“Richard?”
Relief slammed into him, and he ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Don’t move,” he murmured as she stirred.
“I hurt…my heart hurts.” A faint whisper escaped her lips, and a tear leaked from beneath her closed lids.
“Evie, forgive me.”
She fidgeted and seemed agitated. Sweat was pouring from her in torrents. Instinctively he got into the bed next to her, hoping to calm her. He cradled her in his arms, and she quieted. He held her for the longest time, simply recalling the sense of peace and contentment he’d always enjoyed in her presence, and the quick, joyous smile she’d always given him whenever she saw him. Evie would be well, even if he had to bargain with the devil himself. He stared at the canopy overhead, not daring to shift, even when his shoulder started to cramp in discomfort. Instead, he held himself still, careful not to disturb her fitful slumber, and sank his thoughts deep into his well of memories of her, where only laughter, sweetness, kindness, and passion resided.
A soft murmur stirred him. He opened his eyes to look at the top of her head. She was still nestled in his arms. Her skin was cool and clammy. Her fever had broken.
She shifted her head, and he could now see her perfect face. A smile twisted his lips as he thought how beautiful and peaceful she looked. The worst has passed. Her lids flickered open, and when she saw him, her breath hitched, and tears ran down her cheeks. She pierced his soul with the pain in her eyes. He had been the one to put those torturing shadows there.
You’ve broken me…
And at that moment, he understood how he had betrayed the gentle trust and love she had always had in him. It wasn’t just her love he had damaged; he’d broken her trust, her pride, her naivety. It gutted him to think of her heart growing cold and distant, detached from the very notion of love as how he had been fashioned after Aurelia. “Forgive me,” he rasped. “I…Evie…”
She tried pushing him away from her, but she hadn’t the strength. “Go away,” she croaked weakly, her lids once again fluttering closed, and her chest rising, this time with even breaths.
Gritting his teeth against the agony lancing through him, he nodded firmly, slid from the bed, and went downstairs. Evie was spared, she was given a second chance so he could give her all the love he had withheld these past six years. He was in love with her, his best friend, and despite all the complications of his life, he would make it work because he knew she loved him in return. He only hoped the damage of his actions could be undone.
He arrived at the parlor where her family and the duke and duchess had gathered.
Adel glanced up with a smile. “Dr. Greaves is on his way. Edmond has sent a carriage for him at the coaching inn. He will be here in less than an hour.”
Richard nodded. “Her fever has broken.”
There was a flurry of movement as everyone lurched to their feet. “Are you certain?” her father demanded gruffly.
“I am.” Then without waiting, he turned and left.
He couldn’t imagine her forgiving him, but he had to try. He would be a damned fool to know he loved her so much, and not do everything in his power to reclaim her love and melt the wall of ice she was already erecting around her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks had passed since Evie had woken to see the worried faces of her family peering down at her, and to learn the ton was celebrating another scandal: her dreadful and ill-conceived kidnapping of Richard, or the bit they knew—being caught alone with him. The scandal of it had been too much for her mother, who had suffered several fainting spells. The doorknocker to their townhouse had been removed as if the family was out of town. Papa had thought it wise to withdraw from town to their smaller estate in Derbyshire. Even then, some of society still had found it necessary to call upon them.
She had regained her strength in the week of bed rest that had been forced upon her by a fretting mother, and she had since spent most of her days baking in the kitchens and riding across the lanes of their manor in quiet introspection and avoiding curious callers, only admitting a few friends. The Christmas season was bearing down on them, and Evie felt little cheer in her heart to help her mother prepare for their annual festive ball. She was making an effort for them and was quite determined to present a pleasant if not overly happy countenance. Anything to hide the pain inside her that grew daily, instead of abating. The door to the parlor opened, and she glanced up, arching a brow at the puckered frown on her mother’s face.
“What is it, Mamma?” Evie asked, pushing aside the diary in which she recorded her experiments in the kitchen.
“There is a letter from Kencourt Manor,” she said, her lips pinching.
“Thank you, Mamma.” She opened the drawer to the small writing desk, took up the letter opener, and slit along the elegant seal. A quick scan of the contents pulled a smile to her lips.
Dear Lady Evie,
I’m happy to come to tea. May I bring Jack with me? And my books? We shall read my stories.
Emily
“And who is it from?” her mother queried archly, sitting on the crème colored sofa closest to Evie.
She folded the correspondence and braced against her mother’s reaction. “It is from Lady Emily. I sent a note last week inviting her to tea. I’ve just received her reply.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Emily, Mamma. She is Lord Westfall’s daughter. She is full of charm and wit. She has the eyes of her father, and his smile…”