“I thought you were gone,” she sobbed. “I thought you would never come back.”
James held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head. “I am here.”
She drew back just enough to look at him. His knuckles were scraped. His jaw already darkening with bruises. His eyes were fierce with something she had never seen there before.
“You saved me,” Eleanor whispered. “You saved us.”
James’s voice was low and certain. “No one will ever harm you again.”
Her breath hitched. “You cannot promise that.”
“I can,” he said. “And I will keep it.”
Eleanor’s strength finally failed her. She sagged against him, exhaustion pulling her down now that the danger had passed.
James lifted her without hesitation, carrying her to the settee near the hearth. He sat and pulled her onto his lap, holding her as if she were something fragile and irreplaceable.
She clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders.
“I was so afraid,” she murmured.
“I know,” James said quietly. “I was too.”
She stiffened slightly. “You were?”
James pressed a kiss into her hair. “I thought I was too late.”
Eleanor closed her eyes, her breathing slowly beginning to steady.
“I am here,” he repeated. “I will not leave you again.”
For the first time since the scream tore from her throat, Eleanor believed him.
And as she lay in his arms, listening to Arabella’s breathing and the steady beat of James’s heart beneath her ear, she knew that whatever came next would not be faced alone.
CHAPTER 31
Arabella slept like the house itself was holding its breath for her.
The physician had called it a concussion, spoken of rest and quiet and careful watchfulness, but Eleanor did not need the words to understand the fragility of it. Her sister’s skin was pale against the linen. A bruise darkened one temple, stark in the morning light. Her lashes lay still against her cheeks, and every time her chest rose, Eleanor felt a small, private relief.
Eleanor had not slept.
She sat in the chair beside the bed with her hands folded in her lap, the same position she had taken hours ago and refused to leave. A tray had been brought and removed untouched. Another had followed.
Mrs. Hargreaves had said gently, “Your Grace must take something.”
Eleanor had replied, “Later.”
Later never came.
She heard footsteps outside the door. Firm, measured. Not a servant.
James entered quietly, closing the door behind him.
He looked as though he had been awake all night as well. His shirt collar was undone, his hair not quite tamed, and the bruising along his jaw had deepened into a dark shadow. His knuckles were scraped, raw beneath hastily applied salve.
He stopped when he saw Eleanor at Arabella’s bedside, as if he had expected her to be elsewhere.
