Page 68 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 46

Hal couldn’t blame Tia for the horrified look she shot him as he hobbled into the room, his ankles protesting painfully. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror earlier and was reminded forcibly of some of the wounded veterans he’d seen begging in the streets in London. His torso was bandaged tightly, as was his head. One eye was reduced to a swollen, reddened slit, and his nose bled.

His heart had been bleeding too, forced to listen to Tia’s sobs but unable to go to her. In the end, he’d decided propriety could go hang and he must access her bedchamber come heaven, hell, or high water.

Once he’d established Tia was alone, Hal wasted no time in settling himself on the bed beside her.

It was peculiar, seeing her tearstained face and dark curls in the bed where Mary used to sleep, but he thrust the memory away. Mary no longer mattered.

“Oh Hal, I was so worried! I thought I’d lost you.”

He tried to smile, but his lips were so dry it felt more like a grimace. “I thought I’d lost me, too. But the doctor says I’ll live—I’m merely somewhat fragile and have split my head.”

It pained him like the blazes but he wasn’t about to admit it. He’d broken some ribs as well. Doubtless, other hurts would come to light once the initial shock had passed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m so sorry. It all just sort of . . . came out.”

He reached for her, then hesitated. “Are you badly injured?”

Mercifully, she shook her head. Still, he held her gently. How wonderful, to be able to touch another warm, vital human being. He’d spent too long in the half-light with a woman made of dead, cold stone.

“I only have a few cuts and bruises,” Tia murmured against his chest. “I have no excuse for being such a watering pot.”

“Nonsense.” His voice was hoarse from the dust he’d inhaled, and it was an effort to hold back a coughing fit. “You’ve been very brave, my love. You dug me out of the rubble when other young ladies would have run off screaming or fainted. And I was only jesting when I complained you’d disturbed me. I was desperate for an excuse to come in and see you, but Symons has become a martinet and is following Dr. Simpson’s instructions to the letter. Remind me never to be injured again—it gives the servants an excuse to turn into bullies.”

She sank farther into his embrace, laying her cheek against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head, and they sat there in companionable silence for many minutes.

Gradually he became aware her shoulders were shaking. “Are you weeping again, my sweet?” He held her as tightly against his damaged ribcage as he dared.

“Only a little,” came the muffled reply.

“I think rest is called for. And perhaps hot brandy and milk to help you sleep.” But he couldn’t leave her yet. There was something he needed to say.

She nestled closer. “I’m so foolish, getting all upset when it is you who are more badly hurt and in the most serious danger.”

“I beg you, don’t punish yourself. Would you believe me if I told you I never wanted to live more than in the moment the rubble buried me? After Mary’s death, the bitterness I awoke in her, the guilt I felt for allowing it to happen, I wanted to die. Whenever I gazed down from the top of the folly, I fought an almost irresistible urge to jump. I’ve not had the compulsion lately, not even when you walked away from me and I feared I’d destroyed all my hopes by showing you the sculpture.”

He shuddered at the memory. “When the folly began to collapse, I knew things couldn’t end that way, that I didn’t want release. I wanted another life, a new life, with you. So, I jumped.”

“You jumped?”

“Yes. I leapt as far out as I could, to try and get clear of the masonry from the tower. I landed on the grass some distance away and thus avoided being buried too deeply. My ankles continue to protest the feat, but they’ve been splinted and will mend in time. It was a terrible moment, I can tell you. There was so much weight on my spine I thought it would break, and I never expected to be able to breathe again. My head hurt like the devil, and I was in total darkness, thinking I’d been struck blind. Then I heard your voice, calling me back into the light. I made a gargantuan effort at movement and caught your attention. If I hadn’t had you to live for, I might have succumbed.”

“What about Polly?”

He hadn’t forgotten Polly. It was his duty to his child that had kept him going thus far, even though she reminded him of Mary, of the pain of losing his wife in such grim circumstances. “Children are resilient—she would have been well cared for if the folly had claimed me. And she would have had you.”

“She needs you too, Hal. At this very moment, she’s probably weeping in her room, desperate to see us and to know we’re all right.”

“Should I send for her?”

“You should. And you must make every effort to love her, be a true father to her. Promise me.”

He did love his daughter. It was why he’d planned to protect her by giving her a strict upbringing. But Tia had shown him how shortsighted the idea was. “I promise you I will. Now, I shall ring for Bessie, so she can fetch you that milk and brandy. You must sleep, my love.”

“And she must bring Polly too, even if only for a short while.”

Hal squeezed his eyes tight shut. It was ignoble for a man to weep, even if they were tears of joy. He could scarce believe he’d not only found someone who cared for him but was ready to love his daughter, too.

Tia’s hurts would mend. In time, his would as well, and as soon as they were both recovered, he would repeat his offer of marriage.

And he would most definitely not take ‘no’ for an answer.