Bellamy tried to sit up even more. He needed to find Zaira to see if she was okay. But as soon as he elevated himself again, both pain and dizziness slammed into him so that he felt he might be sick to his stomach.
“Bellamy?” Her voice echoed from a distance.
He shifted to watch her slip through the outer door and start running toward him, her hair unbound and flowing about her in long, flaming waves.
As she drew nearer, the doctor stood and moved aside. The lantern light fell over Zaira, highlighting her beauty—the delicate lines in her face, her wide eyes, the elegant curves of her body. She had such a determined stride, such a confident way of holding herself, such a spark of life.
He loved every part of her, and he suddenly wanted to pull out a blank canvas and spend the day painting her. He had the feeling that even if he painted her portrait every day for the rest of her life, he still wouldn’t be able to capture everything about her. She was an endless source of beauty and inspiration.
In the next instant, she was kneeling beside him. “How are you feeling?” She grasped his hand and held it tightly.
“I’ll survive.” He tried to assess her, but she was leaning over him and had cupped one of his cheeks.
Her face hovered above his, her eyes worried. “Are you in a great deal of pain?”
He shook his head. Even though the doctor had given him some laudanum, his shoulder still throbbed. But that didn’t matter. All he cared about was that she was unharmed. “Did he hurt you?” He managed to get the question out even though each word felt heavy.
“I’ll survive.” Her words were soft and teasing and followed by a slow smile, one he wanted to kiss.
If only he had the strength to do so. But he was weaker than he’d realized, and his head thudded back to the floor and his lashes fell closed again.
Oh aye, he loved every part of her. Every single part. He didn’t know why he’d resisted her for so long, why he’d been opposed to having a relationship with her, why he’d fought against his feelings for her. Why had he, when all hewanted to do was pull her into his arms and have her for the rest of his life?
Somewhere in his jumble of thoughts, he knew there was a reason why they couldn’t be together, why he’d worked so hard to keep his distance from her. But he couldn’t think of one thing about her he didn’t like.
The truth was so obvious. He loved her, and he couldn’t imagine ever loving any other woman the way he did her.
“Bellamy,” came the stern voice of James Shanahan from behind Zaira.
Bellamy pried open his eyes to find Zaira’s worried face still above his.
“Bellamy, son,” Mr. Shanahan called again.
Bellamy tried to find the red-haired man, but his vision blurred, and his consciousness began to fade.
“Prepare yourself for a wedding.” Mr. Shanahan spoke loudly. “You’ll be marrying Zaira just as soon as it can be arranged.”
He thought he heard Zaira’s protest, but blackness claimed him, taking him to a land where there was nothing but emptiness.
Bellamy stirred, and as he did so, he could feel the firmness of a mattress beneath him. The silkiness of sheets surrounded him, and a feather-stuffed pillow cushioned his head. The quality was too fine to belong to his family, which meant only one thing. He was at the Shanahans’.
“I’m sorry for deceiving you both.” Zaira’s voice came from beside him, and he guessed she was sitting in a bedsidechair. A decidedly feminine scent wafted in the air and in the linens, and he guessed he was probably in Zaira’s room.
“Your apology won’t fix the mistake.” Kiernan’s voice dropped low and was edged with frustration.
“But we can put an end to that right now.” The harshly spoken statement came from James Shanahan.
Bellamy tried to pry open an eye, but he felt groggy and his body heavy.
“Da, please,” Zaira responded. “Try to understand—”
“No, you need to understand,” Mr. Shanahan spoke forcefully. “This sort of behavior is inappropriate for a young woman, and you’ll be stopping this immediately.”
What was Mr. Shanahan referring to? Were they discussing the inappropriateness of two young unmarried people staying the night together? Surely the two knew by now that he and Zaira hadn’t done so intentionally and that their time together had been innocent—except for one long and excellent kiss.
Obviously no one knew about the kiss, and even if Mr. Shanahan or Kiernan had discovered it, how could they condemn one kiss? Especially because he and Zaira were engaged?
“What if I don’t want to stop?” Zaira’s question held a note of boldness that Bellamy hadn’t heard her use with her da before. What was she saying, that she didn’t want to stop being with him? Was she growing to care about him too?
