7

Floating through a pool of darkness, Zayne smiled, enjoying the quiet—and the fact that for the first time in forever, his leg wasn’t causing him pain. His body was cushioned against something that felt remarkably like a soft cloud, but then panic stole the very breath from him when he tried to shift his position and realized he couldn’t move.

Forcing his eyes open, he winced when light blinded him for a moment, and then a room swam into focus.

It was a nice room, decorated in a masculine style, but . . . nothing looked familiar. Not the dark blue canopy draped over his head or the painting of a battle scene over the marble fireplace, or . . . the bearded man sitting in a chair by that fireplace reading a book.

His eyes snapped shut as his jumbled thoughts rolled around in his mind.

Where was he, and what had happened to him?

An image of an out-of-control carriage flashed beneath his lids.

Frowning, he concentrated on that carriage. It had been in front of Agatha’s house, but she’d been right in the path of it, and . . . His eyes flashed open. “Agatha.”

“Yes?”

His attention darted to the bearded man setting aside his book as he got to his feet, but . . . he was wearing a dress and sounded remarkably like Agatha.

It was a very strange sight to see.

“Who are you?” he rasped out of a mouth that felt as if it were filled with cotton.

The gentleman reached the bed and peered down at him. “I’m Agatha, of course.” Then he reached out a hand and smoothed it over Zayne’s forehead, a hand that seemed entirely too soft to belong to a man. “How are you feeling?”

“Peculiar.”

The gentleman smiled. “I’m not surprised, given all the medicine you’ve been given to keep you sedated over the past few days.”

“Does that medicine make me hallucinate?”

“I’m not sure, but it might. Why do you ask?”

“Because you sound just like Agatha, but . . . you have a beard.”

A delightful peal of laughter rang out. “Good heavens, Zayne, I do beg your pardon. I completely forgot I was experimenting with whiskers earlier. It’s no wonder you’re confused, what with waking up and seeing a bearded lady first thing.”

From any other woman, that statement might have seemed somewhat unusual, but coming from Agatha, well, it was perfectly normal. “And why are you experimenting with whiskers?”

Agatha gave an airy wave of her hand. “Oh, just passing the time. I ran out of good books until Arabella stopped by a while ago and stocked me up on some romances, even though I will admit they’re really not my cup of tea.” She smiled, the action causing her whiskers to twitch, but he couldn’t help but notice that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But speaking of tea, I’m sure you’d love a cup right about now.”

She turned and began walking to the door, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I’ll order you some tea and toast, but more importantly, I need to tell your mother you’re awake. She’s been dying to talk to you.” With that, Agatha hurried out of the room, leaving him with the distinct smell of violets in his nose but without any answers to the millions of questions he had.

Shaking his head to clear the slight fuzziness that lingered in his brain, a result no doubt of the medicine Agatha had said he’d been given, he glanced around the room again. Relief had his lips curling when he finally realized he was lying in his boyhood room, although it looked nothing at all like how he’d kept it when he’d lived under his mother’s roof.

Gone were the collections of dead bugs he’d kept on a shelf, as were the pictures he’d drawn of horses, replaced with obviously priceless works of art, none of which he thought possessed the charm of his horrible attempts at sketching, but . . . he was sure his mother probably had those sketches in a memory book somewhere.

She’d always been sentimental about things like that.

A distinct feeling of guilt began to gnaw at him.

He’d been careless with his mother, with his entire family, now that he thought about it, but—

“Zayne, my darling boy, you’ve come back to me.”

The sound of heels tapping rapidly against the floor came to him first, and then his mother was leaning down and smothering his face with kisses, just as she’d done when he’d been all of five years old and had skinned a knee.

He felt the old desire to protest, just like he’d always done when he was five, but then he remembered the grief he’d caused her over the past year and, instead of resisting her mothering, allowed himself to relish it. She finally pulled back and swiped a hand over eyes dripping with tears.

An ache settled in his heart at that sight.

“You’ve scared a good few years off my life, young man,” Gloria said in a wobbly voice.

“I’m sorry about that, Mother.”

She brushed his apology aside. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, darling. It’s not like it was your fault that carriage almost ran you over, and Agatha as well.”

“So I was run over by a carriage?”

“Almost.”

