“And your heart?” he whispered.
“In your keeping,” she whispered back, their breaths mingling. She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “As it has been for longer than I care to remember.”
“Montague—”
“I don’t want him to die, but that doesn’t mean I love him.” She hesitated. “I never did.”
His sigh was heavy, one of relief, and his nose nudged hers. “I’m not ashamed to admit I’m glad.”
She wanted to remain in his embrace forever; she wanted to forget the rest of the world existed and lose herself in him. And, by the way his arm tightened around her, he wanted that, too.
But all too soon, Mrs Clayton’s frantic voice rang out, “The doctor is here!” and Theo could no longer forget.
“I won’t go upstairs,” she warned as Nathanial eased back. “I did this.”
He studied her face for a moment before nodding. “Then let us go.” His thumb rubbed her cheek one last time before he climbed stiffly to his feet. She followed, sliding her fingers through his. Together, they walked to the library.
Theo had expected a country doctor, more accustomed to dealing with farmers’ wives than gunshot wounds, but she encountered a thin, greying man with sharp eyes and a manner of calm command. He betrayed no surprise or alarm and wasted no time asking questions. Instead, he removed the bindings around Sir Montague’s stomach to reveal the wound.
It was just as Nathanial’s had been those weeks before. The flesh around the entry point was singed, and although it was no longer actively bleeding, it looked red and raw and pulverised.
“You may have been lucky,” the doctor said. “The bullet missed his stomach.”
“Will he survive?” Theo whispered. Nathanial squeezed her hand.
“If he wakes,” the doctor said dispassionately.
The hours seemed to pass slowly and yet too fast. With help, Nathanial and the doctor removed Sir Montague to a bed, and the doctor assured them he would remain until the morning. With nothing further to do, and exhausted, Theo and Nathanial retired to bed. They lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the reality of what she had done colouring their every thought.
“If he dies, will I need to flee?” she whispered against Nathanial’s chest.
“No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I will not allow it.”
Theo pressed her nose against his neck and his arm tightened around her waist. “You cannot force the law to bend to your will.”
“If it comes to court, and it will not, I will ensure that the world knows what Sir Montague attempted to do to you. They will be lenient.”
“What about Sir Montague?” she asked. “If he survives.”
“He will leave the country and never return.”
She nodded. That seemed fair. Closing her eyes, safe in Nathanial’s arms, she attempted to get some sleep.
As dawn glowed its promise on the horizon, a knock sounded at their door. “Forgive me for waking you,” Mrs Clayton said, “but Sir Montague is awake.”
Theo’s heart jumped into her mouth, but she and Nathanial said nothing as they threw robes over their nightwear and hurried into Sir Montague’s room.
Just as Mrs Clayton had promised, Sir Montague was awake. At their entry, his eyelids fluttered. “The devil’s in my gut,” he rasped.
Nathanial turned to the doctor. “How is he?”
“Recovering, sir. It will be a slow process.”
“Thank you. You may go now and rest. We will send for you if his condition changes.”
