She met his gaze and expected guilt or—something, but nothing passed over his features save a flash of annoyance.
“Goodbye, Flavian.”
It killed her to do it, to leave him behind, knowing that he was going to make the same mistakes, but she could no longer help him. He would have to stand on his own and face the consequences of his actions. She was done fighting his battles. She had her own life to contend with.
With a sense of defeat, Fleur returned to the first floor. She started for the door and when she glanced up, she saw the irritated glare from the butler. But more than that, Mr. Porter was standing in the frame, his cap hanging low over his forehead. He didn’t move, but seemed content waiting for her to approach him.
“I had to see—” Fleur’s voice broke and she swallowed hard. “I needed to know—to say—” Heaven help her, she couldn’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Gathering her strength, she clenched her fists and lifted her chin slightly. “Take me home.”
Without a word, Mr. Porter turned and together, they headed for his townhouse.
* * *
When they returned,Drake led Miss Davies to her room. There he ensured that the cook made something that would help her sleep. She had been through an emotional strain and she needed proper rest. She had endured a lot in the past few days, and he certainly hadn’t helped to ease her transition. In one night, she had lost everything and he should have been a bit more sensitive to that. Sometimes, he forgot that not everyone was as jaded as he was, able to withstand the turmoil that life continued to toss in his direction. The last thing he wanted was to wipe that beautiful smile off of her face. There were times he wondered if she was the last bit of hope in his miserable existence.
As she obediently drank the tincture that the cook had brought, Drake struggled to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to brush the slight strands of hair away from her forehead. Kiss her on the cheek and murmur that everything was going to be all right. But it wasn’t something he could promise, so he refrained. He didn’t act on the other temptations either, because he couldn’t allow himself to get too close. There were too many things he still didn’t know about her and he had learned to be guarded. His heart seldom made an appearance except to keep the blood pumping through the rest of his body. He wondered, at times, if that blasted organ had turned black and cold as he didn’t feel much of anything anymore.
Except when he looked upon her face.
Fleur.
He clenched his jaw as he sat on the edge of the bed. He would make sure she was properly settled before he left. He owed her that much.
It didn’t take long before the drink started to take effect, as her eyes began to grow heavy. “How are you?” he asked softly, although he couldn’t quite rid his words of the gruff undertone that he had adopted over the years.
“Better.” She sighed heavily. She put a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry for such a… terrible outburst. I assure you that I never act that way. I am generally much more… composed. I don’t know what came over me.”
Grief. Loss. Despair.Drake knew them all because he had suffered from the same. Instead, he said, “There is nothing to apologize for.”
Her focus locked on him. “But surely you must think I’m mad.”
He offered a slight curve of his lips. “We all go mad sometimes.”
“Have you?”
All my life.“On occasion.”
“How do you… recover?”
I hope you can answer that question.“I get up every day and go to bed every night.” Feeling more vulnerable than he would like, he got up and walked over to the window. Glancing outside at the brilliant day, he adjusted his attention back to her. “But I don’t lament what is already past. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not promised. All we have is this moment.”
“That’s very poetic,” she murmured, and he could hear the weary tone in her voice.
If there was one thing Drake had never called himself, it was a poet. But he supposed there was a certain melancholy prose to his answer. He prayed that didn’t mean he was getting soft. He would never survive if so.
He cleared his throat and walked over to the door. “Get some rest. We will speak again when you wake.”
She mumbled something incoherent and he could tell the herbs were starting to take effect.
Unsettled, Drake returned to his study, intent on finishing his accounts, but the moment he walked over the threshold, he was struck with a sense of panic the likes he hadn’t suffered for many years. When he was young, abandoned on the streets of London, these attacks had occurred with more frequency, but as he’d matured and learned the hardships in life, it had molded him into the man he was today.
He decided that watching Fleur struggle with her own trials today, it had sparked something within him that he thought had long been buried. At least, he had tried to smother that part of his past with all of his transgressions. He had done terrible, likely unforgiveable things, to get where he was now and although he should be apologetic for most of them, he found that portion of his conscience had withered away. But the avenues of his brain that were still connected to that scared child were apparently still evident.
He walked over to the cabinet that housed his brandy and withdrew the decanter. He didn’t like to drink often because it dulled his wits and he generally needed them at a moment’s notice. But not tonight. Not now. He wouldn’t allow any interruptions.
Removing the stopper, he took several long gulps. It was nearly empty by the time his hands had finally ceased shaking and his senses were gratefully dulled once more.
Drake took off his cap and threw it on top of the desk as he sank into the chair and momentarily closed his eyes. He was relieved that Fleur couldn’t see him in such a state of dishabille. He never wanted anyone to see the boy that was scared of his own shadow.
