Desire Me Always (16 page)

Snap.

Nick was no longer standing, his wrists pulled against the ropes; he was limp, weakly held in place only by the rope that restrained him.

The whip cut raw welt after raw welt into his back. Yet Nick refused to give the vicar what he wanted.

“I will break you, boy.”

“Fuck you,” Nick said in response, spitting on the floor.

He wiped away the remaining spittle against his bare arm. There was blood on his mouth, probably from biting his tongue the last time the lash fell against him. But he didn't care. He would do this until he was dead before he would give in.

Snap. Crack. Snap.

The painful strokes came in quick succession.

Nick lost track of how many times the leathers fell against his back. Hot, scalding pain burned through him with every hit. Liquid ran over the back of his bare legs, tickling toward the front like warm fingers defiling his skin.

He couldn't get his feet under him anymore. He just prayed the vicar's arm tired before he lost more blood than he could afford. Before he lost his ability to stay lucid and the vicar tried to take him, like he had the other boys, like he had watched the vicar take his friend, Michael Shauley.

“What have you to say now, demon child?”

“I cannot be broken.” Though his voice certainly was. “You will have to hit me harder,” he said spitefully.

Nick probably shouldn't have said that, but the more he thought about the fate that awaited him if he gave in, the more he wanted to kill the vicar with his own two hands. He remained strong and finally got one foot under him and pushed himself up so he wasn't hanging by the rope. The feeling tingled back into his arms, and the throbbing at his shoulder intensified.

“Nick!” called the lyrical voice again, drawing him away from the bloody scene that kept repeating and that he seemed trapped to relive over and over again.

He wanted to go toward the voice. He needed to pull himself away from the nightmare he watched unfold for so many nights now that he wondered if he imagined it in the first place. He tried to reach behind him to touch the scars on his back, but his hands wouldn't move. Was he bound even now?

He struggled against the restraints, growing more panicked by the minute. It was like he was both part of and a witness to his past.

He couldn't escape it.

He'd never been able to run far from it. His dreams wouldn't free him. They bound him as sure as the rope had bound his body to the whipping post.

“Nick.”

Louder this time.

Closer.

He wanted to reach out and touch the sound that echoed around him, that was the only thing drawing him out of the darkness.

The coolness of the room made him shiver; his teeth chattered. Softness brushed against his skin. Not like the trickle of blood that had run over his broken body; this was different, soothing, kind. Like hands covering him all over at once, warming him, urging him away from the darkness he was helpless but to stare into.

He didn't want to leave the past. He wasn't ready to make that change. He could not forget those he must repay for their sins.

Crack.

Nick's body swayed limp beneath his restraints once again. His body was broken, bleeding. The pain was unbearable as his feet tried and tried again to get under him, to lift him up, to give him the strength he needed to get through this. But the blood on the floor made it impossible to find steady ground.

What did this memory hold that was so important he couldn't let it go?

His past was inescapable. It existed just like this in his memories.

Why did he want to stay here?

To remember. To destroy the man who had done this to him and so many others. He needed to always remember where he came from. Remember the faces of those against whom he sought revenge.

“You can't leave me like this,” a sorrowful voice whispered in his ear.

He didn't want that voice to be sad. And that was when he realized he didn't want to be trapped in this reality anymore.

Nick opened his eyes, squinting at first as he pulled himself out of the somnambulant state in which he was trapped. The simultaneous itch and burn in his arm had him twisting, trying to get comfortable where he lay. He tried to raise his forearm to block the sun from his eyes, but it didn't move. He shielded out the harsh light of day with his other hand.

“Nick! Thank God.” Amelia's voice was like a thousand shards of glass crashing around him, and he flinched. His eyes squeezed shut to put him back in darkness. His vision wavered, even as he tried to blink them open again.

“Sorry,” she said in a much quieter tone. “Here. Drink this.”

