“Thank you, Ros,” he grunted, meeting my gaze.
I pressed harder into his stomach. “I thought you said you were good at fighting,” I teased. “You’re in terrible shape.”
Charlie grimaced and looked up about the cabin, at the brown-and-white papered trim, the blue curtains, and the brown cushioned benches that had transported us to the opera, to our picnic, to Dover ... seemingly anywhere but at my face. He drew in a shallow breath. “I put you in danger. I shall never forgive myself.”
“You saved my life,” I countered as I held him steady. His hair had fallen near his eye, so I gently pushed it back. “Are you in terrible pain?”
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. “A bit.”
“I shall fix you right up when the surgeon comes.” I lifted my chin. “And we can eat unlimited cheesecakes and sweets until you’ve recovered.”
He opened his eyes only to squint them. “Just let me perish.”
I sucked in a breath dramatically. “Oh no, not when I have created the perfect gentleman out of you.”
He adjusted his head on the seat and, whether he intended to or not, moved closer to me. “A perfect gentleman?”
I flushed. I hadn’t meant to speak so honestly. “You’ll forget I said that.”
His lips lifted into a weak grin, and my heart took flight. I hoped he would never forget my words. Indeed, I wished I could speak more plainly.
Then he shuddered, and I realized he’d been stabbed more than once. I started to unbutton his jacket.
“What are you doing?” He tried to sit up but fell back. His bare hand grasped mine to stop me, sending waves of tingling sensation through my chest.
“I am examining you.” I squeezed his hand. “You were stabbed in the side as well as the stomach.”
“Let the surgeon—”
“Charlie, this is serious. You are bleeding terribly.” His entire countenance drained of color with each passing moment.
“Ros,” he said. He swallowed as though saying my name caused him some other sort of pain, and he lifted his hand to my cheek. “You are good to help me. But the sight will stay with you.”
I let his hand linger on my cheek, his touch burning into my skin, as I finished unbuttoning his jacket, revealing his waistcoat soaked in blood. A tear was evident in his stomach, and another higher up on his side. When I touched the spot with my bare fingers, blood gushed out.
“What is it?” he asked, thumbing my chin to get my attention.
“Nothing,” I said, feigning a smile.
I left the folded cloth at his stomach and shimmied out of my pelisse. After tightening it into a firm ball, I hesitated, trying to decide which wound needed the most attention. Marlow’s cravat was doing little to stop Charlie’s bleeding stomach, so I exchanged it with my bundled pelisse, holding it firmly in place. Then I wedged Marlow’s cravat between Charlie’s bleeding side and the bench. There was too much blood and not enough fabric, but, if nothing else, the pressure would help slow the bleeding. I swallowed hard and steadied him once more.
His hand had fallen to my waist, and I took it, holding it against my cheek with my free hand. “There. That is better,” I said in as reassuring a voice as I could muster.
His eyes bored into mine, and we stared at each other for a moment.
“Almost there,” I said, but I hadn’t the faintest idea where we were. Close to home, but not nearly close enough.
“Tell me something,” he said, thumbing my cheek. “Anything.”
I shifted, relying on my knees to hold me up. “Anything?” I thought for a moment. Charlie already knew about my family, my home, my hobbies. He already knew so much about me. “You know I like the bakery,” I said.
“Lovethe bakery,” he agreed. I’d have swatted him if he weren’t so injured.
I mused. “I used to chase butterflies as a girl.”
“Why?” His other hand slid forward, holding mine that put pressure on his wound. Was he scared? Would he die from his wounds?
I shook away the thought. “Because they are beautiful, and I wanted them all for myself.”
