Page 13 of Broken

“Lillian? Lilly, wake up. I need to move you, sweetheart.” He received no response and, alarmed, he checked for a pulse at her wrist. It was hard to find and very faint. He cursed and then eased his hands under her thinly clad form.

Giles lifted her easily into a sitting position then raised them both, pulling her tightly against his chest. She was light. Too light. He held nothing but air. Beneath the stench of sickness, he detected the faint scent of lemon in her hair.

He swayed a moment on his feet then carefully made his way out of the room, up the long steps, and along to her bedchamber. Atticus moved ahead of him and barked once. By the time Giles got Lilly to her bedchamber, Dithers had the window closed again and the fire relit.

The sheets were cold. Atticus settled himself along one side of the bed, seemingly content that Giles was in charge, but kept a distance. He possibly did not care for Lilly’s new aroma, but at least she was alive.

As Giles nestled her in the bed, he touched the cold glass of a bottle and removed it to read the label.

Laudanum, and all of it gone.

Giles’ heart thumped. His mother had used the same poison to follow his father into the family burial plot.

“Get some hot water, Mrs. Osprey. Quickly, woman,” he snapped, thrusting the empty bottle at her.

The housekeeper looked at the bottle and blanched, stuffing it into her pocket, and out of his sight.

Giles fussed in confusion, tugging the dirty strands of hair clear of the pillow so they lay to wait for the warm water. He would rinse them out and they could dry over a towel, but that wouldn’t make her better. He reached for the blankets and cocooned them around her body loosely, wishing this had not happened. Cataloguing tasks helped keep his panic at bay, but he wanted her father back. Now.

He reached for her small white hands and rubbed, hoping to warm them using friction. Combined body heat could warm her swiftly, but he would not consider joining her in bed until he grew desperate about her condition.

Mrs. Osprey arrived with the dish of water and Giles took it from her. He cleaned Lilly’s hair carefully himself, washing all traces of sickness away, and toweled it dry. When Mrs. Osprey handed him a comb, he tugged it through the damp ends slowly. Beautiful hair—silver-white, thickly curled around her face, neck, and torso. He laid the strands over another towel and finally raised his gaze to her face.

Lilly’s eyes were closed, he could see that much. Her pale lashes lay heavy against the swells of her cheekbones. A sting of emotion rippled through him, and he struggled to understand his reaction.

Lilly was a tiny woman. Pale like moonlight. He moved her hair further back from her face.

And forgot to breathe.

Hollow rushing filled his ears and the world around him darkened, focused on this one place. The sparkles floating in front of his eyes were blinding, until he simply had to draw in a breath of lemon-scented air to keep seeing the vision lying in the bed before him. The drapes were still open, and it was still day.

Lillian Winter was his ghost.

CHAPTER FIVE

Giles staggered back from the bed in horror. His hands rose, as if to ward away evil.

All this time. His mind blanked for a moment, and then he knew the truth.

He was going to fry in hell.

His soul would be eternally damned for the stupidity he had wallowed in for the past years. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty. It was just not possible. Lilly could not be his ghost.

Reopening them did not change his situation. Perhaps a good stoning would.

“God save me,” Giles whispered.

“Beg pardon, my lord. Is something the matter?” Mrs. Osprey asked.

Giles could not answer. His thoughts swam around in circles. He walked toward the window but glanced back at the bed. “Oh, fuck.”

Mrs. Osprey gasped, but he did not care if he offended her delicate sensibilities. He was already in a great deal of trouble. Far more than he thought he would be in when he’d been saddled with Lillian Winter as a guest. Offending his housekeeper with his poor choice of words was the least of his troubles. God was punishing him for his wicked ways, and the torment was going to continue for a long time to come. For all of eternity, perhaps. He swore again.

“Milord, please,” Dithers begged.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic, insane lapses of judgment, I think this one is possibly the finest in the known world.” Giles couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Just couldn’t keep it in my bloody trousers, could I? No, no, just wave it about and display myself for the world to see. Fuck, you arrogant bloody beef-witted fool. Goddamn it.”

He looked at the bed and swore some more, probably shocking poor Mrs. Osprey into palpitations, because Dithers removed the woman from the room. He was alone with Lillian once more.