He glanced past his mother and found Agatha standing by the foot of the bed, evidently unconcerned that she still had a reddish beard attached to her face. His lips curved into a smile as he looked her over. Her delicate face was almost completely covered by the beard, and if he wasn’t much mistaken, she’d added mutton chops as well, but they weren’t in the right place, since they covered her ears. Her hair was gathered in a messy knot on top of her head, numerous tendrils of it sticking out all over the place, their distinct blackness at complete odds with the red of the beard. A lovely yellow dress trimmed in purple only added to her strange appearance.

“I ordered you some tea and toast, and a maid promised to deliver it shortly,” she said, moving to stand by his head. She smiled down at him, her whiskers twitching again. “Would you like me to help you sit up? It might be hard to drink tea in that position, and . . . why are you looking at me like that?”

“I can’t seem to help myself. Your whiskers are somewhat distracting.”

“Oh dear, I forgot all about them.” She began peeling the hair off her face, wincing every other second. She walked over to a large and battered black case, dropped the whiskers into it, and firmly shut the lid before she turned. “Better?”

“Your face is quite red now, but yes.”

“At least I didn’t use much adhesive. Do you remember the time when I couldn’t get my whiskers off after our jaunt to the opium den?”

“I seem to recall you broke out in hives after the remedy you were forced to use to get them off didn’t work out as planned.”

Agatha grinned. “That was a nightmare, especially since I had to go to your going-away ball covered in unsightly bumps when I wanted so much to look nice for . . .” Eyes widening, she snapped her mouth shut and began inspecting the sleeve of her gown. “Well, now is hardly the moment to dig up ancient memories. We need to get you settled, give you some tea, and I’m sure you have questions, especially about your leg.”

He’d forgotten all about his leg, what with all the whiskers, memories, and Agatha looking somewhat adorable at the moment, something he didn’t want to notice but didn’t seem to have any control over.

The scent of violets tickled his nose again, pulling him back to the situation at hand as Agatha put her arms around him and, in a surprisingly strong move, hauled him upright before she plumped up a pillow behind him. “There, that should be more comfortable. Are you ready to hear about your leg?”

He tried to move the limb in question but found it impossible because something heavy seemed to be weighing it down. Swallowing, he nodded. “How bad is it?”

She took hold of the blanket covering him, and when he realized she was about to yank it off, he grabbed her arm. “Maybe you should leave the room and I’ll do this with my mother.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Really, Zayne, do you think I’d strip this sheet from you if you weren’t decently clothed, especially with your mother standing right next to me?”

Sometimes it was downright eerie how she seemed able to read his mind.

“Good point,” he muttered, shooting a glance to his mother, who was grinning back at him. He caught Agatha’s eye. “But out of sheer curiosity, would you have pulled down that sheet if I wasn’t decent and my mother wasn’t here?”

A snort slipped out of Agatha’s mouth even as she rolled her eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous, and . . . you’re stalling.”

Taking a deep breath, he slowly released it and braced himself as Agatha pulled back the covers. He forced his attention downward and frowned. He was wearing a pair of large trousers with one of the legs cut off, probably to accommodate the huge something or other that seemed to be wrapped around his leg—a something that was the size of a large log. “What is that, and . . . is my leg still in there?”

Gloria stepped closer to him and patted his cheek. “Of course your leg is still there, darling, and that’s simply a cast, albeit an unusually large one. Dr. Gessler wanted to be certain your leg would be held perfectly still, especially when you kept thrashing around the first day after the accident.”

Zayne’s tongue passed over lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. “But . . . what’s wrong with it?”

Agatha pulled up a chair, took a seat and gestured Gloria into the chair right beside her. Apprehension stole over him when both ladies began beaming back at him, their actions causing sweat to bead his forehead.

“How bad am I?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been better,” Agatha began. “Especially since Dr. Gessler’s been feeding you laudanum to keep you sedated. I’ve heard that can make a person queasy.”

“I’m not queasy, and you’re not telling me something. What happened to my leg?”

“It didn’t get run over by a carriage, if that’s your concern.”

He looked Agatha up and down. “You don’t look like you got run over either.”

“Mr. Blackheart pushed me out of the way, but you, my foolish friend, should never have tried to come after me, not given the poor condition of your leg. If Drusilla hadn’t leaped out of the carriage and shoved you out of the way, you’d be dead right now.”

Agatha’s eyes turned suspiciously bright, but then she blinked and squared her shoulders. “And speaking of Drusilla, you’re going to have to make certain she knows you don’t hold her responsible for the condition of your leg. She saved your life, but in the process you fell and . . . rebroke your leg.”

“Drusilla broke my leg?”

“Drusilla saved your life.”

