He undid the back of her dress, noticing how her bones protruded from the skin on her back. No one knew how to treat melancholia with success, but staying in London and doing nothing but think about what had happened wouldn’t improve her condition.
“Done. I’ll get changed and be back.”
“Thank you.” Holding up her bodice with an arm, she stared at him. Her large black eyes had lost the sparkle that had attracted him to her. Now they were filled with pain—a sign of her ripped innocence.
After he undressed with Wilson’s help, he went to Isabella’s bedroom again. Wrapped in her dressing gown, she stared at the log fire in the hearth. The glow cast deep shadows on her gaunt face. She looked like a tormented soul Hell wanted to claim. She flashed an unconvincing smile when he stepped inside.
He waited for her to slide under the covers before tucking her in. She shifted closer to him when he lay next to her.
“Thank you, Anthony. I know I don’t deserve your kindness, but thank you.”
“Shush.” He held her and kissed her forehead. “I care about you. You’re my ray of sunlight.”
“Some sunlight.”
“Just passing clouds. It’ll be sunny again.”
She shivered and rested her cheek on his chest. He caressed her back, feeling her tense muscles. When her breathing became soft and regular, he kept caressing her, wondering if she’d ever care about him as he cared about her.
