“I’ll take her, and she’ll die in pain!” Jackson hissed.
Jamie jerked his weight again and felt more strands give. He twisted with the last of his strength, and made himself climb, just two handholds, and then drop hard.
The rope gave, and he dropped like a sack of stones onto the floor.
The boards beneath him protested and sent a flash of white pain from his shoulder to his ankle, knocking the breath out of him. Jamie rolled instinctively as Jackson’s knife came down where his ribs had been. His roar of anger had Jamie staggering to his feet.
“I’m killing you!” his enemy roared.
Jamie saw the sudden flash of fear on Jackson’s face as he brought his bound hands down onto his wrist. The knife dislodged and fell to the floor. Jackson ran at Jamie.
They hit the floor and rolled. He took an elbow to the jaw that made sparks flare at the edge of his vision. Jamie then drove his forehead into Jackson’s nose and heard him howl, as he inflicted yet more pain.
Jackson made a noise like a trapped animal. He crawled away from Jamie, searching for the knife, and found it as Jamie regained his feet, searching for a weapon of his own. He found a piece of wood. Picking it up, he braced himself for the next attack.
Jackson charged, slashing the blade from left to right, and he felt it slice through his belly as he brought the bit of wood down with as much force as he could. The nail in the board sank into Jackson’s shoulder. He screamed in pain.
Jamie heard the thunder of feet then, but he did not turn away from the man howling in pain before him.
“Jamie!”
He knew that voice. This time, he did turn, and watched Toby, Anthony, and Alice run through the door. With them was her large, protective footman.
His knees weakened, and suddenly all strength left his body as he fell to his knees. She dropped down before him, as all hell broke loose behind her.
“Alice,” he breathed. “My love.”
Her hands cupped his face, her lovely eyes filled with tears, and that was the last thing he remembered as he slumped forward into her arms.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alice paced backand forth in one of the upstairs parlors, her skirts sweeping the carpet as she moved. For three long days she had lived like this, pacing back and forth, hearing Jamie whisper, my love to her before going limp in her arms.
It had been Toby and Anthony who carried him from the warehouse, bloodied and bruised, his head lolling against Toby’s shoulder, and his coat torn and soaked with sweat and blood.
They’d carried him into his townhouse after an agonizing carriage ride where Jamie’s eyes had stayed closed. Toby told her to carry on to her home and promised they would care for him. But Alice didn’t give a fig about propriety; she’d just wanted to be there for Jamie. But after a brief argument, they’d insisted this was the right thing to do.
“If you wish a life with my friend, then have it because you both want it, not because it is forced upon you.” Anthony had said those words to her, knowing that if society found out she was in Jamie’s house caring for him, all hell would break loose.
So she’d gone to her townhouse. Bathed, eaten what her aunt forced upon her, and waited.
The first note had arrived that night, just before she’d retired, and had details of Jamie’s progress.
He has seen a doctor, received stitches and care for his injuries, and is now sleeping. Dr. Jones says there is no lasting damage, but he needs to rest.
She wasn’t reassured. Alice needed to see him.
“And this is why I should not love another,” she muttered, pacing. It was messy and painful, because suddenly Alice’s contentment rested entirely on Jamie’s health and well-being. She had never wanted this, especially after Charles, someone she loved deeply, had died.
Love, she decided, was an infection of the heart. One moment she had been self-possessed, managing estates and a clinic, battling her father’s whims and society’s rules. The next, she stiffened at every footstep outside her door because it might bring bad news, or worse, no news at all.
“Would you like tea, Alice?”
Her aunt appeared in the doorway.
“No, thank you, Aunt Gwen. Are you going out?”
“I am,” her aunt said with a mild smile. “Lady Hetherington has been reading that dreadful novel about pirates and misplaced virtue. I intend to persuade her that the heroine is entirely to blame for her own misfortunes.”
