"There was a guard posted at the end of the row of cells where the captain was being held. He must have been standing in the shadows and we slipped right past him. He took off to sound the alarm. Your husband stopped him before he could reach the front door."

She forced herself to breathe. Cord was all right. Four men had left the prison. "What happened?"

"There was a struggle. Lord Brant knew he would bring a dozen men running should he fire his pistol. The guard pulled a knife, and in the fighting, your husband was wounded. He took the blade in his chest."

She made a strangled sound in her throat and whirled toward the back of the wagon. Max caught her arm and jerked her back around in the seat.

"Stay calm. We can't afford to draw attention. We've got to get back to the ship."

"But we have to help him! He must be bleeding. We have to get it stopped!"

"We've done that. He'll be all right till we reach the Nightingale. The surgeon will take care of him once we get there."

She glanced toward the back of the wagon. "The road is b.u.mpy. What if he starts bleeding again? Let me look at him. Maybe there is something I can do."

"The best thing you can do is keep your eyes on the road and pretend there is nothing whatsoever wrong. We aren't out of this yet. If we get stopped before we reach the ship, it might be better if his lordship took that blade in the heart."

Tory gripped the wagon seat and sat there shaking. Cord was injured, perhaps very gravely. And there was nothing she could do!

"What about the guard who attacked him? Won't he sound the alarm?"

Max's lips went thin. "You needn't worry on that score. He won't be making any sound at all."

Tory said nothing more, but a shiver went through her. All she could think of was Cord and how badly he might be hurt.

The ride back to the ship stretched on interminably, accompanied by the frantic, sluggish beating of her heart. No one stirred in the back of the wagon and no one appeared on the little-traveled road in search of them.

Finally, she heard the crash of waves against sand, and relief, mingled with her terrible fear, threatened to swamp her.

"Easy now," Max said, eyeing the pale hue of her face. "We're almost there."

But they couldn't get there fast enough for Tory.

Her throat closed up to think that beneath the tarp, her husband might be dying.

Cord was unconscious when they carried him aboard. His eyes were closed, his face deathly pale. Each breath seemed an effort, and as Tory looked at him, her heart squeezed so hard it hurt. The doctor stripped away his b.l.o.o.d.y shirt, exposing a deep wound in his chest that continued oozing blood.

Don't let him die, Tory silently prayed. Please don't let him die. She had told him she loved him, but she knew he didn't believe her. Now he might never know.

"The blade went in deep, but straight," the surgeon said as she hovered next to where Cord lay in the cabin they had shared. "That is good news, but he has lost a lot of blood-which is not."

The surgeon, a man named Neil McCauley, was short and slightly built, not more than five-and-thirty, with dark hair and a mustache. He shifted a little with the roll of the ship, whose sails had been unfurled, the anchor weighed. The Nightingale was heading into deep water, away from French sh.o.r.es, back home to England.

Tory prayed that Cord would survive the journey.

He stirred on the bunk and groaned as the doctor poured sulphur powder into the wound, along with a mixture of herbs and a thick substance McCauley said was made with axle grease.

Cord groaned and her hand shook as she reached out to touch him. Starkly pale, his skin icy cold, he still exuded the magnetic, vibrantly powerful presence that drew her as no other man ever had.

And yet he could die, just like any other man.

"We'll have to keep a close eye out for putrefaction," the surgeon said as he threaded his needle with catgut and began the lengthy process of st.i.tching his patient back together.

Tory frowned at the haphazard way the man drew the needle through Cord's torn flesh. She had always loved his smooth, hard-muscled chest. She didn't like to think of the scars the surgeon's coa.r.s.e work would leave.

"Perhaps I could do that, Dr. McCauley. I've never sewn a man's skin back together, but I have done a good bit of needlework over the years."

"Be my guest." The inside st.i.tching was already done. McCauley handed over the threaded needle and she took a steadying breath.

She could do this, do it for Cord. She would do whatever she could to help him, as he had once helped her.

Her hand trembled for an instant, then steadied as she determinedly set to work, taking small, delicate st.i.tches that would mostly disappear once the wound had healed. Cord's body stiffened a little with the pain of the needle sliding into his flesh and his eyes slowly opened. She could read the pain in his face and a lump rose in her throat.

