“Thank you, McFall.” Patrick offered his hand to the captain.
McFall shook Patrick’s hand without enthusiasm.
Anthony exhaled when McFall left. “Good news.” Although it didn’t feel as such.
“McFall did us a great service.”
“He did.” He exhaled and closed his uncovered eye for a moment. “Did Isabella come?”
“She was with Helen and her mother,” Patrick said. “Helen volunteered to see you, but if you want to see Isabella, I’ll let her see you next time. I didn’t know you wanted to see Isabella.”
“I don’t. It doesn’t matter.” He had to be careful to move his lips as little as possible when he talked, because, while his facial muscles needed exercise, they would burn with pain, and the stitches would bleed again if stimulated too much.
“Listen.” Patrick took a step closer. He seemed aged ten years in the past weeks. “Lady Montrose invited me for a walk tomorrow. I won’t be gone for more than an hour. But if you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay here.”
“Go. I don’t want you to stay here for me.” He reclined his head on the back of the armchair.
“You took a bullet for me.”
“You would do the same for me. Stop feeling guilty. Jumping on you was my choice.”
“But I’m the reason you got shot.” Patrick sucked in a deep breath. “It’s my fault.”
“Shut it. Your staying here instead of taking a walk isn’t going to change anything. And I’m not alone anyway.”
“I promise I’ll change.” Patrick nodded. “I’ll do my best to be better.”
“Take a walk. Leave this room for a while. And stop worrying about me.”
Patrick scrubbed the back of his neck.
Anthony hated snapping at him, but for crying out loud, Patrick didn’t need to keep apologising. “What do you want?”
“Do you mean to marry Helen?”
Right now, Anthony didn’t want to marry anyone. Helen’s horrified face and palpable disgust at his condition had subdued his nuptial enthusiasm, and the pain left him with only a few moments of lucid thoughts.
“No,” he said, thinking of Isabella. “Sod the marriage.”
And he meant it.
