Taking up the teapot, Thalia poured, then pa.s.sed him the cup and saucer.

He took a single sip and set it aside.

"So, Lord Lawrence, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

His golden brown eyebrows drew tight, his mouth unsmiling. "This is not a social call, I am afraid. I have come to speak with you about my brother."

"Oh?" Her heart gave several more hard beats.

Had he come to warn her off, concerned she might be thinking about resuming her relationship with Leo? Well, he need not worry on that score. She had relinquished any hold she may have had on Leo and had no plans to resume it.

She looked at Lawrence's expression again and felt her heart stutter for a different reason entirely. "What is it? Has something happened?"

His face grew sterner. "Leo was set upon by a gang of ruffians three nights ago and beaten quite severely. He was left in an alley and not discovered until several hours afterward."

She gasped, her blood turning to ice. "Oh, my G.o.d! He isn't-"

"No, he's alive. But he is gravely ill. He has been asking for you. I have come to take you to him if you will accompany me?"

For a second she couldn't think, her throat tight, ribs aching in an agony of disbelief and horror.

Leo hurt?

Leo possibly dying?

She blinked away the sudden moisture that stung her eyes and came to herself again, tossing her napkin onto the table as she stood.

"Of course," she said. "I shall come with you immediately. Just let me inform my butler where I am going and we will be off."

"Thank you, Lady Thalia." He looked relieved and abruptly exhausted as if he had not slept in days. And so disturbingly like Leo that the tears threatened again. Holding them back, she went to make ready.

Leo lay in a haze of pain, trying his best not to move. Even his skin hurt where it made contact with the soft cotton sheets and silk coverlet. Time moved forward in strange fits and starts, some moments slow and intensely vivid, while others simply weren't there at all-just gaps of black nothingness that he knew he would never get back.

Yet even in the darkness, the pain never left. His injuries ran like a patchwork of misery all over his body. Bruises and breaks. Cuts and swelling. He could see out of only one eye, the other swollen completely shut. He could move his jaw enough to take a little water or broth but nothing more, which was fine since he had no appet.i.te.

He wouldn't have worried, certain he would heal, if it were not for the deep, persistent ache in his back and the blood in his urine.

Internal organ damage, he'd heard the doctors murmur. Bruised kidneys. Broken ribs.

He was, he realized, in rather a bad way.

They'd wanted to bleed him, but he'd been lucid enough to refuse. Lawrence had supported his decision, had them bind his ribs as tightly as breathing would allow and leave a few restorative tinctures. They gave him laudanum as well; it was the first time in years he'd taken it and he was grateful for anything that would blunt the razor's edge of his suffering.

Someone was always with him, keeping vigil at his bedside. His mother. One of his sisters, brothers or sisters-in-law. Even Adam had been there at one point.

Yet there was one person missing. The one he longed for the most. The one about whom he dreamed.

His sorrow.

His salvation.

Thalia.

He'd come awake near dawn with her name on his lips.

Lawrence had been there, looking haggard and more concerned than he had ever seen him look. They'd talked, though he couldn't quite remember about what.

Then he'd been lost again, slipping into the darkness, seeking comfort in dreams of her.

A soft hand smoothed his hair, cool fingers ever so gently caressing his forehead and one small uninjured area of his cheek. A faint floral scent drifted on the air, warm and feminine and hauntingly familiar. He must be dreaming again to imagine that Thalia was here.

Or maybe I've died and this is heaven, he thought as he felt her lips whisper over his own with the lightest, sweetest of touches.

And in that instant, there was no pain.

"Oh, Leo," she murmured brokenly. "Oh, sweetheart, look what they've done to you."

She took his hand. Something wet and warm fell onto his skin.

He forced his eyes open-or rather the one lid that wasn't swollen shut-and found her bending over him like an angel.

"Thalia," he whispered, his voice hoa.r.s.e and strained from disuse.

He looked more closely. Had she been crying? Her eyes were very brown, moist and luminous, distressed.

"Shh," she hushed rea.s.suringly, stroking her fingers over his hair again. "Don't talk. Go back to sleep."