“I’ll never walk again, will I.”

Agatha sat forward, reached out and stroked his arm. “Here’s the good news.”

“I’m alive?”

“No, we’ve already covered that. The good news is that, according to Dr. Gessler, your leg broke in exactly the same place it broke before, and because you were under the care of an incredibly proficient doctor this time, your leg has been reset . . . perfectly.” Agatha smiled at him. “Dr. Gessler believes you’re going to make a complete recovery. He doesn’t even think you’ll suffer any recurring pain except for, perhaps, an occasional ache when it rains.”

Zayne could only stare at Agatha, not really comprehending what she’d just said.

“I don’t think I fully understand. . . .”

“You’re going to be fine,” Gloria said right before fresh tears began flowing freely down her cheeks. “I’ve been beside myself ever since you had your accident, been praying to God for a miracle, and He finally gave me one—you, back home and with a happy and healthy future waiting for you.” She sniffed and turned to Agatha. “You were instrumental in helping this miracle along, my darling, darling girl. You got Zayne home. What with the dynamite and all, it was a rather odd way to go about it, but . . . I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Agatha muttered something under her breath, and Zayne noticed that she was not looking pleased by what his mother had said but disturbed. She opened her mouth, but a maid walked into the room, pushing a cart. Whatever Agatha had been about to say was lost when his mother got up, helped the maid with the tea, and then sat with him as he drank it and ate some toast.

His mother kept traveling back to the topic of God and how He’d answered her prayers, but strangely enough, even though Zayne had pushed God firmly away from him over the past year, his mother’s words didn’t bother him in the least.

He’d been so angry with God for allowing his accident in the first place, but now he was on his way to recovering and he couldn’t imagine that God hadn’t had anything to do with that. Why, in all likelihood, God might just have led Agatha to him and—

“Well, I must be off,” Gloria said, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“You’re leaving me?” he asked.

“Not for long, dear, but I feel the distinct urge to go to church. After God has blessed me by getting you home and keeping you alive, well, I need to give thanks and . . . a large donation.” Gloria nodded to Agatha. “You’ll stay with him?”

“Of course.”

For some reason, Agatha was suddenly looking somewhat anxious. He cleared his throat. “If you need to get home, Agatha, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll probably just take a nap.”

“I’m not staying at my home at the moment. I’m staying here.”

Something unexpected and warm began to flow through him. “While I truly appreciate you looking out for me while I’ve been unconscious, I’m fine now, or I will be soon. There’s no need for you to continue staying here.”

“I’m under strict orders from Mr. Blackheart and Theodore not to leave.”

“And the reasoning behind those orders would be . . . ?”

“Someone’s already tried to kill her, of course,” Gloria answered before Agatha could.

His mouth dropped open. “The carriage?”

Agatha nodded glumly. “I saw the driver steer those horses right at me, as did Mr. Blackheart.”

“But we’d only just arrived in the city.”

“True, but apparently someone learned of my arrival, and that someone still wants me dead.” Agatha blew out a breath. “That’s why I’m stuck here, er . . .” She sent him a small smile. “Well, not stuck here exactly, since I really did want to watch over you.”

“And it’s a good thing you’ve finally woken up, Zayne,” Gloria added as she bent and kissed his cheek before straightening. “It’s very important that Agatha stay hidden, but you and I know perfectly well she’s not exactly the type to remain idle. Since you’re no longer unconscious, which is due to the fact Dr. Gessler took you off your sedative last night, you’ll be able to entertain her and make sure she stays in the house.”

“I might still be too weak to perform that daunting task,” Zayne argued. “Especially since she’s already brought out whiskers, which means she’s—”

“Which means nothing,” Agatha interrupted before she nodded to Gloria. “Go. I’ll keep him company.”

“Thank you, dear,” Gloria said as she made her way for the door, turning around once she reached it. She smiled a misty smile and let out another sniff. “It is so good to have you home, Zayne, and . . .” She nodded to Agatha. “I am truly thankful God sent you into our lives, my lovely girl. Why, without you, I wouldn’t have my son back, and I . . .” Gloria suddenly seemed too choked up to speak, and with a wave of her hand, she quit the room, the distinctive sound of additional sniffs trailing after her.

Zayne swallowed past the large lump that had formed in his throat and summoned up a smile. “I think she’s happy to have both of us back.”

Agatha muttered something once again under her breath before she rose and began cleaning up the tea and toast.

“Agatha, what’s the matter?”

