Page 90 of Enslaved
“To summon the doctor who is attending you. You’ve been unconscious all night.”
Diana turned her face into the pillow. The shock of all that had happened to her in the last hours, coupled with the fact that she had been torn from Marcus Magnus so cruelly, were too much to bear. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she quietly sobbed, “Marcus … Marcus.”
As the Earl of Bath reached the door, the plaintive sound of Diana’s crying stopped him in his tracks. The longing and quiet desperation he heard in her voice touched a chord deep inside him, and hearing her cry transported him to his childhood and the dim remembrance that his grandmother had always called him Marcus.
The doctor came the moment he was summoned. He had attended university with Mark Hardwick and the two men were well acquainted. Mark met him at the door.
“Charles, she’s regained consciousness. It happened quite suddenly. She was lying still as death, then she shot up in the bed so distraught I didn’t quite know what to do. When she calmed down, I asked her where she had been and she concocted some ridiculous tale about being transported back in time.”
“Really?” Charles Wentworth asked with great interest.
“She’s been crying for someone called Marcus.”
“Isn’t thatyourname, old boy?”
“Well, yes, but I can assure you Lady Diana isn’t crying for me. The two of us rubbed against each other rather abrasively whenever we met.”
“Well, I’ll have a look at her. I think I’d better go in alone. We don’t want to upset her further.”
Mark nodded his understanding. “I’ll wait down here, Charles.”
When he opened the chamber door, he smiled at the beautiful girl in the bed. “Good morning, I’m Dr. Wentworth. Don’t be alarmed, I’m just going to make sure you’re all right, after your ordeal.”
He had thought her lovely when he had seen her unconscious, but now that he saw her eyes, the color of violets drenched with tears, he found her beauty breathtaking. Before he examined her, he wanted to talk with her. If he could gain her confidence, perhaps she would tell him where she had been and what had happened to her.
“My ordeal? You saw me last night, I understand?”
“Yes. Apparently Mark went to an antique shop up on the heights last evening to pick up a Roman helmet they had acquired for him. He and the proprietor found you unconscious on the floor. Since you were engaged to his brother, the earl put you in his carriage and brought you to Hardwick Hall. They sent for me immediately. I gave you a cursory examination, found no bones broken, and advised them to keep you in bed, keep you warm, and have someone sit with you. I told them to summon me the moment you regained consciousness.”
He put his first question very gently. “Do you remember what you were doing before you lost consciousness?”
“I remember exactly, Doctor. I was browsing through the antique shop up on the heights, when I saw an authentic Roman helmet. I was so thrilled to see it, to touch it. I couldn’t resist trying it on. I forgot I was wearing a wig and somehow it got stuck on my head and I couldn’t get it off. I remember I felt quite ill, as if I were about to faint, but when I fell, I didn’t fall to the floor, I just kept falling—I felt a wind rushing past me. I can’t really describe the sensation, I have no adequate words, but I was transported back in time to when the Romans occupied Britain.”
The doctor watched and listened to her intently. “You went into the antique shop yesterday?”
“No, I’m afraid not, Dr. Wentworth.” She smiled wistfully. “It was in the summertime—months ago, I imagine. By the snowflakes drifting past the window, I can tell it must be winter now.”
“Early spring, actually. This was a late freak storm. So you fainted in the antique shop on a summer’s day and Mark found you there unconscious the following spring, and you have no recollection of what happened in the months between?”
“Oh no, Doctor, I recall every moment! I went back in time to when the Romans occupied Aquae Sulis. I lived in the villa of Marcus Magnus, a legionary general.” She stopped herself before she blurted out that Marcus Magnus and Mark Hardwick were one and the same. “You must think I’m mad! None of this can possibly make any sense to you.”
“No, no, Lady Davenport, I don’t think you mad at all. You are convinced that this happened and I urge you not to suppress it. The only way you can work through it is to talk about it. Obviously you’ve suffered a great trauma. Are you feeling ill at all?”
“No, I feel quite well—a little shaky perhaps. Is my hair all right?” Her hand went to her head. “Is it burned or singed?” she asked apprehensively.
“Not at all, your hair is quite lovely. I’ll just listen to your heart.” He unfastened the buttons on the high neckline of the starched white nightgown she wore and folded it back, so he could listen to her heartbeat.
Diana stared down at the expanse of creamy, unblemished flesh. Her fingers came up to touch her shoulder and throat where the lion had torn her open, then they trailed down across her heart where Marcus had plunged in his sword to put an end to her suffering.
“I seem to be all in one piece,” she whispered shakily.
“All in one piece,” Dr. Wentworth confirmed. “Your pulse is rapid, but I’m sure it will settle down if you try to stay calm and get lots of rest.” He closed his black bag and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”
When the doctor descended, he found Mark Hardwick pacing the front hall.
“I can’t find anything physically wrong with her, but she has obviously suffered some sort of trauma.”
“Did she give you any sort of explanation where the hell she’s been since summer?”
