The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (103 page)

Perry glanced over his shoulder. “God is truly the only one who can help them now. Warrick?”

“Fine, I’m— I seem to be fine.” Warrick shook off his coat and inspected the growing red stain on his shoulder. Calder descended the steps and walked to the mother, turning away suddenly when he got close. Then he glanced at Morgan, apparently determining he didn’t even need to approach to find out whether he had survived.

Lilly watched the red stain as it saturated Warrick’s sleeve, then pushed Perry away, lifting her skirt and tearing her petticoat. She folded a thick pad, then pressed it to the wound and tied another piece of her petticoat around it, apologizing when he winced.

When she was finished he put one hand on her shoulder, waiting until she looked him in the eye. “This outcome, while disagreeable, could not have been easily avoided. I would much prefer that my cousin be standing beside you, rather than that man. Remember that, above all else,” he said gruffly.

Lilly nodded. Perry’s arms came around her as he checked the pressure on Warrick’s wound.

Warrick pushed him off then stood, as did Perry, the two of them pulling Lilly up with them. Perry saw the trembling in her arms subsiding. He smoothed the long curls back from her face and turned her to look at him.

“Believe Warrick, if no other, for he will tell you true like no other. There is nothing more you could have done here.”

“I killed him.”

“No, he was still alive—” He stopped and considered what he’d nearly said. “No, Lilly, you did not kill him.”

She turned back to Warrick. “Why did you—” He shrugged, then winced, and she reached for him, but he raised his hand to stay her.

Perry crushed her to him. “God, Lilly, I love you.”

“And I love you, milord,” she replied on a breath.

“Must I warn you again?” he asked with a smile, trying to break the mood.

“No, milord, not at all. I know exactly what it is I’m asking for.”

Lilly’s father placed his hand on Perry’s shoulder. “Son, I have to thank you for protecting my daughter. About that question you had for me. Ask me again. This time the answer will be yes.”

Lilly’s jaw dropped. “You said no?”

“As is his right,” Perry said quietly, “though I had planned to convince him soon enough.”

Lilly’s father laughed. “You’ve succeeded.” He pushed Perry away and took Lilly in his arms. “I am so proud of you. My Lilly.”

“Oh, Papa.” She looked up into his teary eyes and smiled. “Don’t you know I didn’t have a choice? I’m brave because I’m your daughter.” He hugged her again, and Lilly thought he might break her, his embrace was so tight. When he finally released her, she glanced around to find that someone had covered the dead with blankets and Perry was at the base of the steps, speaking with Calder and Warrick.

She could tell he was having a difficult time suppressing a smile, his face taking on an awkward grimace as they discussed what should happen next. She found it rather difficult herself, so she turned to go into the house, away from all the death.

My precious Lilly,

I cannot tell you how amazed I am with you every day. How proud I am of you, how much I hope you have a beautiful future, with a wonderful husband, who will give you all the children and happiness your heart desires.

At times I wish that would be me, but as you keep saying it can never be; it can never be.

Simply know that I treasure you. You have brought me much joy, and opened my eyes to a new sort of happiness.

I love you for that,

Perry

Lilly read the inscription in the book again then looked up to the church, her hand resting on her father’s arm. This was it. Had it only been a fortnight since she’d crawled into Perry’s carriage and hid under the bench? So much had happened.

“It’s time.” Her father’s voice cracked on the words, and she turned to him.

“I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, Lillybug.”

“He is a good man, Papa.”

“He is that. Are you ready?”

She nodded and turned to the doors of the church. They were swept open before her and it took Lilly’s breath away. The floor was littered with crushed purple heather, the earthy scent released into the air with every step she took down the aisle. Her gaze followed the heather to the steps, then up to the man at the altar. He was dressed in a kilt, with a crisp white shirt, black wool coat, and tartan sash displaying several bejeweled emblems pinned across his chest. The sun through the stained glass struck his chest as she moved toward him, and the walls of the church reflected the light from the sparkling jewels like dancing fire.

