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With my body refusing to fight for me, I have no choice but to lie limply and wait. Wait for the cold to swallow me again. And I’m scared. So afraid that I’ll never do any of the things I love again. That I will never see the people I love just one more time. Most of all, I’m terrified of being without him. My duke. My Henry.
“What’s happening?” he asks, my panic bleeding into his voice.
“This is normal. It takes a while for the sedative to wear off. In the meantime, it’s important she remains calm. Miss Cameron,” another voice calls at me. “Eve, you’re at St Anne’s hospital.”
Hot tears burn my eyes, scorching my retinas until all I see are the silhouettes of the blood vessels between the layers of skin, the veil keeping me from my Henry.
“You were very sick, but you are well now. However”—the voice raises as I groan—“you need to stay as still as you can. There was some severe internal bleeding that we have got under control, but you need to relax. You are all right.”
“Listen to the doctor, beautiful. Go back to sleep. Rest, my darling,” Henry says.
I feel the rough pads of his fingers stroking over my face. Lightly, they stroke over the bridge of my nose and over my cheeks in that admiring way of his. If I can’t see his face right now, I can at least imagine it. His deep brown eyes blink at me as he watches me wake up with a smile on his lips. Henry doesn’t smile much or often, but he does for me. He smiles for me because it belongs to me. The same way I belong to him.
“Don’t cry,” he tells me. “Don’t be scared, my girl. I’m here, and nothing will hurt you again.”
“I’m going to turn the monitor off so you can sleep,” the doctor says. “In a few minutes, the nurse will give you some pain relief to help with the sore throat from the breathing tube and the general aches.”
“Rest, darling. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You are not leaving my sight ever again. Do you hear me?”
Yes. I try to get the words to form, but my throat constricts as though it’s trying to protect itself. Yes.
I’m never leaving him again, and he is never letting me go. We are stuck together. Our souls are too well entwined to be split apart. And my heart, it’s still beating because of him. For him. It’s beating in time with his because it’s his too.
His hands envelop one of mine, and the heat of his lips presses to the back of my thumb before he gives it a light nip. And my toes curl and my feet flex, pulling at the muscles of my legs.
“That’s it,” he chuckles with another, harder nip. “Hold my hand, my love.”
My soul beams at his remark. He calls me his love like it’s my name. Like this is all I was born to be. My sole purpose in this universe is to be his in the same way that his is to be mine. To love him. To adore him. To be everything he wants and needs.
* * *
The headache still thrums deep in my head, a constant pulse that is slowly shrinking away. The curtains are drawn to block out the bright winter sunset as I open my eyes to find Henry sat at the table in the opposite corner of the room with a group of men. They’re all talking in hushed whispers that I can only just hear.
“It’s all set up,” one man says. I don’t recognise his voice at all, but when I peer up at him, his face seems familiar. “You’ll get the call when the Chapmans go up in flames.”
“Make sure every Chapman is in there before it blows,” Henry tells him. “You get the glory, Clark, but I want the kills. Get the whore and the traitor on that boat. They can all burn together.”
“Done,” the man tells him. “The bags are ready to go.”
“My contact at the papers is happy to take the story of the East End kingpin’s fall in exchange for the headline we embargoed before. It’s mostly speculation that adds to the dramatization of the story of an illicit affair turned into a family war. Tragic.” Julian stands, turning to grab his briefcase from the chair by the door, when our eyes lock.
A small smile tugs at his lips with a small nod. A silent hello before he says, “We should wrap this up. Everything is in place, and I have court first thing in the morning to prepare for.”
“Well, Defence Secretary, I wish you luck with your takedown. Prime Minister.” Henry stands to address Benedict Gladstone, “Thank you for your support and that of your son. I’m sure this won’t be the last time Sinclair Securities will aid the Wolfsden Society.”
“I’m sure it won’t.” Benedict shakes hands with Henry, followed by Julian and Percival. “We all want the same thing, Your Grace. The security of the crown and its future by any means necessary.”
“Hear, hear,” the defence secretary hoots quietly. “God save the King.”
“God save the King,” Henry sighs.
He’s spent every hour of every day here with me since I opened my eyes. Even though he has the sofa bed, it’s not comfortable at all. When I tried to lie beside him a few days ago, it felt like every spring was digging into my body. It was awful, and I don’t know how he manages it, but I’m grateful that he hasn’t left me.
The prime minister leaves, with the defence secretary following behind him. Neither Henry nor Julian and Percival sit back down as they run through the list of tasks on Percival’s iPad.
“Alastair’s Howl will be next month together with Ryan’s swearing ceremony,” Percival says as he hands Henry a thick file. “We need to decide how to go forward with this. The Earl of Rochester is the bearer of the rings and the ceremony master...”
“Find another,” Henry replies brusquely.
