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In the antechamber, St John placed a chair next to the table, told her to sit in it and placed her hand on the table.

“But Jules…”

“For once, let your brother solve his own problems,” he snapped, which was unusual for St John, who never snapped. “Your hand is more important and needs to be tended to immediately.” Her hand was bleeding profusely, now. After glancing into her face and seeing her worried expression, he softened his tone. “I’ll see what your brother is up to afterwards if you allow me to fix your hand.”

She submitted reluctantly.

Tom brought his surgical kit and placed it on the table.

“I never go anywhere without it,” St John said as he opened it.

Anna paled when she saw the instruments. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

He looked at her sympathetically. “Yes. The palm is a highly sensitive area and there are many nerves concentrated there. But I will work as swiftly as possible.” He poured some brandy into a glass and added drops from a vial that he took out of his surgical kit. “Laudanum. It will help dull the pain somewhat. Here, drink.”

Anna drank the liquid obediently, pulling a face as the bitter liquid burned down her throat.

He talked the entire time while he worked. He cleaned the wound with some brandy, which burned terribly, but not a sound emerged from Anna’s lips. She sat pale and quiet in her chair, biting on her lip, enduring the searing pain.

“I looked everywhere for you, you know,” he said as if they were holding a conversation over tea. “Like a madman.” He chuckled quietly. “Do you have any idea of the havoc your disappearance has caused in my household?”

Anna hung her head. “I am so very sorry.”

“I should have never left Hungersford Hall. Then I could have prevented your hasty departure to save your brother from Marshalsea, for I presume that was why you left. You bailed him out, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Did it ever occur to you to apply to me for help regarding your brother?” His eyes pierced hers until she looked away, confused.

“I—I confess, no,” she whispered.

He heaved a sigh. “I thought as much. I find this realisation rather crushing. To leave without as much as saying farewell… You also owe Phoebe an apology. She refused to return to the seminary in Bath on her own. I talked with Miss Hilversham. I met her at a ball, by the by. What an utterly terrifying creature she is, the Duchess of Rochford.” He looked pensively at her wound. “But neither she nor Miss Thomas, whom I contacted as well, was entirely sure where you might have gone.”

“Miss Hilversham?” Anna gasped, completely forgetting the pain in her hand.

“Well, yes.”

“I assume you must have had some good reason to assume Miss Hilversham’s name. Truth be told, I do not care in the least. What does it matter, in the end? It was clear to me from the very first that you were gently bred. You are that scapegrace’s sister, Anna de la Vallière. Your brother has been working hard to maintain the image of a fop, while squandering your hard-earned money with both hands. There, it is finished. You really were brave, you know.” He cut the thread, dabbed some herbal salve on it and tightly bandaged her hand.

He lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss on it.

Anna flushed. “Th-thank you for helping me,” she stammered, knowing that those weren’t exactly the right words for the situation, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, think of anything better to say.

He put her hand down, gently, then framed her face between his hands and tilted it up to him.

“I have missed you so. It was unbearable,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes.

Then he gathered her into his arms and kissed her as if the world were about to end.

Maybe it was the laudanum, but Anna felt as though she was dreaming.

His lips roved over hers gently, tenderly, leaving her aching for more.

She raised one free hand into his thick hair to draw him closer.

She wanted this moment to last forever.