Her eyes drifted to the vicar, then down, and she realized he was standing in front of a beautifully tooled, deep-brown saddle. The heather was woven through the legs of the stand it rested on, and a long strand of pearls wrapped around one of the stirrups. She looked back to Perry, whose smile was so broad she couldn’t see anything else. Except his eyes. Which twinkled devilishly.

She held tight to her father as he led her toward her future. It was a heady mix: the heather, her family, and the man. It was all she could do to keep her heart in her chest and make it the last few feet down the aisle to pledge her troth. Over a saddle. Woven with heather and pearls.

The alarm went off on bed 23a and Dr. Roman Wyntor glanced toward it. “Is that the first time that alarm has gone off?” he asked the nurse at the station.

“No, it’s been going off all night, but I keep checking on her. Her stats are steady.”

He considered the woman in the bed. She should be awake by now. The nurse moved toward her.

“No, I’ll go,” he said quietly. He took the chart and read over it again. He hadn’t been there for a couple of days, but he’d been in the trauma center when the woman was brought in. He remembered her eyes above all else, like the ocean at high tide on Garrapata Beach in California, close to where he was born.

Roman pushed the alarm button to silence it, then reached out to her wrist, checking her pulse. It fluttered steadily beneath his fingertips, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly, then released her. He sat in the chair next to the bed and watched. The accident she’d been in had caused a severe concussion, and she had multiple abrasions but nothing she shouldn’t recover from eventually.

He wasn’t sure why he was drawn to this patient above the others. Something in her eyes that day had caught him and pulled him in. She had looked so terrified, and it grasped at something deep inside him. He knew she would recover. He knew this. He merely had to wait for the trauma to fade.

He went over the notes in her chart from the past few days, checking and double checking her care and the procedures. He considered ordering another MRI to be sure they hadn’t missed anything, perhaps calling in Dr. Bohden to consult on the case. While reading over the previous night’s notes, he saw a movement over the top edge of the chart and looked up.

Concentrated.

Nothing.

His eyes traveled her form beneath the blanket, head to toe. Not a single sign of activity. He looked back down to the chart only to see something again, and this time, he was sure of it. He watched as she tensed and released her muscles as though taking stock of every one, top to bottom. Her fingers moved, then her thighs shifted and her knees bent slightly, then her feet twirled under the blanket and her toes curled.

He stood and moved to her, speaking quietly. “My name is Dr. Wyntor. You are in Denver General. Take it slow and easy, you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

He waited.

Her eyelids shifted and she clenched her eyes tightly, then relaxed ever so slowly. Her eyes opened on him, and his breath pulled in suddenly, stolen from him with the remembrance of that gaze.

“My name is Dr. Wyntor—” he started again, then shook his head, realizing he’d already said that. “What’s your name?” He took her wrist under the pretense of checking her pulse. Something in him needed to hold her, comfort her.

Her eyes narrowed on him, then relaxed.

“Take it easy, let everything come slowly. Do you remember what happened?”

The woman shook her head but didn’t move her eyes from him.

“Where are you from?” Still no response. He released her wrist, knowing he’d been holding on for entirely too long, but she reached out and took his hand.

Her mouth parted on a breath and his gaze was drawn to her lips. He shook his head again. He tried to pull from her hold and bring down the shield of professionalism, but he just couldn’t force himself away.

“I am here to help you.” It was a quiet admission, and meant as a promise. He set aside her chart and swept a tendril of hair from her forehead. “If you need anything at all, you can ask for me.” He reached for the button at her side, to show her how to call for help, and she took his hand again.

“Madeleine.”

It was so quiet he thought he’d imagined it. His gaze went back to her mouth to see if there was any sign of movement.

“Pardon?”

“Madeleine,” she repeated, and this time he saw it more than heard it. The movement of her mouth had him spellbound, and he repeated the name.

“Madeleine.”

She smiled.

•••

Dearest reader,

My deepest, most heartfelt thank you, for reading my serial novel.