"I know this hurts," she said. "I'll try to do it as quickly as I can."

"I'll get him some laudanum," the doctor said. "It will help ease his discomfort."

As Tory continued to work, the surgeon poured the bitter liquid into a cup, added a bit of water, then lifted Cord's head and trickled the mixture between his lips. Cord swallowed the substance and lay back down, and his eyes came to rest on her face. For an instant, his golden gaze softened. Seeing her there beside him, he seemed to relax and breathe a little easier.

"The doctor is taking good care of you," Tory said, smoothing back his hair. "You're going to be all right."

He must have seen the fear and worry in her face for he tried to smile. Instead, his eyes slid closed and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Tears welled in her eyes. She clamped down on an urge to weep and continued her st.i.tching, pulling the thread taut, taking another small st.i.tch and pulling it taut again. When the wound was completely closed, she tied off the thread they had used and clipped it neatly. The moment she was finished, she burst into tears.

"It's all right, my lady," the surgeon said gently. "The knife didn't hit any vital organs. It is losing so much blood that makes him so weak."

She nodded, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks.

"He'll need plenty of rest and care, hut with luck, there is a good chance he'll recover."

He would, she told herself. Cord was young and strong. He would survive this and soon be back on his feet.

Tory stayed with him that night, sitting in the chair next to his bed. Both Rafe and Max Bradley came to check on him, but he didn't wake up while they were there.

It wasn't until just before dawn that he stirred.

When his dull, pain-glazed eyes slowly opened and fixed on her face, Tory almost started crying again. Instead, she swallowed against the thick lump in her throat and busied herself tucking the covers around him.

"You need to lie still," she said briskly. "You will open my very handy st.i.tches."

The edge of his mouth barely curved. "I never thought your...needlework...would come in so...handy."

She brushed the hair back from his face, just so she could touch him. "Yes, well, I suppose it did."

The doctor knocked just then and came in to check on his patient. "So you are awake."

"Only just a moment ago," Tory told him.

McCauley drew back the covers and looked down at the bandage. "The bleeding wasn't excessive during the night. I believe we have got it mostly stopped."

As the doctor stripped off the bandage and replaced it with a clean one, Cord's gaze fixed on the surgeon's face.

"What of Ethan?" he asked. "Is he...all right?"

McCauley frowned, debating how much to say to a man so gravely injured. "He is doing as well as can be expected."

Cord didn't look satisfied with the answer, but his eyelids drifted down and, seconds later, he was once again asleep.

The sun was up and Cord was awake when the doctor returned to check on him a second time. His color was better, Tory thought, and his gaze more alert.

"I insist on knowing Captain Sharpe's condition," he said with authority.

The doctor straightened, mildly irritated by his tone. "You want the truth? The captain is near starved to death. He's so weak he can barely stand. He was infested with lice and beaten within an inch of his life. What can be done for him has been. He is bathed and shorn of his beard and filthy mane of hair. Right now he needs to eat and sleep and try to recover his strength. Is that what you wished to know?"

Cord relaxed against the pillow. "Thank you," he said softly, letting his eyelids drift closed. The sheet draped over his hips, leaving him bare to the waist. The white of the bandage stood out against the dark hair on his chest.

"See that he takes the medicine I've left and a bit more of that laudanum. It will keep the pain at bay. I'll be back to check on him one more time before we dock."

The doctor left the cabin and Tory moved a damp cloth gently over Cord's face, down his neck and over his powerful chest and shoulders. His skin quickly warmed the cloth and she worried that he might be starting to run a fever.

"The doctor says you should have a bit more laudanum. It will ease the pain and you will be able to sleep."

Cord stared past her out the porthole. Several times, he seemed to have drifted back in time, his thoughts returning to the man he had found in the prison.

"I didn't even know him," Cord said. "He looked nothing at all like Ethan. He looked like a man who was already dead."

Tory's hand shook as she dipped the cloth into the porcelain basin of water and wrung it out. "Captain Sharpe will recover and so will you. You saved his life, Cord. If you hadn't persisted as you did, he never would have left that filthy prison."

Cord turned his attention to her, reached out and caught her hand. "Thank you for what you did for him tonight. We couldn't have gotten him out of there without you."

