Phillip turned, and cursing under his breath, slammed his fist into the wall.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sophie slowly became aware of light behind her eyelids. She sluggishly lifted them and blinked. Pain shot through her entire body. Turning her head took effort, but she managed to move it to take in her surroundings. She was in a bed. A lovely, comfortable bed that wasn’t her own. In a lovely, comfortable bedchamber that also wasn’t her own. Daylight streamed in through the nearby windows, and the scent of lilies and lemon wax filled the air.
A movement to her right caught her attention and, with effort, she turned her head to see…her father. He was sitting in a chair next to her bed, his head slumped to his shoulder in sleep.
It all came flooding back to her. The kidnapping, the captivity, her time in the cellar with Phillip, and the fact that…she’d been shot. That’s why her body ached. And that’s why she was in bed right now. She must still be at Phillip’s estate.
“Papa.” She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and the sound that came from her cracked lips was more like a grunt than a word.
Papa started. His dark hair was mussed, there were large, dark circles beneath his eyes. He was unshaved, his clothes were rumpled, and his cravat untied. He blinked and looked around, obviously reorienting himself before seeing her. “Sophia!” he nearly shouted.
“Papa,” she tried again, but the result wasn’t much better. This time, it sounded like a croak.
“You’re awake.” His voice was quieter, but she could still hear the surprise in it. He was frantically searching her face.
“Water…water?” she rasped, able to utter only that single word.
Her father stood and hurried to the sideboard, where a pitcher of water and a glass were at the ready. He poured so quickly that he spilled the water. But he grabbed the glass and made his way back to the bedside immediately.
He placed the glass beneath her lips and lifted it so she could drink. She gulped down two large sips—breathing heavily from the exertion—before sitting back against the pillows that Papa was already propping behind her.
“How long was I asleep?” she finally asked after wincing and adjusting her position a bit.
“Eight…it’s been eight days,” he told her, searching her face again. The look of relief on his features worried her. Exactly how serious had the situation been?
“I assume I’m…that this is…I’m still at…the duke’s estate?” she asked, biting her lip.
“Yes.” Papa said, frowning. “This is one of the guest rooms.”
“What did the doctor say?” she asked next, wondering where Phillip was.
“He… He…” Papa swallowed and shook his head.
Was she imagining it, or were tears coming from the corners of his eyes? She’d never seen her father cry before. Not even when Mama died. “Papa?” She could hear the panic in her own voice.
“Sophia,” he began again, scrubbing his face with his hand, “he told me you probably wouldn’t wake up.”
“What?” The breath left her body as if it had been stolen. That was why Papa had been watching her so closely, examining her so carefully. She sucked air through her nostrils and took three deep breaths. She’d been expected to die. Well, it felt to her as if she was very much alive.
“Was anyone else injured?” she asked, suddenly afraid that perhaps Phillip had been shot too.
“No. No one else was hurt.”
Sophie frowned. “Where is Phil…ah, His Grace?”
“Off riding for all I know,” Papa replied with a look of disgust on his face.
Sophie frowned, but decided to let the matter rest for the moment. “Have you been…sitting here this entire time?” she ventured.
“Mostly,” Papa replied. “I didn’t get word for at first. I came as soon as I was able.”
Sophie glanced down at her body. “What…what exactly happened to me?”
“You were shot in the chest,” Papa continued, his eyes filling with tears again.
Sophie nodded. She remembered being shot. It was everything afterward that remained hazy. “That explains why it feels as if I was run over by a carriage.”