A spoon parted his lips, allowing water to slide over his dry tongue. He took every drop greedily, rolling it around to hydrate him. He was so thirsty it was like he hadn't had a drink in a year.

Nick blinked a few more times until his eyes came into focus, and he was staring at the canopy of his bed in London. They'd been in Highgate. Why weren't they in Highgate now? He needed to be there to exact his revenge. Then he recalled his last moments of lucidity. He'd been shot. He had to find Shauley and kill the bastard. The list of men who would be repaid for their misdeeds was ever growing.

“How long have we been here?” Nick asked, his voice groggy and sounding not like his own.

“Two days. I had to bring you home to be treated by your doctor. You grew feverish . . . Nick, you scared me half to death . . . I can't tell you how glad I am to see you awake. It means you're on the mend.”

Her words were rapid, as though she had a million things she needed to tell him all at once. But he could barely comprehend all that she said. Still unable to move his tongue around, he let her fill the silence with her chatter. Her voice had a musical quality to it. One to which he could fall asleep.

She squeezed his hand and placed the spoon up to his mouth again. “Don't you dare fall back to sleep. Try to stay awake, darling. The doctor will want to examine you.”

With his good hand he reached for the arm that burned. It was held tight to his body by linens tying it in place, keeping it stationary. When his fingers prodded his shoulder he hissed in a pained breath and dropped his good arm to the bed. It fell like a dead weight, and Nick hated nothing more than being weak and helpless to defend himself.

“I had to keep your arm steady,” she said apologetically. “Your nightmares grew worse over the last day. You were struggling and moving around so much I thought you'd tear all your stitches.”

He could imagine.

“Huxley?”

“A missive arrived from him an hour ago. He said he would be back in London before the dinner hour. That's the first I've heard from him since you were found in the courtyard of the inn. No one knows how you got there, Nick. Do you remember what happened?”

“Shauley.” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth; the name came out garbled.

As Amelia came closer, the mattress dipped by his hip. “Let me help you sit up so you can take a glass of water. It will help you talk. But you don't have to say anything yet if you don't want to. All that matters is that we are home, and you are going to be all right. I was so afraid, Nick. God, I was so afraid you were lost to me.”

Gingerly, Amelia slid her arm behind his back and pulled him up enough that she could prop him up with a few pillows. Nick rotated his aching shoulder, feeling the pain that rushed through his arm with the movement. Pain meant he was alive. Pain meant he was on the mend and could find the strength to track down Shauley once and for all.

“Be careful with your movements. We had to stitch the wound, and you might pull the stitches loose if you aren't careful.”

A cool glass pressed to his lips and water washed over his tongue. He drank it down, taking the glass from her with his good hand before he was finished and handing it back to her when it was empty.

He would not be treated as an invalid, not even by his pretty wife.

Cracking his eyes open, he found the light still bothered him, but the pain in his head had lessened. “Can you draw the curtains?” he asked.

“Of course.” She scrambled off the bed and yanked the heavy brocade material closed, blanketing the room in shadows. When he opened his eyes again, he was able to focus on his room and on his wife. Amelia approached the bed with tentative steps, sat on the edge of the mattress, and placed a hand over his forearm where it rested across his abdomen.

Amelia's hair was down and braided to one side. Dark circles were visible beneath her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in days. He reached out and placed his hand against her cheek. She nuzzled into him with a soft sigh. “I've missed you beyond expression. I've missed you so much, Nick.”

“I'm sorry to have distressed you. I have caused you pain, and that's not something I take lightly.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, just . . . just let me take care of you. The doctor said it would be a few weeks before you were back to your old self. I almost didn't believe you would come out of your fever, and when you didn't wake after that, I thought you were lost to me.”

“Never lost. I could hear you calling my name. I wanted to come back to you with every whispered word.”

Amelia stood and kissed his forehead as one might a sick child. He grabbed hold of her arm so she couldn't escape him again. “Don't leave. Not yet.”

