed him from her neck. Her eyes met his, the blue flecks, vibrating, alive, in the hazel of her eyes. "Don't leave me again, Fletch. Don't."

His look dropped from her, heavy. "I do not want to, Talia. Never. But I also do not want you to ever have to watch what I just witnessed. I do not want you to suffer that."

"You are planning on breaking your wrist?"

He looked up at her, a small smile surfacing before his face went tense, his voice grim. "You were in pain. You still are. I do not want to watch it."

"I am fine, Fletch. My arm hurts, yes, but it will heal. You yourself said that bonesetter is the best in London."

He grabbed her right hand, enveloping it between his palms. "It is not just that…it was just hard, Talia."

"Why?"

"Because I have been selfish. I have been so consumed by my own death that I never considered I would have to watch something like that—that I would have to watch someone I love in pain—that you could die." His head shook as his eyelids fell shut for a long breath. "You cannot imagine how my heart stopped when I saw you on the ground—saw your eyes closed. Gone from the world. You could have been dead. It is that moment I do not want you to have to endure. To bear a scene such as that. It is not fair. Not fair to make you suffer that."

She pulled her hand from his grasp, lifting it to gently cup the line of his jaw. "You love me?"

"Yes." His reply was immediate, the one word a force.

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Then you must know this one fact about me—that I can endure anything. That I will bear whatever is necessary for those I love. And I love you, Fletch."

His look dropped to her lap, her words seeping into his chest, twisting it, devouring it with a rawness so brutal he lost his breath.

"Tell me you don't want to die, Fletch."

He froze, unwilling to breathe, unwilling to lift his gaze to her.

Talia waited in silence.

It took a full minute before he gathered himself enough to open his mouth, his eyes remaining lowered, shuttered. His words were quiet, a low whisper not truly meant for the world. "If I admit to it, Talia, acceptance of my fate is gone." He stopped, swallowing hard. "If I don't have acceptance…all I am left with is…fear."

"And love." Her fingers curled under his jaw, lifting his face. "You are left with love."

His closed eyelids crinkled hard, a tear escaping to roll down his right cheek. Without breath in his lungs, without the fortitude that had carried him through the last thirty-two years, his lips parted, his voice cracking. "I want to live, Talia."

He opened his eyes to find tears brimming on his wife's lower lashes. He had to say it again. Say it so it was true. Real. "I want to live."

Her whole body lifted in a deep breath, and her hand slipped down to his neck, her fingers insistent as they clutched the back of his head. "Then you need to fight. Don't leave me, Fletch."

Watching his wife, it took long, painful breaths before he could speak. "As long as it is in my power, I swear I will not leave you, Talia."

"Good." A smile cut through the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Because I need you today, Fletch. I want you tomorrow, I want you when we are old, but I need you today. This moment."

The right side of his face lifted, a half-smile curling his lips. "I love you, Talia, and fate willing, we are going to be old together."

Hope beamed behind the tears in her eyes. "And you will fight to stay with me?"

"I will fight." He gave a solemn nod. "When the time comes, I swear I will fight."