But Juliana had never once lied to Grace, and she wouldn’t start now. “I don’t know if he’ll come to Rosemount, Grace, but I hope he does.”
Grace’s face twisted, but she raised her chin bravely and held back her tears. “I hope he does, too.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you love him, Aunt Juliana?”
Juliana reached for Grace’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I do. Very much.”
Grace sighed, and her eyes fluttered closed. Juliana thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she felt Grace’s little fingers wrap tightly around her hand. “I do, too.”
* * * *
Logan didn’t return to Graystone Court that night. He’d warned Juliana he might not, but as the hours dragged on, she found that to be little comfort.
She remained beside Grace’s bed long after the child had fallen asleep. She must have slept herself, because at some point she woke with a start. The room was dark, and it took a few moments before Juliana could make sense of where she was.
Grace’s bedchamber. Grace had had an accident, had broken her arm, and—
Everything else came flooding back then.
Just last night, she’d sat in this same chair with Grace’s hand in hers. She’d tried to talk to Logan, to tell him what was in her heart. Had she failed? He’d come to her last night, but then he’d left her again this morning without explaining where he was going, or why.
She patted at Grace’s sleeping form until her hands found the child’s forehead. Grace’s skin was cool, and she was sleeping soundly. She was healing quickly, just as the doctor had promised. Perhaps tomorrow Juliana could let her leave her bed for a brief walk in the garden.
Or maybe it was already tomorrow?
Juliana rose and fumbled through the dark to the window on the other side of the room. She drew the drapes back to peek outside.
It was dark still, but the moon had sunk low, and the sky was already lightening. Juliana watched as the moon sank from view, giving way to the first tentative rays of the sun.
It was tomorrow, and Logan still hadn’t returned.
Chapter Twenty-three
The blood was going to be a problem.
It was everywhere. His chest, his arm, his face—even his hair was matted with it. Damn it, there was no way he could hide this much blood from Juliana.
A blood-soaked husband wasn’t the sort of thing a wife overlooked.
Logan hadn’t realized how gruesome he was until he wandered into the stables and the lad who was mucking out the stalls caught a glimpse of him. The boy’s face turned white, and the rake in his hand slipped through his fingers and landed in the hay.
“Zooks, sir, ye look like ye been in a right dust up!” He gaped at the bloodstains on Logan’s shirt, his eyes wide.
Logan winced. If the stable boy was shocked at his appearance, Juliana was going to fall into a faint when she saw him. Or worse, she might burst into a flood of tears. Logan shuddered. He’d rather take another knife wound than see Juliana cry.
It would be less painful.
“Ye been in a brawl, sir?” The stable boy was young enough to think any brawl was good sport, but particularly such a wonderfully bloody one.
“It was something like that, ah…what’s your name, lad?”
“James, sir.”
“James. Would you be so kind as to take my horse?” Logan handed over the reins. “He’s been out all night, so make certain he’s rubbed down and well fed.”
James took the reins, but he was assessing Logan’s injuries with the narrow-eyed fascination of a devoted follower of the fancy. “That yer blood, or ’is?”
Logan looked down at his shirt. “Mine.”
“Oh.” James looked disappointed, but he added generously, “I’m sure ye done well enough, just the same.”
