He didn’t reply to me.
He turned his head and shook it.
I looked over the back of the couch, the direction he’d turned his head, and saw the desk and wing chairs in front of it were on that side of the room, we were on the other side, where there was yet another seating area by a fireplace.
So yeah, the guy probably carried me.
God.
Excruciating.
Fitzgibbons was also there, entering the room with a woman at his side.
He was carrying a first aid kit in one hand, a silver tray with a glass of ice water balanced on the other.
I was impressed.
The woman was carrying a basin with a bright white towel folded over the side of it.
“I’m sorry, but it appears Ms. Dupree is recovering, and now we don’t need any of that,” Battle told his staff.
“You’re sure?” the woman asked, examining me with kind eyes.
“We’re sure, Patsy,” Prudence said.
“You don’t wish for me to call the doctor?” Fitzgibbons asked Battle.
“No. Apparently, Ms. Dupree has not had a mind to her jetlag,” Battle answered, still in that delicious purr of his, however this time it was incongruously accusatory.
My attention returned to him.
He was still speaking.
“But leave the glass of water.” He shifted to his sisters. “And you three can go. I’ll mind Ms. Dupree. Our business shouldn’t take that long.”
“Are you sure? I can stay,” Prudence offered to me.
“I’m fine,” I said at the same time Battle ordered, “Go, Prue.”
She shot her brother a scrunch-face look that was cute, before she gave me a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder.
Chastity and Temperance didn’t need further permission to exit the scene. They were already leaving.
Patsy was gone, but Fitzgibbons came forward sans the first aid kit and put the glass of water on a leather coaster he unearthed from somewhere so he could set it on the coffee table in front of me.
“If you need anything, Miss Dupree, simply have His Grace ring,” he encouraged.
“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgibbons.”
He smiled kindly, something I thought was really sweet, then he moved away.
I watched Battle fold his very long body in a leather Queen Anne wing chair that flanked the chesterfield.
“Better here,” he murmured, crossing his also very long legs. “More informal.”
“Again, I’m sorry,” I told him, reaching for the water and wondering if I’d paid any attention to hydration the last four days.
I had not.
