“Good heavens, no. Why do you ask?”
“You are scowling, love.”
“I am not scowling.” She blinked furiously, and for the first time, he realized the reason for the unnatural brilliance in her eyes.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She dashed them away.
“Now you are weeping,” he observed.
“What am I meant to do? You gave me a terrible fright!”
Her voice was high, almost shrill.
He winced, for it did nothing to quell his raging megrim. “Believe me, it was not my intention to have my knowledge box bashed.”
“Knowledge box,” she repeated, almost to herself. “That is what Davy called it as well.”
Davy.As sluggish as his brain was acting, Demon began to make sense of what had happened.
“The lad came to you?” he asked.
“Yes, and quite fortunately too. It would seem no one knew how to reach your partner, and the physician who was summoned to aid you was not nearly as knowledgeable as he might have been. He was spooning laudanum down your throat when I arrived.”
That would explain her earlier words and the fog inhabiting his mind both. As well as his stumbling tongue. “You sent him away?”
“He was giving you too much laudanum,” she said. “I did not like it. When my…husband was ill, his attending physician was too happy to force laudanum upon him. The doctor promised me it would lessen his pain. However, I noticed too much of the stuff dulled his mind, and the more of it he was given, the more he required. The end of his life was a terrible blend of suffering and confusion. After a time, he no longer recognized any of us. Not even his mistress, whom he apparently loved quite well.”
She had just revealed much to him. But Demon’s mind was still an addled jumble. Later, he would unravel all these words. Make sense of them. Make sense of her.
“I am sorry for what you experienced, Mira,” he said softly, longing to comfort her although his own head ached.
What the devil had his attacker hit him with? A blacksmith’s hammer?
She raised his hand to her lips for a reverent kiss. “I am sorry for what happened toyou, Damian, and that is what concerns me most. My past is where it belongs. Did you see your assailant?”
He tried to recall, but whether from the blow or his distraction at the time, his memories were vague and indistinct. He had been thinking of Mira. Had exited through the customary rear portal where tradesmen gathered to deliver their wares. At Davy’s appearance in his office, he had gone to count the Madeira shipment. But Hugo had already been lying in the alley upon his appearance.
That much he was certain of.
The rest…
The rest remained as murky as a rainy night.
Demon rubbed his jaw. “I saw no one. What of Hugo, the wine merchant?”
Mira stared, her countenance grim.
“Christ. Hugo’s dead?” he asked, though he did not need to. His answer was there, etched upon her beautiful, expressive face.
“There was a knife in his back,” she confirmed, lower lip trembling. “Some of his stores were stolen.”
His head ached. The information she had just given him did nothing to help matters. But just now, he did not want to think. What he wanted—nay, needed—was the woman before him.
“You came here for me?” he probed.
“Of course. Why would I not?”
He had not expected her concern. No one had ever fretted over him, aside from his siblings. Certainly not any of the women he had bedded in the past. But how to answer her?
