Deveric rode Lightning hard, pushing them both to their limits—anything to ward off the combustible emotions he so wanted to keep at bay. He didn’t know what to do about the delectable Mrs. James. Honor dictated he not go near her again, not with how the mere sight of her made the blood race in his veins, not with how he wanted to nibble on her ear every time she looked his direction, not with how, no matter how hard he tried, nothing sated the ferocious desire within him to claim her, to possess her, to make her his in all ways.
All ways except one. He couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t. Not only because his mother—and likely the rest of the ton—would never condone it. A duke and a nobody wasn’t done, even if that nobody was allegedly a relation. You could change that, an inner voice insisted. If your family accepted her, everyone else would, too. Surely your mother could make peace with it eventually, especially if she saw you were happy. Couldn’t she?
If that were the only deterrent, he’d have Eliza before the local vicar in an instant.
The image of Eliza, looking up at him with love shimmering in those wide blue eyes as she spoke vows, slammed into his heart, making him grasp his chest with the power of the aching there. He fought to catch his breath. Marry her? Impossible. He wanted her in his bed, no doubt about that, but that was impossible. Just like marrying her was impossible. He’d reaffirmed that last night.
He wouldn’t do that to a woman again, wouldn’t do that to himself again. He couldn’t bear to see the fear in her eyes, couldn’t bear the rejection sure to come when she realized they didn’t fit. He couldn’t hurt her.
And heaven forbid she get pregnant. Deveric’s heart constricted again at the thought of Eliza heavy with child. His child. His mouth went dry at the memory of Mirabelle lying on the bed, the life seeping out of her, her face mingled with Eliza’s face.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t. Better to take her to London, to find her a husband, a different man. Someone who would cherish her, who would love her, who wouldn’t hurt her. Someone who wouldn’t kill her.
He pulled Lightning up short and they both stood there, sides heaving. What was he to do?
A scream rent the air, somewhere ahead of him in the woods. He immediately kicked Lightning into a gallop, racing toward the sound.
“Eliza! Eliza!”
Oh Lord, that was Becca’s voice. And she’s screaming Eliza’s name. What were they doing in the woods? Eliza didn’t ride. She’d told him herself she’d never been on a horse. She was downright scared of them.
He caught sight of Otto ahead and steered Lightning in that direction. As he neared, he could see Becca on the ground, leaning over a prone form. When she heard his approach, she turned to him, terror written all over her face.
“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Deveric leapt off the horse before it had even come to a full stop, racing over to the two women.
“What happened?” he roared as he went down on his knees, examining the wicked scratch across Eliza’s forehead. She was pale and eerily still. He bent his head down to her chest, listening for her heartbeat.
“I—I—she—she wanted to go for a ride,” Becca exclaimed, tears seeping from her eyes. “I was taking her to the pond, but a f—a fox scurried out from the brush and Petu—Petunia was unnerved by it.”
Deveric willed himself to stay calm as he checked to see if Eliza was breathing. Her heart was beating, thank God. Once he could see her chest moving up and down, he felt around to determine if anything was broken. He breathed a sigh of relief that her legs seemed fine, but a large lump had formed on the back of her head, presumably where she’d struck the ground.
“Has she said anything? Has she opened her eyes?”
“N—no. She’s going to be all right, right, Deveric? She’s going to all right, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” he bit out as he lifted Eliza carefully into his arms. He’d seen others die from what seemed like simple falls before. He looked down at her closed eyes. You will not die. You will not. I won’t let you. He started walking back toward Clarehaven.
“What are you doing?” Becca demanded. “You can’t carry her the entire way back!”
Deveric stilled. She was right, damn it. It was too far. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, cradling Eliza in his arms.
“Get your horse and get help. Get Chance or Sayers to bring a wagon,” he barked over his shoulder. “Go. Go!”
Deveric stared down into Eliza’s deathly pale face, willing the woman in his arms to wake up, to look at him, to smile and tell him it was going to be all right. Okay, he amended. She would tell me it was going to be okay. But Eliza didn’t stir.
He tenderly, carefully ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing the back of a hand against her cheek, whispering to her she was safe, that he had her, that she would be fine.
He paid no attention as Becca raced past him. He only had eyes for Eliza.
Pain. Pain was all she felt, in every part of her body. Well, her head and right side hurt most, if she could quantify the agony lacing through her. Percocet. I want Percocet. Voices murmured around her and a cold cloth pressed against her forehead. Nice. That was nice. Fingers traced their way down across her cheek. Is that you, Cat?
She winced and groaned. What had happened? Why did she hurt so much? A hand slipped behind her neck and a cup touched her bottom lip. She thought a deep voice said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. She was grateful for the cold liquid pouring slowly down her throat, though; she was so thirsty. A soda would be nice, she thought, before all went dark again.
