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Groggily, Courtney lifted the bedcovers, wondering why she still felt as if there were an oppressive weight on her chest. She glanced down and surveyed herself, blinking in surprise. She was clad in a nightdress, beneath which she could make out the outline of a thick bandage. More bandages decorated both her arms and legs—and head, she added silently, discovering the last as she reached up to touch her pounding skull. So that’s what that nice lady had been tending to, she deduced. My head. The man in the fishing boat had said something about a concussion. She frowned. What else had he said? And how had she sustained all these injuries?
The water.
Abruptly, more flashes of memory ensued. She’d fallen from Lexley’s shoulder. There had been sharp pain, then a deluge of water.
And then that man in the boat. Clearly, he’d rescued her, brought her…where?
With great care, she inched her head to one side, enough to get a glimpse of her surroundings without heightening her discomfort. The room was a palace…ten times the size of her cabin, with furnishings that could be no less grand than those belonging to the Prince Regent himself. The desk and dressing table were a rich reddish brown wood—mahogany, if the descriptions her books had provided were accurate, the carpet thickly piled, as was indicated by the deep indentations made by the bedposts, and the ceiling high and gilded.
Whoever “his lordship” was, he was indeed a wealthy man.
Not that it mattered.
A surge of emptiness pervaded Courtney’s heart. Her father was gone, murdered by a bloodthirsty pirate who had usurped her home, bound and starved her, and used her for bait in his obsessive quest.
Why couldn’t she have died, too?
Tears were trickling down her cheeks when the bedchamber door opened.
“Ah. I see Matilda was right. You are awake.”
Courtney recognized the voice at once, her dazed mind making the connection that “his lordship” and her rescuer were one and the same man. Valiantly, she brought herself under control. After all, this man had saved her life and, whether or not that meant anything to her any longer, she owed him her thanks.
Dashing the moisture from her face, she eased her head slowly in his direction.
He was as tall and broad as she’d initially perceived, his hair as black as night; his eyes, by contrast, were an insightful, silvery gray as they bore into hers. His features were hard and decidedly aristocratic, and there were harsh lines etched about his mouth and eyes that made him look both older than he probably was and cynical—as if life had robbed him of youth and laughter.
Somehow she sensed he would understand her suffering.
“Yes. I’m awake,” she murmured.
Crossing over, he took in her pallor, the dampness still visible on her lashes, the torment in her eyes. “What pains you so, your injuries or the events that preceded them?”
She swallowed. “I would gratefully endure ten of the former if I could erase the latter.”
With a nod, he pulled up a chair and sat. “Do you recall Dr. Gilbert’s visit?”
“Who?”
“My personal physician. He tended to your injuries several hours ago. Luckily, no bones appear to be shattered. Your lacerations are varied, the most severe being the gash on your brow. That one is deep and bled profusely throughout our excursion to shore. Since you also have several damaged ribs and quite a concussion, there will be a fair amount of pain—more so in a short while when the laudanum has worn off.”
“Laudanum?” Courtney murmured vaguely.
“Dr. Gilbert put a dose in the brandy you drank.” A faint smile. “The brandy you apparently don’t remember drinking. In any case, it helped you sleep and numbed the effects of your injuries. When it wears off, the pain will intensify. So you’ll need continual doses of laudanum over the next several days, and complete bed rest for a week.” Her rescuer’s smile vanished. “It seems your body is badly depleted of food and water. You’ll need to replenish your strength by consuming a great deal of both. In short, you’re going to have to stay abed and let others minister to you until you’re well enough to take care of yourself.”
“I—” Courtney wet her lips, his lordship’s words grazing the periphery of her mind. Stay in bed? Let others take care of her? Terrified realization struck. She had no bed, no home, no one to treat her wounds. She also had no money, no worldly possessions, and nowhere to go.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I—yes, I heard.” Shattered or not, Courtney was determined to retain the one thing she still did have: her pride, that wondrous pride with which her father had gifted her. “You dived in after me…when I…”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.” She spoke slowly, in breathy fragments that caused minimal movement to her chest. “Thank you. For risking your life. For bringing me here. And for fetching…your physician…to treat my wounds. I realize it must have been…a great inconvenience…to you and your family. I also realize you saved my life.”
One dark brow rose. “That sounds more like regret than appreciation.”
“If so…the fault is certainly not yours.” Courtney rested a moment, her fingers clenching as she fortified herself to go on. “I’m sorry,” she managed at last. “But the truth is…I have nothing to offer you in return. Nothing at all.”
