Flora had further explained what had happened in the woods while Bernadette and Valaria helped her clean up and change into a different gown from the one now stained with Roarke’s blood. Their looks of horror had brought back her own feelings of terror, grief…and relief when Roarke appeared, her savior from the dark.
“I want to go back to the hallway and wait for the doctor to come out,” Flora said, her voice trembling. “I need to know that Roarke is going to recover.”
Valaria let out a long breath. “Yes, of course. But before we return, I want to ask you something and I need you to really think about the answer.”
Flora forced herself to focus on her friend and frowned. Valaria looked very serious now. Grim. “I don’t like your expression.”
“Yes, this man came careening out of the woods and saved you. But do…do you think he created this scenario as a way to get close to you?” Valaria asked.
Bernadette gasped. “Valaria!”
“I hate to think of it too,” Valaria said with a quick glance at their friend. “But Roarke already lied—we can’t assume he wouldn’t do worse.”
Flora knew why Valaria would think that, but hearing those words made her own feelings on the subject starkly clear.
“Yes, we can,” Flora said, firm and filled with faith. “A liar is not the same as this. I have no doubt that Roarke wasn’t involved in any way in the attack. I know him…even with the lies, I know him well enough to know that. Even if I didn’t, he was too brutal in the way he hit the man, stabbed him in the shoulder, and he was badly hurt.”
Her voice faded as she thought of Roarke dripping in his own blood, his gaze unsteady from the strike that monster who attacked her had thrown. “I’ve never seen so much blood.” She dropped her head and felt the tears start to fall, her terror returning immediately as she asked the question she had kept asking over and over, “Do you think he’ll live?”
“Head wounds bleed, even when they’re not serious,” Valaria said gently, for what had to be the third time. “And Callum seems certain his doctor is the best in the area. I think he’ll be fine. But it’s evident that you still care about this man, that he means more to you than beyond that he protected you.”
Flora gripped her hands at her side. “Yes,” she whispered. “I know you think I’m a fool.”
Valaria’s expression softened. “No, my dear, not you. You are not a fool for caring. He is a fool for not being a better steward of your heart when he was so lucky as to earn even a part of it.” She took her hand. “But I am very grateful to him for saving you.”
“Can we go to him then? And wait?” Flora asked.
Valaria nodded, and together the three of them left the chamber and moved back into the hallway to wait. Callum was already there, and he straightened from his position leaning against the wall when they stepped into view. Valaria rushed to him, leaned up to kiss his cheek. Their eyes met and a world of communication flowed through them.
“Is he well?” Flora asked, and her voice broke. “Is he safe?”
Callum stepped away from Valaria and took both of Flora’s hands. His dark eyes locked with hers and his calm made her feel some fraction of the same. “He is fine,” he said. “He’ll have a nasty scar as a reminder and his head isn’t entirely clear, but I assure you, he will survive. The doctor just departed and Theo is inside, finishing up some conversation before he leaves for London.”
Bernadette stepped forward. “Theo is leaving?” she asked.
Callum glanced at her. “Yes,” he said. “He is going back to do some investigating of the attacker and also to help set up protections for Roarke’s mother. I know he wants to see you before he goes.”
Bernadette nodded, her breath a little short, and Flora almost sagged with relief. “I’m glad he’ll help her. Roarke was so fearful for her safety. And that will allow him to recover.” She looked at the door. “I want to see him. I don’t want to wait.”
Callum hesitated and exchanged another quick look with Valaria, but then motioned his hand. “I’m sure he and Theo won’t mind the interruption.”
She was already moving to open and step through the door. She found Roarke on the bed. His forehead was bandaged, the blood had been cleaned up by the doctor so there were no remnants now. He was shirtless and barefoot, lying on top of the coverlet, propped up on the pillows, talking to Theo.
Neither man had noticed her entry, so she got to hear the end of their exchange.
“I know I don’t deserve your help. But I deeply appreciate it, Theo,” Roarke said as he handed over a letter. “Hilde should agree to assist you in making my mother comfortable with these instructions.”
Theo took the letter and nodded. “I’ll do everything in my power to help make this right on all accounts. I know you’ll do the same.” He turned and saw her, and Roarke followed his gaze.
He caught his breath and Flora did the same. Theo gave a thin smile. “I’ll leave you two and get on my way. I’ll write as soon as I can and update you,” he said.
As he left, Theo squeezed her arm and then shut the door behind himself, leaving her alone with Roarke for the first time since his horrible secrets had been revealed. She moved toward him, almost not of her own will and stopped beside the bed.
“Roarke,” she breathed as she reached out to gently touch the bandage on his head and then slid her fingers to his cheek. He leaned into her hand, his green gaze holding hers with more intensity than any man had ever looked at her in her entire life.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
He shook his head and winced with the action. “Don’t make me out to be a hero, Flora. I don’t expect any quarter after what I’ve done.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, so close to him, so very aware now that he was half-naked and extremely nicely made. She had the strangest desire to trace the muscles of his chest and stomach with her fingertip, but held back.
Instead she drew in a deep breath and whispered, “I’d like an explanation of how exactly you came to be here, Roarke. Please. I need the truth.”
CHAPTER 17
After his lies had come out in such a terrible way, after he’d watched Flora’s face crumple with betrayal and heartbreak, Roarke had fought to accept that he would never feel her touch again. He’d dreamed of it, of course, every night since they’d been parted. Sometimes he swore he could feel the weight of it, like the ghost of what he’d lost had passed by him.
But right now Flora was seated on the edge of the bed and she was still touching him. Her hand covered his, her fingers soft against his skin. And nothing else in the world mattered in that charged moment.
Except, of course, for the explanation he was about to give.
He told her everything. He told her about his cousins’ continued threats, about Gertrude’s arrival at his mother’s, about his rush of a trip from London that was a blur. He spared no detail, even when he saw her flinch with pain and fear.
When he was finished, she stared at their intertwined fingers, silent. Pained. He could see that clearly. Fearful, but of course she would be.