When he moaned in pain, she dabbed a wet cloth at his clammy forehead, wishing she could have given him some laudanum—or, at the very least, a few sips of willowbark tea.
Sometimes, he’d mumble in his sleep and Amelia couldn’t help but wonder if his dreams could be as dark as his past. A past, she realized, that was likely worse than most people’s nightmares.
And although fatigue tugged at her, she couldn’t sleep. He was hers to care for—her responsibility. No, not her responsibility.
He was simply,hers. At least for tonight.
A thousand soldiers couldn’t have dragged her from his side. By the time a hint of light crept through the windows, he seemed to be resting more peacefully.
The servants would be up and about soon. Fanny, perhaps, would be bringing him coffee.
Amelia dropped her gaze to the ridiculously frivolous garment she’d donned for her mission. There were a few stains from the liniment. She hardly noticed the vinegar smell by now, but Fanny would. Or Bessie.
Or anyone who might come into Mr. Beckworth’s chamber.
Conceding that she couldn’t just sit in here forever, she rose. Her limbs were stiff and, putting off leaving him, she took a few minutes to stretch and then tidied up the cloths she’d used earlier.
Once she was done with that, she returned to his bedside.
His chest rose and fell evenly. She should go.
She really needed to go.
But her feet wouldn’t move. Not until after she’d leaned over him and brushed her lips across his uninjured cheek.
“Amelia…” He trailed off into incoherent whispers.
“You’re going to be just fine, Mr. Beckworth,” she said. “Rest up for now.”
THE CELLAR
Burrowed under the counterpane, Amelia was only vaguely aware of the sound of a door closing. It was the shuffling that actually pricked her awake.
She opened her eyes just enough to see Fanny glancing over at her as she set a large tray on the table. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to wake you, my lady.”
Blinking the haze of sleep from her sticky eyes, Amelia was surprised to see bright sunlight streaming in through the window. Was it already afternoon?
It was odd… Amelia hadn’t slept late since Mr. Beckworth had kidnapped her.
Mr. Beckworth!
Recalling the previous night’s events had her opening her eyes all the way and sitting up with a new urgency. “What time is it?”
“Nearly three.”
“Three?”Throughout the course of a proper Season, sleeping late into the afternoon was essentially expected. But here, at Smuggler’s Manor, it felt indulgent.
Even if she had sat up for most of the night.
“Yes, my lady, but not to worry. Here, I’ve brought up some of your favorites: eggs, sausages, a few pastries. Cook was concerned when you didn’t come down at your usual time. You aren’t ill, are you?”
Imagining the elegant breakfast set out daily, Amelia felt horrible. It wasn’t something she’d ever have considered before. “I’m so sorry. I hope it didn’t go to waste.”
The savory scents coming from the tray were tempting, but Amelia needed to check on Mr. Beckworth first.
“It never goes to waste, and it didn’t today. After Mr. Beckworth finished, we all made good work of it.” Fanny winked.
“Oh, that’s good—wait! Mr. Beckworth what…?” Amelia frowned. He could not have gotten out of bed, let alone dressed and gone downstairs on his own. “He took breakfast already?”
