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Fiore had to admit he liked the sound of that. Still, he thought he had a better idea. “You could keep me warm.”
A moment of silent astonishment ensued, during which Enzo blinked down at him with those soft, dark, enormous eyes Fiore loved so well.
Then he withdrew, stripped down to his shirt, and, to Fiore’s infinite relief, slipped into bed beside him.
As glad as Fiore had felt to see Enzo’s face upon waking, it was nothing compared to his gentle embrace, his arms curling protectively around him. The anodyne dose had banished all but the deepest aches, allowing Fiore the delicious pleasure of insinuating himself snug into Enzo’s grasp.
“So,” Fiore said. “Tell me how you rescued me.”
“I didn’t,” Enzo insisted again. He gently combed his hand through Fiore’s curls as he spoke. “Nascimbene coated his blade in cantarella oil. Either he did so too far ahead of the duel, so a great deal of it evaporated, or whoever procured him the dose lied about its potency. Regardless—a scratch such as he gave you is not oft survived.”
“Oh,” Fiore said softly.
Enzo held him tight. “Dr. Leopardi—Nascimbene’s chirurgeon—”
“I remember,” Fiore mumbled.
“He carried the antidote with him to the dueling field.”
“In case Nascimbene pricked himself on his own sword?” Fiore guessed.
A bitter huff of laughter escaped Enzo. “Possibly. More likely in case through some freak accident Dr. Leopardi himself was cut with the poisoned blade.”
“How did you know he carried the antidote?”
“He’d be a fool not to.”
Fiore supposed that sound enough. “So you demanded it from him.”
“I told him to surrender it if he wished to live, yes.”
Fiore smiled into Enzo’s collar. “So you did save me.”
If Enzo demurred again, Fiore slipped off to sleep before he heard it.
~
Enzo indulged himself as much or more than Fiore when he agreed to lie beside him.
Three days had passed since the duel. Three of the worst days Enzo had lived. Enzo hadn’t left Fiore’s side since he’d arrived all too late to the dueling field. The only thing that had sustained him throughout was Fiore’s fight for survival.
To see Fiore awaken banished all Enzo’s frantic fears. To feel his pulse grow stronger beneath his fingertips, to watch those dark and beautiful eyes open again, to hear his perfect voice—Enzo hadn’t dared hope for any of it. To have it all at once threatened to overwhelm him. Only the knowledge that Fiore’s delicate health required a calm and quiet atmosphere to improve kept Enzo in check.
He’d hardly slept the past three nights. He had lain abed beside Fiore for a few scant hours, hoping his presence might calm him as it had before. Then by some blessed twist of fate Fiore had awoken and demanded Enzo join him. Enzo could do no less than acquiesce.
And then, to watch Fiore fall into a true and peaceful sleep—not the fitful febrile thrashing nightmare nor the cold and deathlike trance he’d alternated between for the last three days—and to feel his frail form relax in his protective embrace… Enzo couldn’t have relinquished him even if he’d wished to.
Yet even as Fiore sank into tranquil repose, all the guilt Enzo had shoved down to focus on Fiore’s survival now resurfaced. His mind ran through the events of the fateful morning of the duel over and over again, trying to work out where he had failed to outmaneuver Lucrezia and what he might have done differently. His remorse for leaving Fiore to fight in his stead threatened to drown him. He wondered if Orazio had felt the same when—
Carlotta’s distinctive knock fell upon the door.
Enzo raised his head. He didn’t dare move more, lest he wake Fiore. “Enter.”
Carlotta slipped into the room. If the sight of her charge abed with his poisoned lover surprised her, she didn’t show any hint of it. “Her grace the prince would see you in the library.”
Enzo stared at her. For Lucrezia to leave the princely palazzo required extraordinary circumstance. For her to encroach upon Enzo now when she bore as much blame as himself for Fiore’s present suffering required brazen foolishness. Only his unwillingness to disturb Fiore prevented him from storming out to scold her. “You may tell her grace the prince that I do not intend to leave this chamber until Fiore is well.”
Carlotta accepted this with a nod and withdrew.