"Am I dreaming?" he said after a moment. "Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here. Your brother Lord Lawrence came to get me this morning. He told me what happened."

Another tear slid down her cheek.

"Don't cry. I hate it when you cry."

"Then I won't." With the back of a hand, she wiped the tear away and smiled. "See? All gone." She went back to stroking his hair. "Is there anything you need? Are you hungry or thirsty?"

He shook his head, ignoring the pain the movement caused. "The only thing I need is you."

"You have me."

But for how long?

He tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her down to sit on the bed. With extreme care, she settled next to him.

"Don't go," he said.

"I'm right here."

His chest began to ache, lungs straining beneath his broken ribs. "Swear you won't leave."

"I'll be here when you wake," she said.

But what if she wasn't? What if she went away, disappeared as she'd once said she might? What if this was the last time he saw her?

"Swear," he demanded.

"Shh, I swear. Don't upset yourself. I'll stay for as long as you want me."

He searched her eyes for a long minute, then let himself relax again. But he didn't ease his grip on her hand. "That means forever, you realize? Because I'll always want you. I love you."

"And I love you. Sleep now. Just sleep."

But he didn't want to sleep. He wanted only to lie here and look at her. Memorize each beautiful line and graceful curve of her face.

There was something else, though. Something he needed to tell her. Something important.

"Did Lawrence tell you?" he asked.

"Tell me what?"

"That I made a will."

A shudder went through her. "You don't need a will," she said fiercely. "You aren't going to die."

"I could. I heard the doctors."

"Whatever you heard is nonsense and doctors are quite frequently wrong about such things. You're only twenty-five years old. You just need to rest and recover, that's all."

"Still, if I don't get better-"

"Of course you're going to get better. I won't let you do anything else."

"But if I don't," he said insistently, "I want you to know I've made provision for you."

"Provision? What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving you my fortune."

Her eyes rounded. "That's impossible. I don't want your money."

He ignored her statement. "When we parted a few months ago, I know you turned me away out of some misguided notion that I would be happier without you. That I would have a better life if I moved on. But I won't. I can't."

"You may not think so now." She glanced down at their joined hands. "But you'll realize I'm right someday."

He squeezed her hand. "I won't."

She looked up again.

"I love you and I'm not going to stop. Not ever," he said. "There is something you should know about Byron men."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"We live wild lives until we find the right woman. Once we do, we hold fast and never let go." Pausing, he drew a breath. "I know we cannot marry, but it doesn't matter, not to me. In my heart, you are already my wife. Am I your husband?"

"Leo," she murmured.

"Am I?"

For a long moment, she said nothing. When she spoke, her words were as solemn as a wedding vow and just as meaningful. "Yes. In my heart, you are my husband."

He gave a faint nod, satisfied. "And a husband provides for his wife, even after his death."

"You are not going to die. Stop saying such things."

"I couldn't rest easy, not without knowing you were provided for. You'll never want for anything again, Thalia. Everything that is mine is now yours."

"I told you, I don't want your money. All I could ever want is you."

Tears welled in her eyes, then overflowed.

He reached up and brushed his thumb over her cheeks, ignoring the pain that went through his back and chest at the movements. "Kiss me and tell me you love me, wife."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," he lied.

"I love you, husband. More than I've ever loved anyone in my life. More than I will ever love anyone again."

Her lips met his, soft and gentle and infinitely sweet. He closed his eyes and drank in her touch, her warmth, knowing if this was the last, then he would die happy.

Slowly, the blackness returned, pulling at him again, drawing him down and away. He tried to resist, hearing her voice calling him, as if from a distance. But he couldn't hold on; the darkness was just too powerful to resist. Like a great ocean wave, it swept over him into nothingness.

Chapter 34.

Thalia startled awake at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Clybourne's clear, gentle green eyes resting upon her, a concerned smile on her lips.

"Why don't you go get some proper rest in one of the bedrooms?" Leo's mother suggested softly. "I can watch him for a while."

"No, I'm all right," Thalia said, shaking off her sleepiness as she sat up in the chair at Leo's bedside. "I promised him I would be here when he wakes."