“One way or another, you must see him, Miss McKenna,” Hazel said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “But please know you are safe and welcome here at Lark House. If you will excuse me, I must send for the doctor so he can have a look at you now that you are awake.”
With those parting words, the duchess rose to her commanding height and swept from the room with a regal elegance that belied her dress. For once she had stood, Johanna noted Hazel was wearing billowing trousers beneath her bodice. It had not been a gown she wore after all.
Here was another lesson that, like so many other things in life, all was not always as it seemed. But the fear inside her would not abate. And Johanna was not willing to give Felix the benefit of her doubt.
Instead, she would cling to her rage.
“How dare youcome in here, Your Grace?” Johanna demanded, her voice vibrating with quiet fury.
The Duchess of Arden had warned him, of course, that the woman he loved had no wish to see him. That she had accused him of lying to her, which he had. That she had said he was responsible for her arrest by the CID, which he was. That she claimed she was not his betrothed at all.
Which she most decidedly—and to his great consternation—was not.
Thankfully, the clout he possessed within the Home Office had been enough to grant her a reprieve in the wake of the bombing and to keep her from the dank walls of a prison cell. He would do everything in his power to see that she remained free. And safe.
Everything.
Because he loved her.
God, how he loved the woman before him, the one spitting rancor and fire from her lips and her eyes. The one looking upon him now as if he were a lowly worm who had dared to cross her path.
She was not wrong in that assessment. For he felt like a worm for keeping the truth from her. He had not left her side from the time she had been pulled from the rubble of the Scotland Yard offices, bleeding from the head and insensate, and a few hours before when the duchess had demanded he seek a respite.
It had only been the need to stay strong for Johanna which had prompted him to retire to a guest chamber and attempt to nap. But sleep had not been forthcoming. He had lain in the bed, thinking of her, worrying over her.
Wondering when she would wake.
Wondering if she would wake.
“How do you feel?” he asked her instead of answering her brutal query.
She was wan, a bandage wrapped around her head, and scratches on her cheeks. But she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did then. She was alive. Awake and alive, thank God.
She was also angry with him, it was clear. What Ravenhurst had revealed to her remained to be seen. But he suspected it was everything, and in damning detail.
“I feel as if a roof fell upon my head,” she said, still cold and pale, so unlike the laughing, vibrant, openhearted woman he had come to know. “And as if the man I believed loved me betrayed me in the cruelest fashion possible.”
That hit him where he deserved it. With the force of a blow. But she could not be further from the truth.
“I do love you,” he said, moving closer, drawn to her as a magnet though she was furious with him.
He needed to touch her. To prove to himself that she was real. The fear of losing her had been so tremendous, it had almost broken him. It had only been thoughts of Verity and of needing to see Johanna through this time of trial which had kept him going.
“Do not dare to mock me with more of your lies,” she said, her voice bearing the lash and sting of a whip.
“I would never lie to you about the way I feel for you, Johanna,” he said, closing the rest of the distance between them and folding himself into the chair at her bedside where he had spent so many listless, worried hours.
“Whatwouldyou lie to me about?” she asked, her tone tart. Unforgiving and icy. “Everything else?”
“No,” he denied, clenching his fists to keep from touching her. Seeing her alive, her face etched with pain, her complexion ashen, filled him with such an immense sense of relief, that it was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms. Simply holding her to him, feeling the reassuring beat of her heart against his chest.
“Then you deny lying to me about who you were from the moment we met?”
Her voice was weakening, and he could plainly see the strain in her countenance. She had suffered a blow to the head when the Scotland Yard offices had come crashing down in the wake of the bombing. And numerous other injuries as well.
“You are unwell, Johanna,” he said, hoping she would let the matter rest until she was at least somewhat healed. “Let us speak about this another day. For now, the most important thing is that you are awake. The doctor will examine you when he arrives, and I expect he will order some broth and rest.”
How he wished his only concern was her welfare and recovery from the traumatic injuries she had sustained. But in truth, it was only a small part of the battle in this massive war they fought. He needed to keep her from prison, to keep her safe from her brother’s wrath, to convince her she could believe in him… The list was as daunting as it was endless.