“Damn it, man, it’s been two days! Why isn’t she waking up?” Deveric paced back and forth across his former wife’s bedchamber, glaring at the doctor before looking back at Eliza. She seemed so small, nestled in that large bed. She hadn’t stirred since he’d brought her back home. He wanted her to open her eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, and look at him. Smile at him. Tease him. But she didn’t. She just lay there, breathing in and out, in and out. Slowly.
Hell, at least she’s still breathing.
Amara approached him, setting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the doctor is doing everything he can,” she said. “You need to rest, brother. We will care for her. Becca and I are here.”
“Becca is the one who got her into this mess,” Deveric barked, shrugging off Amara’s hand. Upon Becca’s devastated expression, he swallowed hard. It wasn’t her fault. She’d told Dev how Eliza had insisted on riding that morning, how she’d said she needed to learn if she were going to fit in. How she’d asked to go to the monolith.
Why the monolith? He’d asked himself that question time and again. How had she even known about it?
“I’m sorry, Becca,” he offered, pinching his nose with shaking fingers. “Please forgive me. It’s not your fault. Truly.”
Becca nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. “But it is,” she whispered. “If I’d never taken her out, never tried on the first day to go to the pond. We should have stayed in the ring.”
“What’s done is done,” a brisk voice said from the doorway. Deveric looked up as his mother entered the room. She eyed him up and down. “You look terrible,” she announced. “You are in need of a bath and a shave. A gentleman should never look so unkempt, even in the presence of family.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Go. Mrs. James is well cared for. She does not need you.”
Deveric balled his fingers into fists, seriously tempted for the first time to strike a woman. “I am no longer a child to be commanded, Mother,” he said, clenching his jaw. “She is my duty and I shall care for her.” And I need her.
His mother drew her chin up. “You are correct. You are not a child. Nonetheless, you are behaving like one. You cannot ensure Mrs. James’ return to health by endangering your own. I assure you we will wake you if there is any change.”
He considered. He hadn’t left Eliza’s side since he first laid her in the bed, dozing only occasionally in the chair next to her, but he knew he was about to drop. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed beside her, hold her, will her awake, but that was not an option, not with all these people here. He nodded crisply to his mother, his green eyes locking with hers.
Her normally hard expression softened unexpectedly as she reached out, smoothing an errant lock of hair off his forehead, even offering a half-smile, which elicited a gasp from Amara. “Your sense of duty to those in your charge is admirable.”
As she swept out of the room, he could have sworn she murmured, “And your love for that woman obvious.”
He slept for fourteen hours.
Enraged upon awakening to learn he’d spent that much time away from Eliza, Deveric leapt out of bed, hastily pulling on breeches and a freshly laundered shirt, ignoring his valet’s efforts to assist him. He wanted to leave off his waistcoat and coat but knew his mother would have a fit if she caught him in such a state of undress, so he shrugged them on before bolting out the door.
Entering Eliza’s room—for it was Eliza’s room; he no longer thought of it as Mirabelle’s chamber—his gut constricted, seeing her still lying there, deathly white.
Amara looked up from the book she’d been reading.
“Has she woken?” Deveric walked to Eliza’s side and reached for her hand. It was cool to the touch, but no longer ice-cold. He gave a brief prayer of thanks; surely this was an improvement.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
His sister stood, setting the book on the small table near the bed. She smoothed her skirts before answering. “She talked off and on through the night. But I don’t think she knew what she was saying. She was calling for a cat. And something called ‘perk a set?’ I couldn’t make sense of it. She mentioned an aero-plane and something called a phone, and about a vampyre writing a diary?”
Crossing to him, Amara reached out, rubbing her brother’s back. He stiffened. Amara never touched anyone. “She said she wanted to go home, Dev.”
His face paled as he clutched Eliza’s hand tightly. She wanted to go? Not that he blamed her. He’d been an ass to her, desperate to convince himself they could never be. Still, his heart thundered at the thought of her leaving him. Don’t leave me, Eliza. Please don’t leave me.
“She also said,” Amara continued, her hand still moving in slow, calming strokes, “she loved you.” After pausing to let that sink in, Amara left the room.
Deveric stood there, his shoulders heaving and shuddering, his fingers clasping Eliza’s, tears streaming openly down his face. He could hear his father’s voice chiding him. A Claremont does not cry. It didn’t stop the sobs from coming. She looked so pale, so tiny, so close to death. For a second, Mirabelle’s face superimposed itself on Eliza’s, and it was if he were standing in the same spot he’d stood three years ago, watching the life bleed out of his wife. Eliza is not Mirabelle. Eliza is not Mirabelle.
“And she will not die,” he declared, his voice strong in spite of his weeping. “She will not die.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he sat down next to Eliza, applying a cool compress to her head. His hands lingered on her face. He traced her eyebrows with his fingers and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I love you, too, Eliza James. God help me, I do.”