Page 6 of The Moonstone Hero
“Is there anything else you would like me to bring you?” she asked, frowning again, but this time out of concern.
“No, Ella. I am well attended here.”
“Does it get lonely for you in this private room?”
“No, I prefer to be in my own thoughts. Not that I have any privacy, even though I am presently the only one in this room. People are constantly walking in to ask me how I am doing. They do not leave me alone. Will I get lonely if I am ever left in peace? No, it would be a relief for me. I am not fit company for anyone just now.”
She shook her head. “It is not always healthy to be alone when thoughts are as troubled as yours. In truth, it is probably the last thing you need. I will come by tomorrow afternoon. Would you like a book to read? Or newspapers? We even receive the gossip rags here. You can catch up on all the juicy scandals.”
He laughed, then winced as he felt a tug at his ribs. “I’ll be all right. Thank you for coming by.”
Lord, he hadn’t meant for that to slip out.
If anything, he needed to push Ella away.
She leaned forward, her eyes bright and smile lovely as she said, “What was that? A politethank you? Be still, my heart. You must be heavily drugged.”
He grinned. “No worries. It won’t happen again. A complete accident.”
“I will see you tomorrow,” she said, her smile gentle and radiant.
He grunted in response.
In fact, he probably was drugged.
Until a few days ago, he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. But his head had been much clearer these past few days. He had no idea what he might have said to Ella had she seen him last week.
Something stupid might have slipped out.
Yes, something very stupid… Something like an admission she was the woman of his dreams. She would never believe it. After all, he could hardly believe it himself. Perhaps she had been that for him last year. But he was no longer the same man, the arrogant duke’s heir who thought he knew everything and could conquer worlds.
Lord, he wanted to forget all of this past year.
The blow he’d received to his head had cracked his skull open, but not stolen his memories. Those remained vivid and horrible.
Nighttime was worst, for those memories crept in, surrounded him amid the silent darkness, and threatened to suffocate him as they tore at his soul. But he never quite suffocated, just lay there helplessly as the agonized cries of his men rang in his ears, of the men he had been forced to watch die and could not save.
He wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek.
More humiliating than having Ella see him aroused was Ella seeing him cry. Lord, why did he have to end up here, of all places?
And why did she have to be here, putting herself in charge of him when she had a line of suitors awaiting her in London?
Well, shewashere, and he did not want to chase her away quite yet.
She was a soft breath of relief amid his unrelenting agony.
All of England thought him a hero.
What had he done of merit but survive?
He pondered the question for hours, ate his supper, and then fell into a fitful sleep, relieved only by the heavy dose of laudanum the doctor had given him shortly before bedtime.
It was approaching noon by the time he awoke on Tuesday morning. A young lad was in his room, drawing open the curtains and checking on the water in his ewer. “Good morning, my lord. Dr. Hewitt thought you might wake late today. Are you hungry?”
“What did you bring me?”
The boy pointed to a tray of eggs, sausages, fresh bread, and a cup of coffee set on the table beneath his window.
