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“Of course, Mr. Greymont.”
Jane got out, and the massive Luc took her place on the seat, cradling in his arms a battered, but lovely, blonde woman wrapped in a blanket. Her neck and face were bruised and her lip bloodied. Her eyes were closed, but it was clear she was awake and utterly terrorized. Just like when Tom found me.
“Mon Dieu,” Therese gasped, “what have they done to you, chéri?” She put her hand to Marguerite’s cheek, and the woman flinched back in a whimper, terrified of even that gentle touch.
Georgina didn’t need an explanation. She had lived this very nightmare herself. She knew exactly where Marguerite’s mind was, the terror, the shame, the agony of remembering, and the unbearable intimacy of touch.
“Don’t touch her,” she blurted. Jeremy and Therese turned to stare at her. Luc kept his eyes on Marguerite.
“She cannot bear it just yet. It hurts, in her mind. Just talk to her. She’ll hear you. Tell her she’s safe and that you’re going to take care of her, and tell her—tell her it’s not her fault—” Georgina lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s all she needs right now.”
Jeremy squeezed her with his good arm and leaned against her. His anger from before seemed to have fallen away, and she was grateful. She thought his skin felt cold to her though. His weight was heavy, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. Having him safe beside her was all she wished for right now. Quiet enveloped the passengers, except for Luc, who murmured soft whisperings to Marguerite in French, his love for her apparent in any language.
When the coach stopped again, Therese got up stiffly. Luc carried Marguerite out and then turned back to Jeremy. “I’ll make sure.” There was steely determination in his eyes.
“You know where to find me,” Jeremy told him and then leaned heavily back against Georgina again, as if he could barely hold himself up. He stomped his foot on the floor of the coach, and Ned pulled out for the final jag to the townhouse in Grosvenor Square.
Now that they were alone, she reached out to him. “Jeremy, I am so sorry for everything I’ve done. I shouldn’t have come, but that letter arrived and—”
“Shhh,” he hushed her. “It’s my fault. I should have told you why I came here. I lied to you…wanted to protect you from him…from gossip…from being hurt again. Love you…so much…”
Something was terribly wrong. He wasn’t talking right, and he was so very cold. When she put her hand on his chest, he winced. Her hand came away wet, the cool night air chilling it instantly. As she held her palm up, a shaft of light from a streetlamp lit up the coach. It was a deep, dark red. Blood!
She pulled open his jacket frantically and saw his white shirt was soaked underneath his waistcoat.
“Jere
my! Oh, no, no, no, God, you’re bleeding so badly!”
Screaming out the window to Ned, she told him to get them to the closest hospital. The coach swayed in a deep turn, their speed increasing quickly. Frisk hunkered down in the corner.
Jeremy moaned from the force of motion, and she used the momentum to push him flat on his back on the seat. Opening his waistcoat and then his shirt, she found the stab wound, right between his lower ribs on his left side. She bunched up the loose fabric of his shirt and pressed firmly onto the bleeding cut, while kneeling on the floor of the coach.
“Don’t you die, Jeremy. You stay with me, now. I need you to fight to live!” She begged him, tears streaming down her face. The thought of losing him was too frightening to contemplate. “I love you…and I can’t live without you, Jeremy! Please don’t die!” She wept, her hands trying to keep the blood from vacating his body by force of will. “Please, please, please, my Jeremy, my lover, stay with me!”
His eyes flickered open. He spoke softly, his lips barely moving. She leaned forward to hear him above the din of wheels flying over the cobblestone streets. His eyes looked at her with love in them.
“Gina… You…were…the best thing to ever happen…in my life. I hope you have our child inside you…right now. …Don’t want you to be…alone… You’ll be such a good mother…so strong…and brave. Love…you…both…always…”
And then he closed his eyes. Those beautiful, deep blue eyes of his curtained off, and he spoke no more.
Georgina kept the pressure on his wound and prayed. Prayed like she had never prayed before in the entirety of her life. If there was anything she could offer, any wall of fire or earthly hell she could have walked through in order to save him, she would have done it, and done it with her whole heart.
* * * *
Death was not so bad, he thought. It is peaceful, and calm here, like a sanctuary. An angel spoke to him. She smelled of fragrant eglantine. He liked the scent. He could not see the angel, but he could smell her and hear her. She had a lovely voice and spoke the sweetest words.
She told him he couldn’t stay with her though.
“You must go back… There are those who need you. You have much yet to do. And she who loves you will help. This is not your destiny…today. Love well, my son.”
* * * *
His hand felt peculiar, all tingly and numb. Something was pressing on it. Jeremy cracked open an eye. Dark blonde hair hovered over the general direction of his deadened hand. He flexed it and she shifted, removing the pressure. He sensed the blood go rushing into empty veins.
Blood… There had been a lot of blood. He remembered blood and Gina frantic and begging. He remembered other details, too. Like Gina in the arms of a madman. The fight. Recovering Marguerite, the state of her a vivid rendering of what Gina had once suffered—
Don’t think of it!
