“The Duke of Falcon wanted me to assure you that he’ll be fine.” A fond smile touches his lips, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “He made me promise to deliver that message to you. Wanted it done before surgery, but time was of the essence. We compromised. You were to be the first person I spoke with after I patched him up. His exact words were that you’re the light keeping him from letting the darkness win.”
My legs fail me, and I stumble. Thankfully, Esteban is there to make sure I don’t land flat on my face.
“He said that?”
“Yes, miss. His tone was firm, his words absolute.” The doctor takes a seat in an empty chair and addresses the couple standing rigid in the doorway. “You must be the duke’s parents.”
“We are.” The woman’s voice, sharp and clear, cut over the man’s quiet murmur beside her. “I am the Duchess Geneva Falcon Blomquist. This is my husband, Earl Horton Blomquist, Darius’ stepfather. I’m sure his father?—”
“Is right here.” Another man struts in. He looks at the other man standing next to Geneva and nods. “Brother.”
Looking at the surgeon, he introduces himself. “Marquis Julius Falcon. Please tell us how our son is doing.”
Darius told me stories about his family. Wild ones. At the time they sounded farfetched, like some soap opera storyline. But after watching Julius lean in and kiss Geneva’s cheek whilethe earl just stands there—yeah, no exaggeration. Both men flank each side of the Duchess, like she belongs to them. Like it’s normal.
Interesting. To each their own. Who the hell am I to judge? My family isn’t exactly perfect.
I flick my gaze over at Winifred. The look on her face tells me she’s doing the math, and it’s not making sense.
“Don’t try to figure it out,” I whisper. “It’s way more complicated than one can fathom. The shame Darius feels over his family’s traditions runs so deep, he’s severed himself from the family business entirely.”
She nods her understanding, and before she can ask more; the doctor begins.
“He lost a lot of blood. A transfusion was necessary. Fortunately, he had a pint of his own blood readily available. In his line of work, he felt he might need it, so he made regular deposits.” He looks at the Duchess as if knowing she’s going to react badly to his next words. “However, we had to give him more than one pint.”
“No.” His mother gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide with shock, and she almost faints. “Mixing his blood with someone else’s… now he’s tainted.”
What the hell?
This must be about the bloodline bullshit his sister mentioned. How it’s forbidden to mix Falcon blood with those who don’t make the cut.
No wonder she keeps glaring at me. To her, I’m the evil one daring to touch her precious son.
Wait until she hears I love him. I bet she throws a gigantic tantrum, much like the ones my mother has thrown when she didn’t get her way.
Unsurprised by the duchess’s absurd statement, the doctor shakes his head. “The bullet missed his heart. However, itnicked one of his major arteries. I repaired it with no issues and don’t expect it to slow him down much once he has fully recovered. But that will take at least four weeks. He should refrain from any form of strenuous activity during that time. No stress. No exercise. No sex.”
He glances at me, humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I need you to make sure he follows my orders. He claims two out of the three are feasible, but the third…” his smile spreads, “will happen as soon as he’s well enough to leave the hospital.”
“I don’t know why he...” I shrink in my chair, blushing severely from embarrassment. If he were here, I’d strangle him for sharing those plans with the doctor. “I’ll remind him you said four weeks. Not a moment sooner. He’s waited this long, so four more should be a walk in the park.”
Reaching into his coat pocket, the doctor hands me a sealed envelope. “This is for you. You are not to open it, only keep it safe for him.”
With trembling hands, I accept the envelope, my fingers tracing the lump inside. Tears pool in my eyes blurring at the edges. “He’s really going to be okay?”
“He’s going to be okay.” The sincerity in his voice should make me feel better, but I won’t feel better until I can see him for myself. “A nurse will come when we get him settled in a private room.”
With that, the doctor shakes all our hands and then disappears down the hall.
I turn to my friend. “I’m going to step outside for a moment.”
“Want me to join you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I need some air. I’ll be fine.”
She squeezes my hand in silent support and nods.
Once outside, I find a bench facing away from the entrance and sit. Relief crashes over me like a storm. Tears flood my eyes and trail down my cheeks. The image of him on the floor in apool of his own blood will haunt me forever. I thought I’d lost him. But I haven’t. Thank God. I refuse to let this moment pass me by. As soon as he wakes, I’m telling him how I feel. Make him explain what the hell’s in this envelope and what it means.
