Her gaze fell on the card. Nodding slowly, she slipped the card into her reticule. A long moment passed. She raised her eyes to him. “Is she alive, my lord?”
Brock stilled. Answering was too risky. His glance fell to the half-eaten food on his plate. “I don’t know—”
She cut him off. “Take good care of her. She deserves much better than she’s received.” She tapped her lips with her serviette. “Now, I must not be seen with you, lest Lady Ingleby garner ideas. I must be on my way, my lord. Thank you for… everything.” She slipped from the ballroom through another door.
Brock didn’t waste any time stealing through the terrace doors and over the garden gate. He needed to see Ginny. Too impatient for the longer ride through Somers Town, he saddled his own mount and took off at a gallop.
The ride took all of ten minutes. Punkle met him at the door. “How is she?”
“She’s asking for her daughters.”
He tore off his hat and pitched it to his butler. “She’s awake?”
“Last I looked.”
“Bring me brandy.” He took the stairs two at a time. “And tea. Bring her tea.”
Brock stopped at the guest room door, his hand on the knob. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood. Would her words still slur as they had the day before when she’d finally spoken after four days of agonizing silence? Would her eyes go blank, with no recognition of him? He could not imagine a worse form of torture—Ginny never remembering him.
He turned the handle.
The room was stuffy and dark but for a low-lit lantern on the bedside table. Brock moved to the drapes and pulled them aside. Street lanterns gave off an eerie glow that matched his mood. Here at least she was safe, he decided, unlatching the window. He pushed out the glass, and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair.
“Much better.” Her croak sounded hardly above a whisper, and the bed creaked.
He hurried over. “Don’t move. I’ll help you. Fool woman, you’ve been out for days.”
Brock braced his hand on her back and assisted her up. He leaned her forward and arranged the pillows, then gently set her back.
He eased down beside her and brushed the hair from her face, revealing a shaved patch. Dark stitches at her hairline gave her a slightly monstrous appearance. Joy soared through him. She was indeed alive.
His relief left him feeling as helpless as a newborn kitten and, at the same time, furious enough to take on Napoleon and his army single-handedly.
Her eyes remained closed, partly due to their swelling. The bruising was turning from black to purple and, in some places, yellow. A good sign. Her lips, slightly parted, looked cracked and parched. Punkle pushed through the door, loaded tray in hand. Brock remained silent while his valet, manservant, steward, confidant, and now nurse set the tray on a table and backed from the room. He trusted no other with Ginny’s location. A snick from the door sounded. They were alone.
“Punkle says you’ve been awake much longer today.” Brock poured out a half cup and added a lump of sugar and stirred. He set the cup to her lips. “Drink, my dear.” To his relief, she managed a small one.
“He’ll kill you when he finds out you’ve sheltered me. And I’m just as good as dead.”
“He won’t find you. No one knows where you are. I realize the danger.”
“What of my girls?”
“They are as well as can be expected.” He put the cup to her lips again. “More, sweets, you need sustenance. Irene is concerned.”
“Irene is much too serious.” She frowned. “And Cecilia?”
“At the risk of hurting your feelings, I hear she was frolicking through the flowers in the garden all afternoon.”
Her lips curved in a simulated smile. It warmed his chilled fingers. “When can I see them? I miss them terribly.”
Brock set the cup aside, then carefully took her bandaged hand. It was broken at the wrist. Clearly, she’d defended herself. He was proud of her. He thanked the Almighty that she’d remained unconscious when he and Punkle set it. “Soon, darling, very soon,” he vowed.Once I kill the bastard.
Her other hand clutched his sleeve. “You must promise me you’ll look after them if something should happen to me.”
“Nothing will happen to you,” he growled.
“Promise me,” she demanded. “Especially Irene.” Panic reeled against the dark walls.
