“Did you think he would be writhing in the bedsheets?” Francis asked flatly. He turned back to his book without waiting for an answer.
Francis was still being cold to Lindsay, and Lindsay hated it.
“It has been two days,” Lindsay said. “I thought he would have woken by now.”
“It takes as long as it takes,” Francis replied without looking up.
It went on for another full day and night. Finally, though, on Friday morning, Drew woke.
Lindsay was sleeping in the parlour on a makeshift bed Wynne had made up for him the night before. Until then, he’d spent every moment at Drew’s bedside, catnapping in his chair only when exhaustion completely swamped him. But when Francis had pointed out he was talking gibberish and would need to rest if he was going to be able to deal with Drew’s questions when the man finally came around, he’d allowed himself to be guided into the parlour by Wynne and Francis and put to bed.
It was early the next morning and he was sound asleep when his dreams were disturbed by a creaking sound. He blinked his eyes open to see the door opening and a face appeared in the crack. Wynne.
Lindsay yawned, raising himself up on one elbow. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock,” Wynne said, venturing into the room. He looked nervous.
“God, did I really sleep nine hours?” Lindsay rubbed his hand over his eyes.
“Yes—and you’ll be pleased to hear that while you were resting, Mr. Nicol woke up.”
“What?” Lindsay exclaimed, sitting up. “When?”
“Briefly last night—just for a few minutes—then around an hour ago properly.”
Lindsay was on his feet and pulling on his breeches. “For God’s sake,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you wake me as soon as it happened?”
“With respect, sir, you needed to sleep,” Wynne said calmly, his gaze on the floor. “Mr. Neville and I were in agreement on that.”
“But—Oh, Christ, He must be so confused, wondering what’s happened—Wynne, where’s my shirt?”
“Here, sir,” Wynne said, handing him a bundle of white lawn. “And it’s all right—Mr. Neville has been sitting with Mr. Nicol since he woke. I believe he’s been able to answer most of his questions.”
Lindsay just stared at Wynne, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. He had wanted to be there when Drew first woke. Had wanted to be the one to explain things to him. Wynne paled at whatever he saw on Lindsay’s face, muttered an apology, and fled.
Yanking on the shirt, Lindsay tucked the long tails inside his breeches and strode out after him He burst into his bedchamber, entirely forgetting to knock in his rush to see Drew, who lay in bed, his body raised into a sitting position by a pile of pillows.
Drew startled at Lindsay’s entrance, his expression hardening when he saw who it was.
“Lindsay.” That was Francis. He was sitting on the chair beside the bed. Where Lindsay should have been. Jealousy burned in his gut.
Lindsay’s gaze shifted between them. “Does he know?” he asked at last. He directed the question at Francis, but it was Drew who answered.
“Does he know what?” Drew countered angrily. “What I am now? What you’vemademe?”
Lindsay’s heart sank at the broken fury in his voice.
“I’ll let you speak privately,” Francis murmured, rising. As he passed Lindsay, he touched his elbow, a simple gesture of support which Lindsay was pathetically grateful for. And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Lindsay stared at Drew, lying there, at his long rangy body and that handsome, grim face, the beautiful mouth pressed into an unhappy line. He was still pale, still healing, but he was strong with life now. Perhaps more than ever before.
Quietly Lindsay said, “I had to do something. You were dying.”
“You should haveletme die.”
Lindsay rubbed his chest, trying to ease the pain that comment provoked. “Don’t say that,” he muttered.
“Why not? It’s what would have happened if you hadn’t intervened. If you’d let nature take its course.” Drew met his gaze and his own was anguished. “What did I ever say to you to suggest I’d havechosenthis?”