Tory brought his fingers to her lips. "I'm just glad I could help."

Cord's gaze held hers for a moment. Then weariness forced his eyes slowly closed. Tory continued to bath his heated skin and press cups of water to his lips, and Cord seemed comforted by her presence.

They reached the London docks a little after noon and carriages were summoned to return them to their homes. With Cord injured, it was decided that Captain Sharpe should recover at Sheffield House, the duke's palatial residence. Dr. McCauley promised to continue his care of both men.

Tory got her first look at Captain Sharpe as he was helped into one of the carriages, limping slightly, leaning heavily against the duke. A tall man with high, carved cheekbones, he had the hard, dangerous look of a man like Max Bradley.

His gaunt frame and the loose fit of his clothes emphasized the width of his shoulders and hinted at what he must have suffered in the prison. His lips were well shaped, but carried a cynical twist.

It was his eyes that were most disconcerting. She had never seen eyes the pale hue of a frozen sea, and yet she thought that once he recovered, Ethan Sharpe would be a very handsome man.

As it was scarcely the time for introductions, she returned her attention to her husband, helping him aboard a second carriage for the ride back to his town house. All the way there, she thanked G.o.d that he had survived and prayed that his wound would heal.

The week pa.s.sed in a blur of activity. Tending to Cord consumed most of her time, seeing to his meals, bathing him, making certain he took his medication, changing the dressings on his wound.

By the end of the week, there was no sign of putrefaction and, to Tory's great relief, it was clear that Cord would completely recover.

"I've a houseful of servants to do my bidding," he had grumbled, clearing recovering his strength. "Considering our present circ.u.mstances, you are under no obligation to take care of me."

But she wanted to take care of him. She loved him. "It isn't a burden."

He didn't say more and she thought that he was as pleased to have her there as she was pleased to be there.

On Monday, after eight days of confinement, when she entered his suite, she found him dressed and standing in the middle of the room. He looked a little pale and somewhat shaky-and so handsome it made her heart hurt.

"You're up," she said, selfishly wishing she could have spent a few more days taking care of him.

"I am out of that blasted bed, as I should have been several days past. As I would have been if it weren't for Dr. McCauley's highhandedness and your constant bullying." A corner of his mouth edged up. "Thank you, Victoria. I appreciate your care of me."

She didn't reply. She wasn't certain what would happen now. If he would move out or expect her to leave. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of how much she would miss him.

She worked to keep her voice even. "Are you going to the duke's to see your cousin?"

"I'm headed there, yes...eventually. I hope Ethan has had half as good a nurse as I have."

She flushed and looked down at the toes of her slippers, peeking out from beneath the hem of her cream muslin skirt. "Are you...are you certain you're feeling well enough? Perhaps I should go with you."

"I don't think Ethan is ready for visitors yet. And I'm feeling perfectly fine."

She studied him a moment, trying to memorize his features, hoping he would come home, though she had no idea if he would. She expected to receive the annulment papers any day. She pasted on a smile and ignored the way her heart was squeezing inside her chest.

"Well, then, if there is nothing else you need..."

"There is one more thing. Before you go, I'd like a word with you. There is something of importance I'd like to say." His gaze flicked over her, making her heart hurt even more, then he moved off toward the sofa in front of the hearth.

"If you don't mind, perhaps we might sit down."

She rushed forward. "Yes, of course! Here, let me help you."

He brushed away her a.s.sistance and sat down with only a grimace or two, then waited as she took a seat across from him.

"Being abed this week, I've had a good deal of time to think. Or perhaps it was having a brush with mortality." He seemed so serious her nerves grew even more frazzled.

"Yes, I can understand that."

"I spent a good deal of that time thinking about our marriage."

She swallowed. Dear G.o.d, she had thought of nothing else. That and her worry for him had kept her up night after night.

"We have only been wed a little over three months, not long enough to really know each other. And the circ.u.mstances of our marriage were not what either of us would have preferred."

She clasped her hands together in her lap, trying to keep them from shaking. "I'm sorry I forced you into such a position. It was never my intent."

"I'm the one who forced the marriage, not you. I can be somewhat highhanded. At the time, I thought it the best solution all round."

"You saved my sister. That is all that mattered."