“Lord Langdon, he is in custody. We have arrested him. Last night, he…. he shot your wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Vanessa… Vanessa… I am here! Can you hear me?”
The voice sounded from a long way off, and Vanessa tried to reach out toward it. She could hear the concern in the voice, the worry, but she could not remember to whom it belonged. Someone she loved, she thought, but she could not be sure.
Who had she ever loved?
She could not remember. It was someone tall with dark hair and wild eyes full of pain. A man with scars on his hands.
But who? Remembering was like trying to hold water in her hands. It kept disappearing the moment her mind hooked on it. All she knew was that she would do anything for him, anything at all, that in his presence she felt safe in a way she never had before…
But then it all disappeared, and she was plunged back into darkness. In the darkness came scarier dreams. A gun. A blast. The smell of gunpowder filling her nose. And then pain like she had never felt it—and pressure on her chest, like a horse had stepped right on her breastbone.
It was too much. She should just let herself sink into the darkness, forget all the pain, all the heart…
“Vanessa… I’m here, whenever you’re ready to wake up. I’m here, my love, and I am so sorry…”
She knew that voice. That was it. That was him. She had to know who it was. To remember. The pain was enormous, and the temptation to go back to sleep, to let the darkness pull her under, was strong, but that voice, it was stronger. And she felt it lift her up, pull her toward the light, as if up out of a hole.
The voice was a beacon, and she followed.
Very slowly, Vanessa opened her eyes. The light was immediately too bright, and she blinked and closed her eyes again. After another moment or two, she allowed them to open into squints. And as they adjusted to the sunlight filtering into the room, they focused, at last, on the man sitting beside her.
“Vanessa,” she heard him breathe, and then a hand took hers. “You’re awake.”
He came fully into focus, and she recognized him. It was Winston. But Winston as she had never seen him. He looked as if he had aged several years. There were hints of gray in his dark hair, shadows under his eyes, and his face looked gaunt. It looked as if he had not been sleeping, and the shadow around his chin told her he had not been shaving either.
But the moment their eyes met, his face broke into a wide, happy smile.
“How are you feeling?” he murmured, sitting forward and very delicately stroking a hand along her cheek.
“What happened?” she murmured.
At this question, he froze and then slowly withdrew his hand from her cheek.
“You were shot,” he said, the look on his face hardening. “Do you remember? Lord Langdon was here. He was working with the Bow Street Runners, but it was all a ruse in order to get to you.”
She scrunched up her face as she tried to remember. It was all coming back now in bits and pieces. His confession. The gun. Her sudden urge not to die cowering but to fight back.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I remember now. But… how am I not dead?”
Winston shook his head, a look of wonder on his face. “It is a miracle,” he whispered. “The bullet was stopped by the locket. My mother’s locket which you were wearing.”
“I— Really?” She stared at him, stunned.
“Yes,” he said. “The bullet shattered on the gold and some of its stray bits hit you, so you will find cuts on your chest, arms, and face. And the locket itself was crushed against your chest. It broke the bone, and the doctors were afraid it would crush your heart.” He swallowed, and she saw the effort it took for him to keep going. “It was a bit touch and go there for a moment, but you made it. You are alive.”
“I am alive…” How sweet those words were, and as the reality of them spread through her, she felt a great rush of gratitude. A man had shot her, and somehow, she had survived.
No, not somehow. She had survived through love. There was no other explanation. It was the locket Winston had given her that had saved her. The symbol of his affection.
But wait! There is something about the locket I need to tell him!Something important. But she couldn’t remember. Despite her best efforts, her brain felt too foggy. Still, she had a lingering feeling that she was forgetting something.
She focused instead on her husband, squeezing his hand as tears filled her eyes. “You saved me,” she whispered, her voice choked. “If it weren’t for you—and the locket you gave me—I would be dead.”
“Saved you?” Winston repeated, astonishment edging his voice. He shocked her—he looked both angry and incredulous although she did not think she was the one he was angry at. “No, Vanessa, I am the one who almost killed you.”
