That was true. But it also didn’t mean Jasper wasn’t out of his damned mind with worry and fear. His wife had been attacked. She had been cut. The sight of her, pale and bleeding, had nearly brought him to his knees.
“I won’t stop pacing until I can see and touch Octavia.”
Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”
No amount of reassurance would convince Jasper of that. He longed to cry and rage, to hit something with his fists. But that would solve nothing.
“The girls?” he asked his brother, for the mayhem in the house had roused everyone from their beds.
“Doing well under the care of Miss Wren,” Rafe said.
Jasper paced the length of the hall once more. “And what of Tess?”
“The charleys took ‘er away,” his brother responded.
“Did you find any answers about the man who saved Octavia?” he asked next, trying to distract himself from his intense worry over the length of time the surgeon was taking to stitch his wife’s wound.
“Butler says ‘e appeared out of nowhere,” Rafe said. “Like a ghost. Looked like you. Shot Tess when she was coming after Octavia, and then disappeared same way ‘e came.”
A ghost who looked like him.
Jasper refused to believe it.
“It must have been one of the servants,” he said.
“Or it was Loge,” Rafe offered. “Think on it, Jasper.”
“Ghosts ain’t real,” he snapped.
What was real, however, was that Tess had attacked Octavia. She had deliberately led him away to The Sinner’s Palace, determined to murder his wife. He would never forgive himself for falling into her trap. Nor for failing to see the threat she represented to those he loved. It had been Tess who started the fire that burned The Sinner’s Palace II, Tess who had been attempting to hire someone to kill Octavia in the delusional belief that doing so would bring Anne and Elizabeth back to her. And then, she had decided to take matters into her own hands.
She was a madwoman. But thankfully, she could do no more harm to anyone he loved.
“I swear to you that I saw ‘im,” Rafe pressed.
Before Jasper could respond, the door to the chamber opened at last, and the surgeon stepped into the hall. Jasper ordered his dogs to sit and stay, and they did, Barnaby offering a sneeze and Motley a whine in protest. Drunkard barked. They had been sleeping in the nursery when Octavia had been attacked, but they had been as desperate as he was to be by her side ever since she had been taken from their sight.
“You may see Mrs. Sutton now,” the surgeon announced. “I’ve administered some laudanum to ease the pain, but she is awake.”
Jasper was already moving past him. Crossing the threshold and traveling as fast as his legs would allow.
Not stopping until he was there at her side.
She was pale, but she offered him a wan smile. The wound on her neck had been bandaged. Alive. Thank Christ she was alive.
He sank onto the bed at her side, resisting the urge to haul her into his arms for fear he would cause her further pain. “Octavia.”
“Jasper.” She sounded tired, and her eyes were heavy-lidded, but otherwise very much like herself. She reached for his hand.
Her touch was a balm to the agonizing fear and worry which had been eating him alive. She had survived the attack. She was still here, still with him.
He bowed his head, pressed a reverent kiss to the soft skin of her wrist above where her pulse beat, steady and sure. “Thank God you are alive.”
“She wanted to kill me, Jasper.”
He closed his eyes against a stinging rush of agony. “I know. I am so sorry I left you alone. If I’d known, I never would—”
“Hush,” she interrupted. “Of course you did not know.”