She put the teacup on the cart before she resumed her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Nothing, everything’s fine.”

He considered her for a moment, taking in blue eyes that were suspiciously wet before she dropped her head and clenched her hands into fists. It hit him then, how very dear she was to him, even though she annoyed him on a remarkably frequent basis. They’d been the best of friends before he’d left to join Helena, and the idea that something was distressing her bothered him more than he could say. Agatha was a lady who rarely kept her thoughts to herself, but at the moment she was being unusually guarded.

Clearing his throat, he struggled for something to say, something that would put a smile on her face. “I have to tell you that my mother was right about it being a fortunate day when you came into our lives,” he began, sucking in a sharp breath when her head shot up and a single tear trailed down her cheek.

Alarm was immediate. He’d rarely seen Agatha cry, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was causing her to do so now. He leaned toward her. “Agatha, what in the world is wrong?”

Blinking furiously, Agatha opened her mouth, but instead of words coming out, she released a strangled sob right before she buried her head in her hands and began to cry in earnest.

Helena had cried at the drop of a hat, and he’d always known exactly how to soothe her, but this was Agatha, and he had no idea what to do, say, or anything. He looked up when he heard something by the door and caught his mother’s appalled gaze. When he opened his mouth to summon her in to help him sort matters out, she placed a finger over her lips, shook her head, and closed the door, leaving him completely alone with Agatha, who was sobbing harder than ever.

It seemed a somewhat peculiar thing for his mother to do.

Realizing he was completely on his own, he swallowed past another pesky lump in his throat. “Are you upset because you don’t like people telling you they appreciate you?”

Additional sobs were her only response to that question. He tried again. “You must realize that you’ve done me a huge favor by getting me home, even if I was somewhat surly about it at the time.”

Her head lifted, and with tears pouring down her cheeks, she shuddered and her eyes looked a little wild. “I didn’t do you a favor, Zayne. I almost got you killed. I’m a menace—a menace, I say—and . . . and . . . and . . . you should never forgive me for trying to save you.” She shuddered again. “When I saw your body lying there in the street, I thought you were . . . dead.” Covering her face with her hands, she began sobbing again, the sobs only stopping when she’d gulp in a breath of air every few seconds.

He sat frozen on the bed, watching her cry as if her heart were breaking. His heart, or rather the armor he’d carefully wrapped around it, suddenly cracked, and pain pulsed through his veins. Agatha was infuriating at times, and yes, occasionally she was a menace, but she was the kindest lady he knew and generous to a fault. He couldn’t sit by and watch her drown in guilt over something that she shouldn’t be feeling guilty about in the first place.

“I knew you’d decided to try and save me, even though I told you I didn’t want your assistance,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t exactly subtle about it,” she mumbled through her hands.

“You weren’t wrong to try.”

The hands fell away, revealing a wet and splotchy face. Agatha was not a lady who cried daintily, and when she let out a watery snort, he pulled at the sheet covering him and held out a corner. “You might want to use this to blow your nose.”

Swiping at her nose with her sleeve, she frowned. “I can’t use that. We’d have to change the sheets then, and since you’re really heavy with that cast on, changing your sheets is not an easy task. Believe me, I’ve done it.”

“You changed my sheets?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands while you’ve been sleeping.”

Relief settled over him when he realized she’d stopped crying. He snatched up the napkin he’d been using while he ate his toast and held it up. Agatha eyed it for a moment, got up from the chair, and moved to take it. He patted the bed. “Why don’t you sit beside me for a moment?”

“You shouldn’t even want me in the same room with you, let alone right next to you.”

They evidently hadn’t moved past her distress. “Come on, Agatha, sit down. I need someone to hold my hand.”

“I almost got you killed and you want me to hold your hand?”

“You and I have gotten into too many scrapes to count, that almost saw both of us killed. Why you’re allowing this latest incident to bother you so much is beyond me.”

To his surprise, she perched on the bed and even allowed him to take her hand. “I thought I really had killed you this time, and even though it might seem as if I disregard your life all too often, especially with that dynamite business, well, I never really wanted you dead.”

He squeezed her hand. “That’s very comforting to know.”

“Stop making light of this. I’m a horrible person. I meddle in everything, do so because I always think I know best, but I’m done with that for good.”

She sniffed and blew her nose into the napkin, causing one side of his lip to curl when it suddenly became clear that, not only didn’t Agatha cry in a dainty fashion, she certainly didn’t blow her nose that way either.

