“I’m here, Your Royal Highness.” Her voice wrapped around him, soothing him.
“I need to see you,” he muttered.
What he didn’t need was a damned footman in her place.
Their procession stumbled to a bed.
Excellent, because that was where he wanted to be with Miss Brett most. Except she wasn’t joining him there, because the bloody footman and Bruno were in the way. Also, his boots. And the rest of his clothes.
“Miss Brett, I need you,” he rasped, the world going sideways as he was tipped into the bed in none-too-gentle fashion.
Or perhaps he fell. He couldn’t be certain. Everything was growing dim and faint at the edges.
Thankfully, he didn’t land on his wounded arm. He huffed out another bark of pain at the jostling.
“Be careful with him, gentlemen,” Miss Brett was chiding.
She was still here. Thank Deus. It seemed to him that he couldn’t draw another breath without her. Everything was painful and jumbled. She was the sole source of comfort; not even Bruno’s familiar presence at his side held sufficient weight.
With his uninjured hand, he reached for her.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged.
She took his bloodstained hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.
“I’m here, Your Royal Highness,” she said, before looking to Bruno. “A fresh cloth, please. He’s bleeding through this one.”
She was still holding something to his wound, staving off the flow of blood, he realized. Miss Brett had more fortitude than he’d even supposed, and he found himself absurdly proud of that realization.
“Nando,” he told her, his eyelids growing heavier by the moment. “I insist.”
His eyes slipped closed. He heard her voice as if from afar.
“Stay with me.”
But there was an inviting pull of darkness clawing at him, growing ever more difficult to resist. He wanted to stay with Miss Brett as she had asked. But he also wanted to go. He was weary. Tired.
So very tired.
He fell into the blackness to the soft sound of her voice, the searing pain in his arm, and the comforting sensation of her hand in his.
“Doyou think His Royal Highness will survive?” Princess Emmaline asked, her countenance stricken, her voice subdued.
Hours had passed since the mayhem of the afternoon, when Prince Ferdinando had been wounded. The princesses had long since returned from their shopping expedition to find the house in an uproar. After changing into fresh garments, Eleanora had joined Princess Emmaline, Princess Annalise, and their older sister Princess Anastasia in the drawing room at the latter’s behest.
Like almost every other female in his vicinity, Princess Emmaline had been easily charmed by Prince Ferdinando. She was smitten with him, Eleanora suspected. Princess Annalise was no different. They were both easy prey for a man so potently seductive, his every smile crafted to woo, his voice like sin, his charm as easy as it was undeniable, the words that left his tongue pure flirtation, a blatant invitation to be wicked.
As wild and wayward as the Boritanian royals were, they were kindhearted girls, every bit as lovely on the inside as they were on the outside. Eleanora didn’t doubt the veracity of their concern for the prince.
Nor did she question the precariousness of his current circumstances.
He’d been shot, and he’d lost a great deal of blood.
An alarming amount.
Dr. Crisfield was a preeminent physician, and he had arrived posthaste. His work had been calm and efficient. Eleanora could find no fault with the care His Royal Highness had received. But although the bullet had narrowly avoided shattering bone,Prince Ferdinando was not by any means assured of a swift convalescence.
He’d been so pale and still when she had finally forced herself to leave his side, her garments stained red, her heart heavy with worry. Her experience in the sickroom, coupled with her proximity, had rendered her an easy option for assisting Dr. Crisfield when he had arrived. The prince’s guard had poured enough laudanum down his throat to render him complacent for the serious nature of the surgery that had followed. Eleanora had remained for the grueling procedure, hating when the prince stirred and moaned, knowing how dangerous the days awaiting him would prove.
