To Love the Brooding Baron

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FOUR

When Henry entered the hospital corridor and heard the screams, he knew he was moments away from being too late. He’d never run so hard in his life, terror mixed with rage pushing him beyond his mortal limits.

He outpaced Dr. Stafford and barreled through the doorway and into a room filled with screams and shouting, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. His eyes locked onto the sight of Arabella being nearly lifted off the ground by the collar of her dress.

“Let her go!” The words ripped through him like thunder after an earth-shattering flash. Fury pumped through him, making his muscles shake from the ferocity.

The woman dropped her hold on Arabella, and the color leached from her skin, her eyes flashing wide with absolute fright.

She looks as if she believes you’ll eat her, Beasty, the voice inside his head laughed.

Henry couldn’t have cared less.

Arabella crumbled toward the floor, and Henry lunged, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. He felt her heart racing against his chest, even as her body shook uncontrollably.

He ran frantic hands over her, looking for every injury. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hoarse and thick.

There were so many bruises.

“S-Sarah,” Arabella struggled to get out, her teeth chattering though the room wasn’t cold. She gripped at his clothing, but her shaking hands couldn’t keep their hold. “Help ... Sarah.”

Henry jerked his head up, a hot iron of fear twisting inside his stomach. What had happened to Sarah? Was she in the room?

He found her flanked by two nurses as if she were about to be dragged to the gallows. Her wide eyes watched him through the wild, dark strands of her hair hanging over her face.

Dr. Stafford bolted past Henry in a blur of movement. He didn’t stop until he’d ripped Sarah from the hold of the two nurses and pulled her to him in a protective embrace.

“What is going on here?” he demanded as the room descended into chaos.

An argument broke out between Dr. Stafford and Nurse Robins just as Nurse Maggie came hastily into the room. She took in the situation and immediately ordered the other nurses to remove all patients and staff not involved.

Arabella’s grip on his jacket loosened, and his hold around her waist tightened. He wasn’t ready to let her go. He doubted he ever would be after this.

“Henry?” She said his name in an entreating and gentle tone, and he knew she wanted him to look at her. But he couldn’t. If he did, he would see the bruises across her face and arms. They were there because she’d done this for him.

Anguish and regret caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

She moved in his arms again, only this time she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest and slowly slid them up his shoulders and locked them behind his head. She pressed her face into the curve of his neck, and he could feel her hot tears against his skin.

No one had ever held him in such a way, giving comfort but also finding it.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed the side of her head.

“I love you too,” she whispered into his neck, her close breath igniting his senses.

“Lord Northcott?” Dr. Stafford’s voice broke through the moment, reminding Henry there was much that still needed to be done.

Relaxing his hold, he met Dr. Stafford’s watchful gaze.

“Is she all right?” Dr. Stafford asked, nodding toward Arabella.

Henry opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the woman herself.

“She will be,” she said in a muffled voice, her head buried in Henry’s chest. There was a slight humorous lilt to her tone, as if she were trying to make light of how poorly she felt.

A smile tugged at the corner of Henry’s lips, and he shook his head. What woman could go through what she had and still find a way to laugh?

A woman mad enough to love a man like you, the voice whispered.

Love is merely madness, Henry thought, quoting Shakespeare’s As You Like It and kissing the top of his Arabella’s head again.

“How is my sister?” Henry asked, nodding to the side of the room where Sarah was being tended to by Nurse Maggie.

“She will be all right,” Dr. Stafford said, glancing at Sarah and then back to him. “She is stronger than you think.”

Henry nodded, feeling like more of a stranger to his sister than the doctor was.

“What do we do now?” He’d never thought past getting Arabella back in his arms.

“Take her home,” Dr. Stafford said, nodding to Arabella. “I will remain here and deal with Nurse Robins and Dr. Gladstone.”

Henry had almost forgotten about the pompous doctor, who’d so far not even bothered to show his face. His blood boiled. It was men like him who gave hospitals their inhumane reputation, and Henry swore that he would see Gladstone—and any other doctors like him—removed from Bedlam by the next Parliamentary session.

“We cannot leave Sarah,” Arabella said, looking up at Henry with pleading eyes.

Henry nodded in agreement. It was time Sarah came home. But would she even feel comfortable or safe with him after all this time?

Sarah’s expression was unreadable, but he saw the way she leaned into Nurse Maggie’s comforting arms. That was what Sarah truly needed.

“Can you spare your mother for a time?” he asked Dr. Stafford, nodding his head toward the two women.

“What about your aunt?” Dr. Stafford asked with caution and some confusion.

“No longer in my household,” Henry replied with a finality that didn’t make him feel a moment of remorse.

Dr. Stafford nodded. “Then I will make the arrangements.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, the sudden rush of emotions making his voice sound strained. “For everything.”

Henry knew he hadn’t made it easy on the doctor, but he was grateful the man cared so much about his patients to fight for them as he had.

“You are welcome,” Dr. Stafford replied. “Take a left in the corridor; it will lead you to a side door. There should be a man stationed there who can let you out.”

Henry nodded, then slipped out of his jacket and wrapped it around Arabella’s shoulders. He lifted her into his arms, and she settled against him, sliding her arms around his neck.

“Are we going home?” she asked, her voice sounding tired.

“I am taking you home,” he said, stepping out of the room and turning left.

“Henry?” Arabella let out a yawn, and her grip around his neck loosened. “I am going to fall asleep.”

“Sleep if you need to, my love,” he whispered. She’d been through much; he was sure she was exhausted.

She went quiet for a few moments, but then she murmured, “I tried not to take the biscuits.”

“What biscuits?”

“Sarah said they use them to—” She took in a deep breath and let out a long exhale, as if it required considerable effort. “To put them to sleep.”

Henry stopped, a cold sense of foreboding icing through him. Something wasn’t right. He and Dr. Stafford had missed something.

“I do not want to be Juliet,” Arabella’s words sounded distant, and she was growing heavier and heavier in his arms.

He turned around and picked up his pace. “Why would you be Juliet?” he asked, wanting to keep her talking.

“The potion made her go to sleep, and Romeo thought she died. And then she woke to find him dead.”

“I will not take a poison, my love,” he said, kissing her forehead and using his chin to keep her drooping head from falling forward.

His heart was pounding hard in chest, and his lungs were about to burst from the almost lifeless weight she was becoming in his arms.

Reentering the room, he yelled for Stafford, who took one look at them and came running.

“Henry?” Arabella mumbled.

He knelt on the floor before he lost his grip and dropped her.“Yes?” he asked, his throat constricting with panic. He needed to keep her talking; he couldn’t lose her.

Dr. Stafford grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse.

“Will you be there when I wake?” Arabella mumbled before she went completely still in his arms.

“What is happening to her?” Henry shouted at the doctor.

Dr. Stafford grabbed her out of Henry’s arms and laid her on the floor.

Henry took her hand, which thankfully still felt warm in his tight grip, but she didn’t move. Their story would not end like Romeo and Juliet, not when he’d finally chosen to fight for it.

The doctor put his ear to her lips and, after a moment, sat back up. “Her breaths are shallow, but she is breathing.”

Henry pressed her limp hand to his lips and let out a shaky breath of momentary relief. “What is wrong with her?”

Using his thumb and forefinger, Dr. Stafford peeled one of Arabella’s eyelids open. She didn’t stir.

The doctor checked her other eye and her pulse at her wrist once again before looking to Henry. “They must have given her a heavy dose of laudanum.”

“What can be done?” Henry asked, fear clutching at his insides as he pulled her back into his arms.

“Take her home and watch her breathing. She will need time to sleep off the effects.”