“I have to call for the doctor.”

“The doctor can wait.”

“Nick.” There was admonishment in the way she said his name.

“Sit with me. We have things to discuss before the doctor interrupts us. I have all these holes in my memory I need to fill. To understand what happened.”

She gingerly sat on the edge of the bed again, the back of her hand pressed to his forehead, checking his temperature.

With a heavy sigh, she said, “I will humor you for a while. But my instructions were to call on the doctor immediately.”

“In Highgate, who found me?” he asked.

“The innkeeper. But news went around the village shortly after you made your way to the inn courtyard. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, if you were alive.” Amelia took an audibly unsteady breath before she could continue. “The fear that paralyzed me when I saw you . . . ”

Sitting so close, he could see that her eyes were bloodshot, tired. Had she stayed awake these past few days?

“Have you left this room at all?” he asked.

“I couldn't. I wanted to be here in case you woke. Don't ask me to leave now; this is my room too.”

“I want you here, Amelia.” Nick pulled her closer with his good arm, her head pressed against his bicep. He brushed her hair away from her temple and ran his fingers through the soft brown tresses. “This is no way to spend our honeymoon. When I'm better, I will take you wherever you want.”

“I don't want to go anywhere. I want you well again. All that matters is that I am wherever you are.”

“I promise not to go anywhere without you.”

She lifted her head and gave him a curious look, with one eyebrow raised. “I will never forgive myself for not following you that morning. There were things left unsaid. Things I should have told you.”

“And have me risk your safety? Not as long as there is breath in me would I even consider such a thing, Amelia. Had you been hurt in place of me, I would never be able to live with myself.”

She exhaled and touched the scruff on the side of his face, her expression patient and tender. “The household has been eager for your recovery. I don't think we should keep them waiting much longer.” She moved away from him.

It was more than he could take at present. “Amelia.”

She turned back to him. “I'm just going to get fresh linens. We'll have to put new bandages on you before I help you dress.”

He was in no shape to argue, so he wisely let her go about her tasks, watching the sway of her hips with each gentle move of her body around his room. She looked at home in here as she found what she needed.

She was an image that stole his breath away.

When she returned to his side and started to loosen the knot holding his arm crossed over his body, he could smell the faint scent of lilacs in her hair. He leaned forward, inhaling deeper.

“Nick?”

“You smell good enough to eat.”

She chuckled softly. “You're in no shape for such activities. Besides, Joshua has made all sorts of dishes for you, hoping you would wake and be famished enough to eat a whole meal. He's been cooking your favorite foods for two days straight.”

Nick nuzzled his nose close to her ear. His lips brushed the shell, but he didn't kiss her. He did need to eat proper food, something to get the pasty taste out of his mouth. Until he felt steady enough to remain awake, he would leave his wife alone.

Amelia's fingers stilled; she cleared her throat. Nick watched her pulse flutter and her chest rise with each inhalation. It seemed all sorts of appetites were upon him now that he was awake, and his body stirred in reaction to her close proximity.

“We'll start you on broth,” she said, pulling the soiled linen away from his arm.

Nick hissed in a pained breath that doused every one of his desires. “Shit. That's more painful than I thought it would be.”

“We had to dig the bullet out; it was lodged against the bone.”

“Shauley aimed to injure, not kill me.”

Amelia pulled away from him, her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He wanted to make a move against the vicar before I did, so he just made sure I was down and out of the race.”

She seemed perplexed by this revelation and thought it over before saying, “I need to tell you something, Nick.”

Amelia worried her bottom lip as she focused on his arm and carefully removed the bits of gauze that stuck to his shoulder. He glanced down at the wound that had scabbed around the black stitches holding the center of the hole closed. He'd had so many injuries over the years, from his fighting days mostly, that the sight didn't put him off. He would have prodded at it to see just how sensitive it was, but Amelia seemed a little sick to her stomach, looking at the wound.