The words—their meaning—gradually made it into the core of Rose’s brain and the air left her lungs. She could not inhale, and she gripped the arm of her chair as the room spun.
“Rose!”
Her father’s sharp tone broke the spell, and Rose gulped in air, which left her lightheaded. “But surely,” she whispered, “he does not believe I could—”
“You told him you paid people in your network for things.”
Dear God. Her own words—“My father has moved a portion of my dowry to a personal account, and I learned quickly who I needed to pay”—“I pay for information! Not—”
“I know. Rose, Thomas has been shot. He’s in a great deal of pain and a laudanum fog. He’s not thinking clearly. About anything. We must be patient, but—” He stopped and glanced at the hat again.
“But?”
Robert didn’t look up. After a few moments of silence, her father cleared his throat. “Tell her the rest. Get it over with.”
Rose looked from Edmund to Robert in confusion. “The rest of what?”
Finally, Robert sat up straight and precise. “He’s withdrawn his offer.” He picked up the hat, his hands skimming around the brim. “You had not officially accepted, and until this is resolved—”
“Resolved.” The tightness in Rose’s chest was more constricting than her best corset. “Resolved,” she repeated. “You mean this belief that I tried to have him killed.”
After a hesitation, Robert gave a single nod.
The cacophony of emotions that gripped Rose had no true definition. Rage, yes, but not at Thomas. Fear, heartbreak—of losing the man she loved because of her own stupidity... and his. Confusion, as to how this had come about because she had accepted one dance with a man. It all left her quite numb.
“You and Thomas have a difficult, complicated relationship.”
The duchess’s word echoed in her mind, a purity of truth but with a goal cloaked within. They had a relationship. Difficult. Complicated. But something to grasp and focus on.
Rose stood, forcing the two men to do so as well. She crossed to Robert, who flinched, as if expecting her to hit him. She felt slightly amused by that—and strangely comforted. Perhaps it would do—at least for now—for strong men to fear her. She held out her hand. “Thank you, Lord Robert, for bringing this information. Please tell Lord Newbury I understand his concerns and his decision. Express that if he needs anything from me or this house, we will be glad to provide it. And please give your mother my regards.”
She waited until Robert had kissed her hand, then she backed away. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have things I need to take care of.”
“Of course, my dear.” Her father’s words held the gentleness she expected.
Rose left, determined to get upstairs before her release of tears came. Because she would cry. She would sob as her heart broke. Then the rage would settle in—focused and cold—but rage nonetheless. Because those villains had one thing wrong. Rose Timmons did not need to hire anyone to finish her business.
She would fight for this man. In her own way.
*
His mouth itched.So did his back. And chest. And his thighs. Thomas reached to scratch his shoulder, only to realize he wore gloves. He stared at his fingers, wiggling them, confused by the gloves—and that he could barely see them.
A soft hand closed on his wrist and pushed his arm down on the bed, tucking it beneath the covers again. The gesture was comforting and warm, and Thomas shivered, unaware till that moment that having his arm exposed had chilled him. He squinted, searching for the person next to him. “Mother?” The word was thick and hoarse.
“I’m here. You are wearing gloves because the laudanum is making you itch. You have tried to scratch in your sleep.”
Her hand on top of the quilts stroked his arm, but he still felt the tenderness of the gesture. He realized he was propped up in the bed, his head and chest elevated on a stack of pillows. The covers were pulled up over his chest and tucked behind his shoulders. “How long—”
“Ten hours this time. How do you feel?”
“Thirsty. Why is it so dark? I can barely see you.”
“Your pupils are constricted. You aren’t seeing much light. That’ll ease as the laudanum wears off.” He heard her shift, then her fingers stroked his face. “I’m going to spoon some water into your mouth. Easy.”
The cool liquid slid across his tongue, and he struggled to control it, coughing once before he could swallow sips easily. After a few, Thomas realized his confusion had lifted somewhat. “That feels like heaven.”
“I’m sure it does. Are you hungry?”
