She lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. His skin was warmer now, his breathing deep and even, but the colour had returned to his face. He would be all right—and Edmund had said so. He would recover.
But she’d come so close to losing him. So close to never?—
His fingers twitched in her grip. She went still, her heart lurching. His hand tightened around hers, not the weak flutter from before, but something stronger and more deliberate. His head turned on the pillow, and a low groan escaped his throat.
“Dominic?” She leaned forward, searching his face in the dim light, her free hand reaching to touch his cheek.
His eyes opened. They were not unfocused and clouded like before, but clear and alert, grey as winter rain in the moonlight streaming through the curtains. He stared at her for a long moment, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst.
“You are still here.” The words scraped out, dry from hours of silence. His fingers tightened around hers, a sudden, fierce pressure the way he were trying to anchor himself to the living.
“I said I would be.” She squeezed his hand, her thumb stroking across his knuckles in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
He didn’t look away from her face. His expression cracked open, a flash of determination or the stubborn set of his jaw that she’d come to know so well.
“You deflected earlier.” He pushed himself up slightly on the pillows, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. “When I asked you to say it.”
Her stomach dropped, and she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “I know.”
“Say it now.” His iron eyes burned into hers, his hand pulling hers closer to the center of his chest. “Please, Nell. I need tohear it when I am not half-unconscious. When I can remember it properly.”
She wanted to. God, she wanted to. The words sat on her tongue, burning to be spoken and aching to be released. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.
“I cannot.” She watched the flicker of hurt cross his face, and her heart cracked all over again. “Not until you know.”
“Know what?” He tried to push himself higher on the pillows, his jaw clenching against the pain.
“Don’t.” She was on her feet instantly, her free hand pressing gently against his shoulder to ease him back down. “You will hurt yourself.”
“Then tell me.” He caught her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. His thumb pressed against her pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm there. “Whatever it is. Tell me.”
“It’s not that simple.” She shook her head, her hair falling loose around her face in a dark curtain.
“It’s that simple.” His thumb traced circles on the inside of her wrist. “You tell me. I listen. Nothing changes.”
“You don’t know that.” She looked away, her chin trembling as she avoided his gaze.
“I know I love you.” He tugged her wrist, pulling her attention back to him. “I know nothing you say will change that.”
“You say that now.” She pulled her wrist free, wrapping her arms around herself like a sudden chill had entered the room.
“I will say it forever.” He reached for her hand again, his fingers gentle but insistent. “Sit. Please.”
She sat, choosing the edge of the bed this time to be closer than the chair. Moonlight spilled through the window illuminating the bandage wrapped around his head.
Now or never. She drew a shaking breath.
“My name is not Ashford.” The words forced their way out against her will. Her hands twisted in her lap, fingers tangling in the fabric of her skirts.
He went still beside her, his breath catching in his throat. But he didn’t let go of her hand.
She stared at their joined fingers, unable to meet his eyes. “My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Whitmore. I changed it nine years ago. When I ran.”
“Ran from what?” He stroked his thumb across her knuckles, watching her with a steady, patient intensity.
“From everything.” She choked on the word and pressed her free hand to her stomach. “From who I was. From what I had done. From a dead man and a burning house.”
They were both quiet for a long time. Then finally, Dominic broke the silence.
