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“Come along now, Emma,” a feminine voice called her from a great distance. “You need to wake up.”
Emma struggled to open her eyes, but they seemed glued shut. But she recognized that voice. “Louisa?”
“That’s right. Now open your eyes.”
Emma opened her eyes just a crack to see her sister leaning over her with a damp cloth. Memories flooded her brain. Hell. Ainsley. Stanton. Blakely. Even Harry. Some disgusting man. Simon.
Simon!
She sat upright and stared at her sister. “Where is Simon?”
“Hush now, Emma. You fainted and hit your head on the floor.” Louisa tried to push her back against the pillows.
“Simon was shot!” Emma exclaimed as she attempted to climb off the bed. “Why am I here? Where is he?”
“Shh, Simon is in the next bedroom. Harry thought it best that Simon be taken here.” Louisa helped her sister to stand. “Slowly, Emma. Are you feeling faint again?”
“No,” Emma pushed her sister’s hand away. “Which bedroom?”
“You can’t see him yet. The surgeon is still in with him.” Louisa handed her a glass of dark liquid.
Emma eyed it cautiously. “Laudanum?”
“No, just a brandy to calm your nerves.”
Emma nodded before taking the glass a gulp of the horrible stuff. The liquid warmed her frozen body. “I must see Simon.”
“Once the surgeon finishes. Until that time, come sit by the window and tell me what happened.”
Emma couldn’t sit when her nerves hummed with nervous energy. She rose and paced the room while Louisa sat, sipping her brandy. She related what she could remember, but things were foggy.
“Do you know what was happening at Hell tonight? You must tell me,” Emma implored. “Nothing made any sense.”
Louisa related what she knew of their plan. “Mr. Park wanted Simon to lose enough money at Hell that he would be willing to sell. Simon had Riley, Hood, Ainsley, Stanton, Blakely, and Harry all there to verify that nothing happened when they confronted Park. Every person entering Hell was checked for weapons. Riley told Harry a new employee gave Park the pistol.”
“What were they thinking?” Emma asked. “A man like that would make certain a pistol would be in the room with him.”
“I don’t believe they thought the man could be that foolish in front of so many people.”
“What happened to him?” Emma almost didn’t want to know. She’d seen the way Riley and Hood attacked that man before she fainted.
“He’s dead,” Louisa whispered. “Riley shot him.”
“Good.”
“Emma!”
“You didn’t see the man, Louisa. Walking into Hell like he already owned the place. He was horribly disgusting.”
Hearing a door close in the hall, Emma raced for the door. Opening it, she noticed the surgeon speaking in hushed tones to Harry.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’ve done all I can, but now it’s up to God.” He handed Harry a bottle. “If he wakes in the next two days, give him five drops of this in water. It will dull the pain and make him sleep. Call for me if he worsens.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson.” Harry took the bottle and then glanced over at Emma.
“Harry?”
“I’m sorry, Emma.” He bowed his head and quickly wiped at his face as if brushing away tears.
“Can I see him?”
“He is sleeping. The surgeon gave him a heavy dose of laudanum.”
“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Emma said. “Get some rest. If there is any change, I will let you know.”
Emma walked into the dimly lit room and gasped. Simon lay perfectly still on the bed. His face was whiter than she’d ever seen. Pulling up a chair to the bed, she dampened a cloth before placing it on his forehead. She lifted the dressing from his wound with shaking hands. The stitches were neat, and the wound clean. She covered it up and returned to her seat.
She couldn’t lose him.
Rake or not, he was part of her life. Part of her family. And quite possibly the only man she would ever love. What would her life be like without him? Empty. Unfulfilled. Unloved.
He understood her. He was the only person she’d ever felt like herself with whether she was angry, sad, or happy. Her eyes welled with tears as she relived the past month with him.
She loved him so much.
All the men she loved seem to slip through her fingers. Her father, while still alive, she’d thought him dead for years. Even now, they only saw each other at Christmas. Then there was Bolton. Knowing how deep her feelings were for Simon, she couldn’t say she genuinely loved her former fiancée. But she’d had affection for him. Until he rejected her, leaving her to the derision of the ton.
None of those losses felt even close to how she would feel if he...she couldn’t think the word. She had to stop thinking this way. Determination flowed into her as she stared down at his pale form. She would do everything in her power to save him. She flipped the cloth on his forehead and waited.
