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Emma couldn’t sit when her nerves hummed with nervous energy. She rose and paced the room while Louisa sat, sipping her brandy. She related what she could remember, but things were foggy.
“Do you know what was happening at Hell tonight? You must tell me,” Emma implored. “Nothing made any sense.”
Louisa related what she knew of their plan. “Mr. Park wanted Simon to lose enough money at Hell that he would be willing to sell. Simon had Riley, Hood, Ainsley, Stanton, Blakely, and Harry all there to verify that nothing happened when they confronted Park. Every person entering Hell was checked for weapons. Riley told Harry a new employee gave Park the pistol.”
“What were they thinking?” Emma asked. “A man like that would make certain a pistol would be in the room with him.”
“I don’t believe they thought the man could be that foolish in front of so many people.”
“What happened to him?” Emma almost didn’t want to know. She’d seen the way Riley and Hood attacked that man before she fainted.
“He’s dead,” Louisa whispered. “Riley shot him.”
“Good.”
“Emma!”
“You didn’t see the man, Louisa. Walking into Hell like he already owned the place. He was horribly disgusting.”
Hearing a door close in the hall, Emma raced for the door. Opening it, she noticed the surgeon speaking in hushed tones to Harry.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’ve done all I can, but now it’s up to God.” He handed Harry a bottle. “If he wakes in the next two days, give him five drops of this in water. It will dull the pain and make him sleep. Call for me if he worsens.”
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson.” Harry took the bottle and then glanced over at Emma.
“Harry?”
“I’m sorry, Emma.” He bowed his head and quickly wiped at his face as if brushing away tears.
“Can I see him?”
“He is sleeping. The surgeon gave him a heavy dose of laudanum.”
“I’ll stay with him tonight,” Emma said. “Get some rest. If there is any change, I will let you know.”
Emma walked into the dimly lit room and gasped. Simon lay perfectly still on the bed. His face was whiter than she’d ever seen. Pulling up a chair to the bed, she dampened a cloth before placing it on his forehead. She lifted the dressing from his wound with shaking hands. The stitches were neat, and the wound clean. She covered it up and returned to her seat.
She couldn’t lose him.
Rake or not, he was part of her life. Part of her family. And quite possibly the only man she would ever love. What would her life be like without him? Empty. Unfulfilled. Unloved.
He understood her. He was the only person she’d ever felt like herself with whether she was angry, sad, or happy. Her eyes welled with tears as she relived the past month with him.
She loved him so much.
All the men she loved seem to slip through her fingers. Her father, while still alive, she’d thought him dead for years. Even now, they only saw each other at Christmas. Then there was Bolton. Knowing how deep her feelings were for Simon, she couldn’t say she genuinely loved her former fiancée. But she’d had affection for him. Until he rejected her, leaving her to the derision of the ton.
None of those losses felt even close to how she would feel if he...she couldn’t think the word. She had to stop thinking this way. Determination flowed into her as she stared down at his pale form. She would do everything in her power to save him. She flipped the cloth on his forehead and waited.
Over the next few days, she spent much of her time in Simon’s room, caring for him. Harry or Louisa would relieve her for a few hours of restless sleep. Simon woke for only short amounts of time, in which she attempted to get some broth down him. By the fourth day, Emma touched his cheek and couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
“Emma?” Louisa asked as she opened the door. She stopped midstride when she noticed Emma’s tears. “What’s wrong?”
“A fever.”
“No!” Louisa rushed over to the bed and felt his forehead. “He’s not terribly warm.”
Emma knew it didn’t matter. A crushing weight pressed on her heart, knowing that fevers meant infections. “Call the surgeon back. Maybe there is something he can do.”