“You meddle because you’re usually right.”

She waved the napkin in the air. “Stop humoring me. I’ve caused you to suffer tremendous pain. I’ve sat here day after day while you’ve moaned in your sleep.”

“I don’t remember being in pain.”

“Well, you were, and that’s what matters.”

“My leg is going to be better now.”

“You told me back in Colorado that you weren’t keen to experience the agony of breaking your leg again, but since I dragged you back here, that’s exactly what happened.” A loud hiccup escaped her mouth.

She was pathetic and adorable, and he couldn’t bear to see her in so much distress. “I feel great now.”

Arching a brow, she took a moment to blow her nose again. “That’s just because you’re still under the effects of that medicine. You’re going to be stuck in that bed for days, and then you’ll be in a cast until Christmas.”

“But after that I’ll be able to walk, and probably without pain.”

“You don’t like to be stuck in bed.”

“It won’t be so bad, and since you’re stuck in the house as well, you can keep me company.”

“Stop being so nice to me.” Fresh tears leaked out of her eyes.

Stifling the urge to laugh, Zayne tilted his head. “Your face gets really blotchy when you cry, and when you blow your nose, you sound like a duck.”

“What?”

“You told me to stop being nice to you, but that’s the best I can come up with on such short notice.”

The tears stopped in an instant as Agatha raised the napkin and blew her nose again, lowering it a moment later. “You’re very strange sometimes.”

“True, and it seems I’m mistaken sometimes as well. You sound more like a goose than a duck when you blow your nose.”

The faintest hint of a grin flickered over Agatha’s face. “You really don’t have to be nice to me. It’s my fault you’re lying in that bed. If I’d simply left you back in Colorado, you’d—”

“I’d be digging in the dirt every day, by myself, without your charming company, and I wouldn’t be facing an optimistic future.” He smiled. “Besides, I like being nice to you occasionally. It makes for a pleasant change of pace.”

“You really are still under the effects of that medicine, aren’t you?”

Prying the napkin out of her hand, Zayne wiped the last of her tears away and smiled. “I can be nice when I set my mind to it.”

“You should hate me right about now.”

“We’re not discussing this further, and if you keep arguing with me, you’re bound to distress me, and I’ll have to tell Dr. Gessler, and then you’ll be in trouble.”

Giving another watery snort, Agatha got off the bed and returned to her chair. “Dr. Gessler really is very hopeful about your leg.”

“Which pleases me to no end, but enough about me and my leg. Tell me more about this person who almost killed both of us.”

To his relief, that had Agatha squaring her shoulders and color returning to her cheeks. “I don’t know anything. Mr. Blackheart has gone undercover, per Theodore’s request, and is even now trolling around the slums searching for information. No one on the street at the time of the attack could identify the driver, and no one saw where the carriage went after it almost ran us over. Theodore thinks it was a well-laid- out plan to kill me, even though it wasn’t quite successful, since I’m still alive.”

Zayne frowned. “What happened to Matilda? I remember the reason you ran into the street was to fetch her.”

“She’s fine, but she’s staying with my mother at the moment. Gloria made the huge mistake of serving ham the other day, and Matilda was inconsolable. When she kept trying to escape the house through any open door, my mother finally offered to take her back to her house.”

“You’re giving up a lot to stay here with me, aren’t you?”

Her red eyes widened. “Of course not. As I’ve said numerous times, it’s my fault you’re laid up, and if you really don’t mind my company, I’ll be more than happy to stay with you while you’re awake and help you pass the time.”

He refused to groan. “What do you mean, while I’m awake?”

“Did I say that?”

“Agatha . . . ?”

His eyes narrowed as she sent an all too obvious glance to the black box containing her whiskers and then looked back at him right before she began batting her wet lashes at him.

“Out with it,” he demanded.

“Out with what?”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have Mother summon Theodore, and then I’ll tell him you’re up to something, and I’ll have her summon Mr. Blackheart as well.”

“I wasn’t planning on trying to find who wants to kill me,” she said in a small voice.

“But?”

“I just thought, given that I know I’ll go crazy if I have to stay inside too long, that I would don a disguise and see if I could run Willie down.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Well, no, not yet, but again that is a distinct possibility if I’m stuck away here for too much longer.” She smiled. “I was planning on taking Drusilla with me, and . . . Did I mention the little fact that Drusilla isn’t just a paid companion? In fact, she’d never been a companion at all until she took up that position with me.” Her smile widened. “She works for Theodore, and she hasn’t admitted this to me yet, but I think she might have been a spy along with her husband when he was alive.”

