Stitches, he had said.
“W-what happened?” she managed.
His gaze searched hers, and she couldn’t help but note the dark circles marring the skin beneath his eyes. “What do you remember?”
She forced her tired mind to think. “There was a man with a pistol. H-he was going to shoot you. Who was he?”
Nando’s jaw tightened as he offered her another small sip of water from the cup. “He was the Earl of Levering. On my previous trip to England, I am ashamed to admit that I dallied with his wife. Levering demanded a duel to satisfy his honor, but my brother Maxim offered him a fortune instead, and Levering accepted. I believed all was forgotten, and when I returned to England, I made certain to avoid crossing paths with the countess.”
Eleanora savored her small sip of water, swallowing it, but sensed that there was far more to Nando’s story than what he had thus far revealed. “All was not forgotten, however?”
“No,” he confirmed, grimmer than she had ever seen him. “The fortune wasn’t sufficient, particularly when the countess informed her husband that she was with child and he wasn’t the father. That…that I was.”
Shock hit her with such force that she jolted, the movement causing pain to streak through her. She gasped sharply, stiffening.
“You must remain as still as you are able,” Nando cautioned tenderly. “I am sorry to give you such a start. It’s not true, Eleanora. I’m not the father of her child. She’s clearly taken another lover, and in an effort to protect him, she told Levering I was the one responsible. He went mad with fury and has been intent upon killing me.”
Horror replaced the pain, making her hand tremble as she reached for him. “He was the one who shot at you before?”
Nando took her right hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a reverent kiss. “He was, and so you see, my love, everything that’s happened…it’s my fault. All of it. It’s my fault you were shot and nearly killed, and I’ll never forgive myself.”
Her heart ached for him. “You cannot blame yourself.”
His expression was forbidding. “I can, and I must. It was my conduct that caused the association between Levering andmyself. Before I left Tierney’s town house, he warned me that there was evidence to suggest Levering was responsible for the attempt on my life. But I was selfish and restless, and I wanted you here to myself. I brought you into danger, Eleanora. Don’t you see? Iamto blame.”
“You couldn’t have known what Levering was capable of,” she argued, wanting to reassure him. “Besides, you saved me, Nando. When he pointed the pistol at me, you attacked him with the fire poker, making him jerk his aim to the side. If you hadn’t acted, I would have been shot through the heart instead of the shoulder.”
He kissed her knuckles again, smiling sadly. “How like you to believe me chivalrous. I can assure you, your faith is misplaced. You never should have been shot to begin with, and I’ll never forgive myself for causing you even a moment of pain.”
She was growing weary again. Eleanora didn’t like his dour mien or his insistence upon shouldering responsibility for the acts of a madman. But she would argue with him later, when she had more strength. For now, there was only one thing she wanted to know.
“What’s happened to Levering?” she asked.
“He’s been arrested and taken away to pay for his crimes,” Nando said.
Calm crept over her.
“You’re safe, then?”
Nando nodded, giving her fingers a squeeze. “And so are you. Levering will never hurt you again.”
She managed a faint smile, her eyelids growing heavy. “Good.”
And then she fell back into the abyss.
One weekafter Eleanora had been wounded, Nando found himself grimly pacing the hall once more as Dr. Crisfield examined her. This time, it was a different hall, for she had finally gained enough strength that Nando had felt comfortable carrying her to her own bedroom. His heart was pounding faster than if he had raced up and down the town house’s staircase ten times over.
She was going to live. He knew that. At least, he felt that, given her gradual convalescence. Infection had, thus far, been avoided. Each day, she regained more of her strength. The wound she had endured had been deeper than the graze he had suffered at the hands of Levering. Her recuperation was taking longer, given the nature of her injury.
But she would live. Thank the heavens above, she wouldlive.
No thanks to him, and he intended to begin his penance soon. He was going to leave her. In the days that followed her wounding, he had remained at her side, tending to her, scarcely sleeping, helping her to bathe, to eat. When nightmares made her cry out, he slipped into bed with her, tucking her body gently against his, and holding her. Watching her so wan and unlike herself, in so much pain, was akin to a dagger in the heart. And when he cleansed the wound on her shoulder, bandaging it as the physician had taught him, he had told himself each time that he must atone for his sins.
That he was no good for anyone. He was reckless, selfish, greedy, and—worst of all—foolish. He had allowed the woman he loved to be nearly killed. And now, he would give her everything he could to make certain she thrived without the encumbranceof his ne’er-do-well idiocy. The town house would be hers, along with the entirety of his fortune that was his to give.
And an annulment.
It had taken him some time to realize that, much like hasty weddings in England, annulments were nearly impossible. He would obtain one in Varros when he returned. No one would deny Prince Ferdinando of the House of Tayrnes in his own kingdom. There, he could do whatever he pleased.
