Page 58 of To Heal a Broken Earl
A gasp escaped her as she turned to her right and then felt a head rush.
“Careful,” he said, moving forward to place a gentle hand on her forehead. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please.”
He poured her a cup of water from a pitcher on the bedside table and helped her sit up as he held the cup to her lips.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He set the cup down on the table and then helped ease her back on the pillows.
“How areyou?” she asked softly.
“I’m better, now that you’re awake.” He grinned. “And you?”
“I’m better now that you saved me. You’re a hero.”
“Well, a man has to save one or two damsels in distress if he’s going to be called a hero,” he said, chuckling.
Emma plucked at the coverlet. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about going out of the house without an escort. Are you angry with me?” she asked, her voice trembling with worry. “I was caught up in the excitement of your party and had forgotten part of your present. I had polished the penknife we found in theattic, and I wanted to give that to you along with the salve. I was very foolish.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Em,” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand in his. “It was my duty to protect you, and I failed at that. And for that, I am truly sorry.”
A single tear rolled down her face. Michael reached out and brushed it away.
“Well, at least the penknife came in handy,” he said.
“Yes, I managed to stab Morgrave.”
“And then he used it on me. Stabbed it right in my bad leg. And it was the best stabbing ever.”
“What?” she said, as more tears began streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know he stabbed you. They didn’t tell me. They said you were fine—I’m so sorry.”
“And Iamfine,” he said. “I didn’t tell you that to upset you, darling.” He scooted his chair forward, closing the distance between them. “Please…you have nothing to apologize to me about. That was the best gift I’ve ever received, I think.”
His words, unbelievably warm, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.
“But how? I didn’t even have the chance to give it to you,” she said, sniffling. “And then that horrible man stabbed you with it.”
“I loved the salve and the handkerchiefs. I found several, and they are beautiful.” He held one up to show her. “But this particular gift, this penknife…may have led me to no longer needing the salve. Although you worked wonders with it.”
“What do you mean?” Emma tried to sit up, but her head began to throb from the exertion, and he helped her lie back down.
“Keep your head on your pillow, darling,” Michael said, smoothing the damp hair from her face. “According to Dr. Bianchi, it dislodged a piece of shrapnel that had beenundetectable in my bone. He found it while cleaning and stitching the wounds. Bianchi hopes that it will heal, and if it does, I may lose the limp—or at least the chronic pain. Not the scarring, of course. My leg won’t be pretty to look at. But hopefully it will heal properly. If not for the lovely present—that very handsome penknife that I will forever treasure—I might never have been given true relief. Luckily, Wright found the thing and returned it to me.” He leaned down and kissed her head.
“You’re telling me the truth?” she said, astonished.
“I have never lied to you, Emma,” he said softly.
“No…you haven’t,” she agreed. “It’s just that it’s hard to believe.”
“I suppose it was fated, as they say,” he said, his lips curved up in a smile. “Pretty soon this house will be abuzz, and you’ll have nonstop visitors, and we’ll have no privacy.” His laughter was warm with affection. “And it’s very important that I tell you…That I love you, Emma. I think I fell in love with you on the very first night we met.”
“You love me?” she said, in wonder.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe? Or have I been such a complete grump that you had no idea I’d fallen head over heels in love with you?”
