The next morning, she’d read in the papers that a massive fire had consumed a notorious brothel called The Gilded Pearl. Stunned by the coincidence and unable to contain her suspicions, she’d gone to Adam. Asked him if the person he’d lost—if the person he’d gotten drunk over—had had something to do with this house of ill repute.
He’d denied having a mistress or lover.
Faced with his frigid displeasure and her own pounding anxiety, she’d let the matter drop.
But now all her doubts came boiling to the surface. Was this Jessabelle the one who died in the bawdy house fire? Who was she to Adam, why was he moaning her name with such anguish…?
Do you really want to know?
Fear churned her insides.
As she wrung the towel over the basin, she told herself that Adam wouldn’t lie to her. He’d said that he had no mistress, and she had to believe him. Because if she couldn’t trust her husband—the man she loved with her heart and soul—then what sort of marriage did she have?
I will be faithful to you, take care of you, see that you want for nothing.
He’d given her his word: that had to be good enough for her.
Besides, she reasoned, Jessabelle could be anyone…not necessarily a lover. Not even necessarily someone important. Who knew what a fever could do to one’s mind, the hodge-podge of memories it might unearth? Perhaps in his delirium, Adam was recalling a childhood friend or a maidservant or…even an animal.
Why, Jessabelle would be an excellent name for a cat—or, better yet, acow. Picturing a giant black-and-white beast with swollen udders comforted Gabby.
“Gabriella…”
Adam’s voice broke her reverie. She hurried back to his bedside. His head was turning agitatedly on the pillow, his brows pulled together and features sheened with sweat.
“I’m here, my love,” she said soothingly.
She laid the rinsed towel upon his brow. Her pulse quickened at the contrast between the cool cloth and his burning skin. Dear God, when would this fever abate? She chastised herself for worrying over the mysterious Jessabelle while her husband’s health was in a precarious state.
“Don’t go,” he muttered. “Don’t leave me…”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her throat tight, she cupped his bristly cheek. “I’m right by your side, my darling, where I’ll always be.”
The lines on his face eased. He mumbled something, his words slackening into incoherence as he drifted off. As he entered some restless state between wakefulness and sleep.
Returning to the chair by his side, Gabby kept watch and prayed.
12
He opened his eyes,blinking groggily.
As his vision adjusted to the dimness, he found himself staring up at green pleats…a tester bed? Matching green silk curtains hung at the sides, tied back with tasseled cords. His gaze jerked beyond the bed to the high-ceilinged chamber filled with dark furnishings and Persian rugs. There were gilt-framed paintings on the walls. A fire flickered in a marble hearth.
It was a palatial suite, fit for a king.
Where the bloody hell am I?
He tried to sit up—agony shot through his right side. He gasped, falling back, his head landing on soft pillows. When he regained his breath, he took stock of himself. He patted the site of the pain; beneath the sleep shirt was a thick wad of bandaging…had he been injured? In addition to the stabbing in his torso, he felt a throbbing on the right side of his head and touched the spot gingerly. Christ, there was an egg-sized bump on his temple.
Cautiously, he scanned the rest of his body, moving limbs, wiggling toes. When everything seemed intact and accounted for, he exhaled…and winced. Each breath felt like knives scoring the back of his throat. A thought emerged through the fog in his brain.
Water…I need water.
Carefully this time, he leveraged himself upward, grimacing as the contracting muscles burned in protest. There was a chair next to the bed, a small table with an empty glass. He scanned the room and saw a pitcher sitting on a half-moon console several feet away.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed aside the blankets and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed.That wasn’t so difficult, was it?His feet touched the carpet, thick soft wool squishing between his toes. Buoyed by his success, he stood, panting slightly from the piercing sensation in his side.You can do it, a few more steps…
He took a step—and a strange, floaty feeling overcame him. A buzzing filled his ears. His knees buckled, the carpet flying up at him with dizzying speed. He landed with an agonizing thud.
