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Demeter hastened back over, brandishing a hay fork and holding it to the attacker’s neck before he could make another move.
“I suggest you remain where you are,” Demeter said breathlessly.
Oliver collapsed to the ground, a hand to his side, and Eleanor’s knees gave out as she dropped to his side. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not when she’d finally figured out she loved him.
∞∞∞
“You’re hurt!”
Oliver would have laughed if even just the act of breathing did not send shafts of pain through him. Hurt was an understatement. Aware of hands grabbing his clothes, tugging his waistcoat high and the touch of soft digits upon his skin, he forced himself to focus on what he assumed was Eleanor’s fingers. For a brief, blessed while, he’d scarcely noticed the pain, intent on keeping those men from Eleanor and Demeter.
He’d failed. By the time he’d come upon the man, Demeter had been tossed into a carriage and Eleanor was upon the floor. If he couldn’t even protect her, he was not certain he deserved her one jot.
A frustrating realization indeed given he loved the woman.
He vaguely heard Demeter issuing orders to have the men detained, then there was pressure upon his side, and he snapped his eyes open and clenched his teeth to issue a smothered groan of pain.
Eleanor’s image swam in front of him, tousled and so damned beautiful. If he had any energy left in him, he’d be pulling her down for a long lingering kiss but the pain in his side left him feeling as though he’d been run over by a carriage.
As soon as he’d seen her upon the ground, he’d known it with absolute certainty. He loved this woman. Hell, he’d probably known it sooner, but he did not wish to admit to it.
How ironic. For the first time ever, Oliver did not find himself terrified by the thought of being tied to one person for life, but now he could not be certain he wished to tie her to him for life—not if he could not protect her.
“You foolish man.” he heard her muttering then felt several warm raindrops upon his face. He narrowed his gaze, peering at the clear skies behind her head, then spying tears in her eyes.
He wanted to tell her not to cry for him. He was not worth her tears. But Oliver barely had the energy to issue anything other than a few more groans.
“Fetch another man,” she told someone—the innkeeper perhaps from the vague outline of a man in apron. “We need to carry him.”
Two men lifted him and carried him into the shadows. He lost sight of Eleanor but heard her ordering the men to be careful. There was shuffling and footsteps and he looked for her face but saw nothing but rafters going past. The pain burned through his side, coming in waves that threatened to overtake him, so he listened for Eleanor.
“Lay him down carefully,” she said.
He moaned when he felt a soft mattress beneath him though he wasn’t certain if it was from pain or the relief at no longer being carried about like luggage.
“Is the doctor on the way?” she demanded. The mattress sank beside him, and pressure returned to his side. The pain remained hot, searing, rolling through him with every breath.
“You’ll be fine,” Eleanor repeated. “You’ll be well and dancing with me again soon.”
He opened his eyes. “You want to dance with me again?”
“Of course.” She gave a wavery smile. “I want to dance with you all the time.”
Oliver might have smiled, but he did not feel particularly in control of his expressions at present. “The bluestocking wishes to dance with me,” he murmured.
“All the time,” she repeated.
Well, Oliver supposed he had to survive this now. He could not very well consign Eleanor to a life of hiding at balls rather than dancing with him.
Movement filled the room and there could have been one hundred people in there but his attention remained on Eleanor while someone put something cold on his side and the pressure there increased. He glanced briefly at the doctor, then focused back on Eleanor.
She stroked his face and his forehead and looked at him with such softness, he could not quite believe he was deserving of such a look. Not once in his life had anyone stroked his face or looked at him so.
Tightness filled his chest when the doctor moved away, and Eleanor tucked him in. He wanted more of her. More touching, more smiles, maybe even more tears so long as they were happy ones. He wanted this caring, loyal, courageous woman in his life forever. How could he not? The trouble was, would she want him after he had failed her?
Oliver closed his eyes briefly and opened them to darkness. His heart thudded once, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t dead, but hours must have passed, and night had fallen.
Shadowy outlines of furnishings and the vague hum of conversation from the rooms below entered his awareness. A hint of moonlight split the curtains. Oliver could not claim to be pain free but the dull ache in his side felt like a mere bee sting compared to the fiery hot agony of earlier. He twisted his head to the side and spied her.
