Page 40 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
Boom!
She jerked up dizzily and turned to see Evan fall to his knees, holding his arm. Then everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
Angela awoke to the sound of voices, and she opened her eyes, but her head hurt, and as she opened her eyes, the light seemed too bright, and it hurt them. She struggled to rise, but someone placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back. How silly! The room was actually quite dim. Only one lamp sat on her bedside table, its flame turned down. But the light still made her want to close her eyes. So, she did.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Only she couldn’t quite place what it was. Oh yes, the things Susan had told her. Evan had deceived her from the first. They had discussed it, but he was leaving to give her space to think...
Oh, Evan! He had been shot.
“Evan.” She jerked her eyes open.
He was there beside her. His white shirt bore what seemed like a huge red splotch that apparently seeped from the bandage on his shoulder.
She forgot all about her own pounding head. “Oh, Evan!”
He smiled and waved her off. “This?” He pointed to his shoulder. “It is a flesh wound. The impact was more of a shock than anything else.”
She gaped at the red stain on his shirt. “You’ve been bleeding.” How much blood had he lost?
“Believe me, my love, it looks worse than it is.”
Could she believe him? She studied his face, and he broadened his smile. “I will be fine.”
“Evan, you have lost some blood, and the doctor has left instructions that you should spend the next few days off your feet.” Lady Wyndam’s voice quavered with concern.
Angela turned to face her, causing a wave of dizziness to sweep over her, and she placed a hand to her head, willing Lady Wyndam’s image to stop spinning. “Will he truly be all right?”
“Yes, if he rests.”
“Tell me the truth about the extent of his injury,” she begged the older woman, and again, she tried to raise up. The whirling became more violent.
Evan put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back while Lady Wyndam placed both her hands on Angela’s shoulders, and that lady seemed far stronger than Evan as they gently pushed her down to the bed. That realization alarmed Angela.
With her head back on the pillow again, Angela closed her eyes and swallowed against her nausea. When the bed stopped rocking, she asked, “How is he really, Lady Wyndam?”
“Please keep your head on that pillow, Angela,” Evan said before Lady Wyndam answered her. “You hit your head.”
“Yes, you lay in that bed, Lady Ashington.” Lady Wyndam commanded.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Don’t you ‘Your Grace’ me. My name is Katherine.”
Tears welled in Angela’s eyes, blurring the image of the other woman’s kind brown eyes. This woman had been nothingbut kind and compassionate to her since they had met. And after the horrible reception with her father’s wife and heir, she needed some kindness and compassion. “Thank you, Katherine, and I hope you will call me Angela.”
Katherine squeezed her hand. “Your husband will recover.” She repeated her reassurance. “He lost some blood, to be sure. It took the surgeon several hours to remove the bullet. Never fear; I shall stay and see to the care of both of you.”
“Please don’t miss Christmas with your family on our account,” Angella said.
Lady Wyndam waved her off. “I will be happy here, looking after my two good friends.”
“How many more days will I have to stay in this bed?” Angela asked Evan several days later as they rested together in their chamber at the dowager’s house. Filled with irritated energy, she sat up and reached down to stroke Natalia’s downy head, where she slept against her foot, the warm little cuddler. Natalia barely opened her eyes, then snorted and repositioned herself, pressing more heavily on Angela’s foot.
