In the middle of the storm of emotions troubling him, the fact she’d worried about him brought him a ridiculous amount of relief.
They held each other tightly until a new group of nurses hurried along the corridor, rolling down a stretcher. He let her go, missing her softness immediately.
He handed her his handkerchief.
“Thank you.” She wiped her cheeks. “Rowan was so happy to get on the locomotive.”
“I should have told him not to go. Our father died when Rowan was still a child. But before that his mother had the brilliant idea of running off with her lover. I’m what is left of our family, which isn’t much.”
“Rowan’s mother left him?”
He almost regretted having told her that. She had the uncanny ability to make him lower his guard by simply staring at him. “Father did everything in his power to contain the scandal. We haven’t heard from her ever since. I did my best to find her, but with no results. And now he’s injured.”
She put her hand on his and squeezed it. “Don’t blame yourself for the deeds of wicked people.”
But he was one of those wicked people.
Controlling his voice was hard. Too many emotions to handle at once, and he was used only to pushing them down. “I’ve been too busy to spend time with him. And now this.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“But you obviously love him. That’s what matters.”
“I beg to differ. What’s the point of loving someone if I can’t show it?” He wasn’t thinking of just Rowan.
“You’re showing it now.”
“I’m not so sure. I’m not sure of many things.”
The doors opened, and a white-coated doctor came out. Tristan gazed away from her eyes filled with compassion.
“Lord Montcrest,” the doctor said.
Tristan stood still, his breath flushing out of his lungs.
The doctor’s face was unreadable. “Lord Rowan is in his room. He should be awake now. We had to set the bone and remove shrapnel from his leg. The surgery went well.”
“Thank goodness,” Effie said.
Tristan exhaled, but then the doctor’s words sank in. “Is he out of danger?”
“Yes, granted that no infection sets in. Lord Rowan might have problems walking though,” the doctor said. “Time will tell. Sometimes the healing process goes smoothly, and no lasting damage remains.”
“I want to see him now.” He didn’t sound polite to his own ears.
“I would like to come as well.” Effie gave him a pleading glance.
She had no idea how much comfort her presence brought to him.
“Very well.” The doctor led him to a room where the smell of chlorine couldn’t cover that of blood.
Rowan lay in a white bed with his leg propped up on a tall cushion. He smiled weakly when he saw Tristan. A large bruise covered half of his face; the other half was as bloodless as the bedsheets.
He took Rowan’s hand and was glad to find it warm. Surprisingly, Rowan closed his shaky fingers around his hand, too.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Tired.” Rowan smiled at Effie, blinking slowly.
“We were worried about you.” Effie held his other hand.
