On some level, he understood his fear was illogical. The doctor had warned that Brianna might sleep straight through until morning. And even if she were awake, she was far too weak to leave the bed.
That, however, could not ease the panic clutching his heart.
There was the sound of someone entering the outer chamber and the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, making Edmond’s stomach clench with hunger. Throughout the day, Vanya had sent an endless parade of servants with trays to try and tempt him, even going so far as to personally deliver a warm plate of his favorite plum pudding; it had grown cold on the bedside table.
Now he waited in resignation for yet another lecture, his brows arching in exhausted surprise when a gaunt, silver-haired gentleman, rather than his concerned hostess, appeared in the doorway.
“How is she?” Herrick Gerhardt inquired.
Edmond’s gaze skimmed over Brianna’s pale profile, lingering
on the thick sweep of lashes that lay against her cheek.
“So long as there is no infection, the doctor is confident that the wound will heal within a few weeks.”
“Did he also claim that she cannot heal unless you are hovering about her like a mother hen?” Herrick demanded dryly.
Rising to his feet, Edmond rubbed the knotted muscles of his neck. “What do you want, Herrick?”
“I thought you might be anxious to know what occurred with Grigori and the others.”
“Considering there are no pitched battles in the streets, I presume you managed to halt the revolution.”
“Ah, well, if you have no interest…”
“Wait.”
With a deep sigh, Edmond bent downward to place a gentle kiss on Brianna’s brow. Straightening, he moved to steer Herrick back into the sitting room. Bypassing the tray that was set on a table near the porcelain stove, Edmond instead poured himself a large measure of brandy and tossed it down his throat.
“Tell me what happened,” he commanded.
With a faint smile, Herrick moved to pluck the glass from Edmond’s hand and firmly pressed him into the chair beside the tray.
“Eat.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Perhaps not, but you will do Miss Quinn no good if you collapse from starvation.” Herrick pointed a finger toward the bowl of savory stew. “Now eat.”
“Now who is behaving like a mother hen?” he muttered, even as he reached for the spoon.
He methodically consumed the savory stew and thickly sliced bread spread with honey, which did not offer the numbing warmth of the brandy, but did help to clear the thick fog from his mind.
At last pushing away the tray, he leaned back in his chair and regarded Herrick with a narrowed gaze.
“Tell me what happened.”
The older gentleman allowed a grim smile to curve his lips. “Thanks to your warning, I managed to capture Grigori Rimsky before he reached his barracks.”
“Does he still live?”
“There was a rather ugly brawl that included a busted nose and several broken bones, but he still breathes.” The smile widened with anticipation. “At least until Alexander Pavlovich returns.”
Edmond rose to his feet to pour another glass of the brandy. His entire body ached with weariness, but he could not allow himself to relax. Not so long as Brianna might have need of him.
“I never doubted for a moment you would manage to apprehend the villains without incident.”
Herrick grimaced. “Actually, it was not entirely without incident.”