Page 87 of What A Rogue Wants
Thirty-Two
Madelaine slept for long periods, waking briefly when someone would press a drink or broth to her lips or a cold sponge to her body. She hated that sponge! She tried to draw away from it, but hands always gripped her and kept her locked in place.
Sometimes she would float out of her body, but she didn’t fly again, nor did she see her other self. Mumbling voices spoke near her, but she couldn’t make out what they said. One voice, deep and melodic, started to become clear word by word.Need you. Was the first thing she made out. Then sometime later, a day? A week? One minute ago?Love you.Stay with me.She nodded, her head as heavy as her grandfather’s old steel sword she once tried to lift off the wall where it hung.
That voice stayed with her all the time, speaking soft words. Sometimes it almost felt as if the words caressed her hands, cheeks and brushed across her lips. There it was again! A brush across her lips. She shivered in response and forced her eyes open.
Stormy blue eyes stared back at her, widening then filling with tears.
“Grey?” she croaked, thinking that was his name.
“Madelaine?” His voice cracked, and his head dropped beside hers. His heavy breathing filled her ear and his warm breath tickled her lobe. “Thank you, God.” His face came back into view and he pressed his lips against hers. This time she knew exactly what that feather-light brush was and her blood stirred to life once again.
The first couple of days it was all she could do to stay awake long enough to put a string of words together to form a sentence. She would fall asleep in the middle of her comments or listening to someone talk, but whenever she woke, Grey was always there, whispering he loved her and telling her that everything would be all right and asking for forgiveness.
She wanted to believe everything would be all right, but as her memories returned, fear trickled in and tears began to flow down her face.
“What’s wrong?” Grey clutched her hand. “Do you feel unwell? Shall I fetch Plumbe?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You keep saying it’s going to be all right, but the last thing I remember is that you hated me and wanted to trade me for your brother’s life. Then I thought…” she averted her eyes, embarrassed, but she had to know. “Then I thought perhaps you really did care, and I couldn’t let you or your brother die to save me.”
He pressed his head to her chest, his hands coming to either shoulder. “I love you. I was wrong to ever believe you could be part of a plot to kill the king’s spies. I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head, dismayed at the pain in his voice. “You weren’t wrong to distrust me. I was trying to help my father get the list to the prince. I didn’t see what else I could do. I should have told you. Trusted in you.”
“I understand why you didn’t. I’ve had time to think about it while you’ve been sick. If my father needed my help to save his life, I would have done everything in my power to save him.” Grey brushed a hand over her hair. “Your loyalty is but one of the reasons I love you, Madelaine. Can you ever forgive me?”
Forgive him? She reached out and traced her fingers over the stubble on his jaw. He wanted her forgiveness? Her heart exploded with joy. She’d been too afraid to hope. She forced herself to hold his gaze. “Do you love me?”
His gaze opened wide. “Don’t you know?”
She shook her head. Call her obtuse, but she wanted no misunderstanding between them. He ran his fingers over her collarbone then moved slowly to her lips where he rubbed his thumb back and forth, her heart racing with each delicious sweep of his finger. His hand moved to her neck and gently grasped her there. “So beautiful,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to her neck then trailed kisses back up to her lips. “I love you,” he whispered, before kissing her.
Her lips parted immediately, their tongues mingling to stroke, explore and reignite the spark that had never died. Heat kindled low in her belly and spread through her limbs until she was panting.
Grey broke the kiss off slowly and pulled back. He tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. “I won’t have you getting too worked up until you regain all your strength.” The wicked smile of promise that curled his lips made her heart hammer. She wished nothing else was pressing on her mind, and that she could stare into his eyes the rest of the day, but she had to ask the questions she needed answers to. “What about the king and my father and me? And who was the man in the warehouse? Why did he want to kill you? And me? And—”
Grey pressed a finger to her lips, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’ll answer every question you have but one at a time and while you eat.”
“Eat?” She wrinkled her brow. She didn’t care about eating at this moment.
Grey motioned to the doorway and Rose—she recognized the woman from an earlier lucid moment—scurried in with a tray laden with a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of clear water. Madelaine’s stomach growled.
“Your stomach agrees with me, even if your head doesn’t,” Grey said, taking the tray from Rose and dipping the spoon into the soup. “Open.”
She complied, but only because she was suddenly famished. As she ate, he spoke about the spy Sutton, and how he’d come to be at the warehouse and wanted to kill the other spies as well as her.
The truth was horrible. She pressed her lips together. The man had done wicked things but look what had happened to him. He’d been abandoned. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Madelaine?” Grey sounded concerned.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I was just thinking how sad it was.” She took the napkin Grey offered her and patted her mouth.
“Only you would find a deranged man’s tale sad. Need I remind you, he tried to kill you?”
“You need not. I bet you feel sorry for him too. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Grey held her gaze. “I wanted to kill him. But you already had. I hate him for what he did, yet I do feel sorry for him.”