“I had no idea,” Zayne began, before he realized exactly what Agatha was trying to do. “But we’ll have plenty of time to discuss Drusilla and her sneaky ways right after you promise me you won’t go looking for Willie.”

“You’re the one who said bringing him on to help you repair the mine was a good idea.”

“And I still think it’s a good idea, but how about if you agree to wait until I’m on my feet and then we’ll both go looking for him together.”

“That’ll be months from now.”

“I thought you said my cast might come off by Christmas?”

“Which is still months from now since it’s just mid-October.”

“I think your math’s a little sketchy.”

Wrinkling her nose, Agatha smiled. “But it would make such a wonderful early Christmas present for Willie if we could find him and you could make him the offer, and . . .”

Agatha continued pointing out all the reasons she should go out on her own to find Willie as Zayne simply stared at her. She was like a dog with a bone when she got something in her head, and she wasn’t easy to distract once she had a firm grip of that bone, which meant . . . he really was going to have to step in and save her from herself once and for all.

The only plausible way to do that, the only one that made any sense, was finding her a strong and sensible gentleman to keep her in line.

Swallowing past the sour taste that had immediately filled his mouth the moment his original plan flashed to mind, Zayne sorted through his limited options. Given his current condition, he wasn’t exactly able to go to any society events to handpick a beau for Agatha, but he could make use of his mother. Gloria was a fountain of information when it came to society matters. But she’d always been vocal in her desire to see him attached to Agatha, even when Helena had still been around, and that might be problematic. However, even his mother would have to realize, given the danger Agatha was in, that they needed to act quickly, and—

“Are you listening to me?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“What did I just say?”

“Drusilla’s a spy.”

“That was three topics ago.”

“Ah, well, no, I wasn’t listening.”

“There’ll be little point in my keeping you company if you’re not going to listen to what I have to say.”

By the snippy tone of her voice, it was clear she’d put her distress behind her and had returned to the Agatha he knew and enjoyed. No . . . he really shouldn’t dwell on how much he enjoyed her. He knew he wasn’t her perfect match, since he’d sworn off ladies forever. The perfect gentleman was out there—a gentleman who would keep her safe, who would shower her with so much attention she’d forget all about her ridiculous plans. All he had to do was locate that gentleman, or . . . maybe he’d already found him.

“Does Mr. Blackheart stop by here often?” he asked, causing her to frown.

“No, I haven’t seen him since the day after your accident. Why?”

Even though Mr. Blackheart had vehemently refused to consider forming a relationship other than a professional one with Agatha, he was a strong man, and he might, if Agatha found him somewhat agreeable, be convinced to change his mind about her—because who could resist Agatha?

“What do you think about him?”

“What?”

“Mr. Blackheart—do you find him attractive?”

“Maybe I should ring for the doctor.”

“I’m not suffering a relapse, Agatha. I’m just curious.”

“What I think of Mr. Blackheart is, well, complicated.”

“Ah, so you do find him attractive.”

Agatha got up and moved toward the door. “I’m going to go send for Dr. Gessler.” Without allowing him another chance to argue, she rushed from the room.

Blowing out a breath, he leaned back against the pillow. She wasn’t going to make things easy—that was evident. And since it might take more time than he’d first thought to cultivate his plan properly, he needed a way to distract her once again, a way that would keep her safe.

Satisfaction had him smiling as the perfect solution sprang to mind. She was even now on her way to summon Dr. Gessler because she thought he’d suffered a relapse. It was clear that the only solution available to him was what he and Mr. Blackheart had discussed before his accident. He was going to have to wholeheartedly embrace the role of an invalid.

Leaning forward as far as he could, he held his face close to the gas lamp on his bedside table, his smile widening when he felt his face heat. Footsteps clicking down the hallway had him back against the pillows, but not before he stuck his fingers into a glass of water someone had thoughtfully left for him. He flicked the water over his face and then realized he was still smiling. He’d only just pressed his lips into a firm line when Agatha walked back into the room.

“I sent off a note.”

“That might be best,” he whispered and then, for good measure, groaned.

Agatha was by his side in a heartbeat. “Zayne, what’s the matter?”

Not wanting to speak too much in case Agatha got suspicious, he let out another moan, dropped his head to the side, considered having his tongue loll out but then thought better of that, and settled for slumping into what he hoped would come across as a credible faint.