My voice echoes, and I can hear the concern in my tone as it plays back to me. I continue calling for him as I check the living areas before heading to his bedroom. The door is closed, but I don’t bother knocking. A scan of the room all but confirms he doesn’t have a lover hidden up here. I can mark that off my list of possible reasons he wants me gone. Instead, I’m met with Henry. He’s knocked out in his bed, in a somewhat tidy room. From the door, I can see the pain meds and whiskey on his nightstand.Damn…maybe he really is sick.
I tiptoe to his bed and slowly lower myself down to sit on the edge of his mattress. He’s turned facing away from me, so I gently caress his shoulder to wake him. “Henry? Are you alright? John said you were sick.”
“Blanche?” he says, barely louder than a whisper.
“It’s me, I’m here.”
“You shouldn’t be here right now…”
“Henry? Let me see you, darling.” I try to turn his face to mine, but he refuses and yanks the comforter up to his chin, hiding like a bratty child.
“No!”
His voice is still weaker than usual, but he knows better than to speak to me in that tone. Before he can stop me, I pull back the comforter, only to reveal a battered body underneath.
“Henry!” I gasp.
“I told you to leave,” he growls, pulling the covers back up.
There’s anger in his eyes, but I’m too focused on the bruises and cuts across his swollen face. I want to touch him, kiss him, but I’m too afraid I’ll hurt him more than he already is. So instead, I just stare. His beautiful face is still there behind the distortion. I’m not sure how a man can pull it off, but the ragged look gives him an edge of danger that’s just as sexy as his usual clean-cut look.
“Go ahead, tell me how disappointed in me you are.”
My brows furrow, confused at his anger. His eyes are devoid of any emotion, as if he’s closed himself off completely. It breaks my heart, and I can’t help but touch him.
“I could never be disappointed in you, my darling.” I gently caress his face, reveling in the way he leans into my touch. “Who did this to you, Henry?”
I swear to God, I’ll kill whoever did this to you, my love. They will never see the light of day again. I don’t care if I burn in hell for it. Nobody gets to hurt what belongs to me.
A soft smile breaks through his tough exterior as he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Please don’t worry about it, baby. It was just a stupid fight with someone I had no business getting involved in. I’m sorry I—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Henry Sinclair. I’ll take care of you while you heal. You’ll need—”
“No! No, I have plenty of staff to nurse me back to health.”
“But I want t—”
“You go enjoy your week with Pam.”
“But I—”
“Trust me, you won’t get many of them.”
“But—”
“Blanche, I’m fine, dear.” He sits up, pulling me tight in an embrace that Iknowhas to hurt. “If you really want to make me feel better, you’ll go have a wonderful week.”
I pull back to search his eyes for the truth. Therealtruth. One I’ve always been able to discern from this man. I’ve always been able to see into his soul, and what I see now is a well of pain. There is truth in his gaze, sure, but there’s also a facade. One that’s been so carefully crafted it would almost fool even me. I want to push. I want to make him admit what is really going on, but in this silence, he’s pleading with me not to.
“Alright, I guess I’ll go to one of the most sought-after resorts in the world. If Ihaveto,” I say, trying my best to fake a genuine smile.
And when I get back, well. Heaven has no rage, nor hell a fury like Blanche Bedford when you hurt what’s hers.
Chapter twenty-five
“We think it’ll be a month in Italy, then another month between Paris and Barcelona, and a few weeks yachting around the Mediterranean before we head home. Of course, by that point, hopefully I’ll be feeling seasick and ready to nest.” My harpy of a fiancée places a talon-tipped hand on her lower stomach to emphasize her intention to immediately trap me with a baby on our honeymoon, and the sycophantic crowd gathered around her coos accordingly.
Over my dead body. Or yours.