Over the next few days, she spent much of her time in Simon’s room, caring for him. Harry or Louisa would relieve her for a few hours of restless sleep. Simon woke for only short amounts of time, in which she attempted to get some broth down him. By the fourth day, Emma touched his cheek and couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“Emma?” Louisa asked as she opened the door. She stopped midstride when she noticed Emma’s tears. “What’s wrong?”
“A fever.”
“No!” Louisa rushed over to the bed and felt his forehead. “He’s not terribly warm.”
Emma knew it didn’t matter. A crushing weight pressed on her heart, knowing that fevers meant infections. “Call the surgeon back. Maybe there is something he can do.”
Louisa nodded and strode from the room.
While she was gone, Emma refreshed the water and placed a cool cloth on his forehead and the back of his neck. “Simon, you have to fight this. I will not lose you.”
He groaned as if he understood her words. Watching him suffer was slowly killing her. Every time the laudanum wore off, he started to moan in pain.
Emma glanced over at the door as Louisa returned. “Well?”
“A footman ran to get Mr. Anderson,” Louisa replied. “I came to give you a break. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Her damn tears started again. “I cannot, Louisa. I can’t leave him.”
Louisa clutched Emma’s shoulders and pulled her away from Simon. “You are going to make yourself ill. I’ll be here. Now, go rest.”
Emma returned to her bedroom but couldn’t sleep. She paced the room until she heard the surgeon’s footsteps getting close. Without a thought, she followed him into Simon’s bedchamber.
“Miss Drake, it is highly inappropriate that you are in the room while I exam Mr. Kingsley.” The stuffy man placed his small valise down on the bedside table.
“She stays, Mr. Anderson.” Louisa’s order brooked no denial.
Emma almost smiled at her sister’s imposing tone.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” The surgeon inspected the wound and shook his head.
“What is wrong?” Emma whispered.
He turned toward with a scowl. “I am not sure yet. The stitches are fine. There is a slight redness to the incision, but that’s normal. I fear I cannot account for his fever.”
Emma fought to catch her breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means the wound is not infected. I’m sorry to say it most likely means his blood is.”
Emma sank into the chair. “Even I know that is terrible.”
Louisa glared at the doctor.
“I am making an assumption, Miss Drake. There is no way I can be certain.” The surgeon shuffled through his bag and brought out a small vial. “Give this to him four times a day with water. It might bring down the fever.” He paused and then whispered to Louisa. “Your Grace, you should prepare yourself for the worse.”
#
EMMA REFUSED TO LEAVE Simon’s bedside for the next two nights. His fever never became high enough that he hallucinated. And yet, if he had, at least she would have been able to hear his voice. She missed the timber of his voice when he spoke to her, complimented, or even scolded her.
“Dammit!” She wiped away the tears that fell. Letting her head rest on his chest, she whispered, “You can’t leave me, Simon. I love you.”
“About damn time you said so.” His voice sounded raspy and dry and so beautiful to her.
Emma sat up and looked down at him. His eyes remained closed, but there was a slight upward turn to his lips. She shook her head. Had her imagination had taken hold of her senses?
“Simon?”
“I love you, too,” he mumbled with a smile.
“Simon!” She clasped his hand and brought it to her lips. “I love you so much, you damned fool.”
“Water.”
“Oh, of course.” Emma grabbed the glass and then lifted his neck. He drank a few sips and then turned his head away.
“How long?”
She assumed he wanted to know how long he’d been ill. “Over a week.”
“Dead?”
“No, you’re not dead, darling.”
“Park.”
Oh. “Yes, Riley shot him.”
“Riley’s a good man.”
“He’s been worried sick about you, Simon.” Emma blinked back the tears. “We all have been.”
She felt his forehead and noticed the fever was all but gone.
“I’ll survive. The devil doesn’t want me yet,” he muttered and then fell back to sleep.
Emma watched him for a few minutes to make sure he was merely sleeping before running down the marble steps and into the salon. Louisa and Charlotte sat with a book they were reading, while Harry was reading a letter. “He woke!”
“He did?” Louisa recovered first and asked, “For how long?
“Just a few minutes, but his fever is almost gone.”
“Oh, thank God!” Louisa exclaimed.
“Yay!” Charlotte jumped off Louisa’s lap and headed for the door. “I want to see Uncle Simon.”
Emma stopped Charlotte. “Not just yet, darling. He fell back to sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow he’ll be awake longer.”
Harry cleared this throat. “Did he say anything important, Emma?”
“He said he loves me.”