“What happened to her?” he asked. It had taken a little over three hours for Ronan to reach London, pushing his horse as hard and as fast as it would go. And for every second of that ride, his mind turned in agony as he pictured his wife; the fear that he would be too late.
“It is some sort of virus, I believe,” she explained. “It came on two days ago and?—”
“Two days! Why was I not told?”
“I was told not to inform you,” her aunt explained as they reached the top of the steps and started down the hall. “Thalia seemed to think you would not wish to know.”
Ronan winced, guilt stabbing him so that he felt the urge to be sick. That Thalia would think such a thing as that… he might not have caused her illness, but he certainly hadn’t made it any better. She must have assumed that he hated her, when the truth could not have been further from such a thing.
“I am here now,” he said with a grimace. “That is what matters.”
“Indeed,” her aunt nodded as she continued to lead him down the dark hallway to a closed door at its very end. “I have had the doctor visit her, of course, but I confess I am not of great wealth and those I brought to see her were not exactly?—”
“I have sent for the best care,” he cut over her. “They should arrive within the hour.”
“Oh. You did?”
“Let them through as soon as they arrive,” he said as he stormed past her toward the closed door. “And give them whatever they need.” He reached the door and went to open it, only to realize something else. “Olivia? Where is she?”
“Inside.” Thalia’s aunt wore a weak smile. “The poor dear has not left her mother’s side in two days.”
Strangely, that brought a smile to Ronan’s lips. Olivia might not have been Thalia’s true daughter, but that was irrelevant. The love they felt for one another was unlike anything Ronan hadever witnessed, and he wondered if maybe, somehow, he was deserving of such a thing himself.
No. Now was not the time.
He nodded his thanks. “Please,” he said. “I would like to see her alone.”
“Of course.” Thalia’s aunt stayed back. “If you need anything, I will be right here.”
The room was dark and musty. Ronan stepped inside slowly, feeling the weight of the situation in the air so that each step he took felt as if he was walking through quicksand. He scanned the dark room, noticing first Olivia curled up at the end of the bed, fast asleep. Another smile reached his lips but quickly faded when he saw Thalia.
It was too dark to see her properly, but that made little difference. He crept to the edge of the bed, stomach twisting and heart cracking to see how weak and pale she was. Skin that was gray and sweat drenched. Cheeks that were sunken. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was heavy, but she wore a pained looked on her face as if she was suffering through a nightmare.
Ronan buckled… knees shaking… breathing labored…
How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen what she meant to me… what I meant to her? I did not causethis, but it’s still my fault. If she had not left my home, none of this would have happened.
There was nothing for Ronan to do but take her hand and sit by her side. It was clammy, cold, but he held it in his lap and stroked her face as he looked down at her.
Until now, doubts had swarmed through Ronan, concerning how he felt about Thalia. But at that moment, holding her hand, sitting close, willing her to get better, and those doubts left as if they had never been. Ronan knew then that he more than cared for Thalia, but that he loved her like he had never loved before. And if she did not recover…
He shook his head refusing to go down that path.
She would recover from this, and when she did, he was going to do as he should have done days ago. He would forgive her. He would tell her how he felt. And then he would insist that she and Olivia move back in with him, right where they belonged.
But that was for later.
As it was, all Ronan could do was wait. He stayed seated by her side, he held her hand, and he watched her through the night. Her husband. Her protector. And hopefully, her savior.
The doctor whom Ronan had sent for arrived several hours later.
Ronan couldn’t say what he was expecting—a miracle, he supposed. Frustratingly, once the doctor inspected Thalia, he announced in somber tones that there was little he could do.
“I have no choice but to concur with the initial hypothesis,” he explained to Ronan who was still sitting by her side, holding her hand. “She seems to have caught a virus—although I cannot say which one.”
“And what good does knowing it do?” Ronan snapped. “Tell me how you mean to fix her.”
The doctor grimaced. “It is not as simple a thing as that. She has a fever,” he said carefully, noting Ronan’s glare. “And for now, all we can do is make sure that she is comfortable. Wet towels on her head. Sunlight, once the sun rises. We will have to wait for the fever to break, at which point?—”
