Chapter 17
seventeen
If Tristan stayed in the hospital without any news on Rowan for two more minutes, he would go mad. He sat, stood up, paced, and sat again in the bright white corridor of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.
Rowan had been in the operating theatre for over an hour, and no one had told Tristan anything. A nurse had attended to the bump on his head and bandaged it, but boxing routinely in The Octagon had strengthened his body. His head ached, but he would survive.
The coming and going of nurses and doctors into the theatre had stopped a while ago, and the part of the hospital where he stood was quiet.
He had no idea how many people had been injured in the blast. Hell, he hadn’t seen Effie either after he’d found Rowan unconscious on the platform. He’d sent his footman to search for her, but even that front hadn’t brought any news so far.
Debris covered his clothes and filled his nostrils with the smell of smoke and fear.
They would stay with him forever. He leant against the wall and sucked in a deep breath, cursing himself for having agreed to take Rowan with him, only because he’d wanted to build a good relationship with his brother.
He’d done such a great job.
“Tristan.”
His heart stopped as he heard Effie’s voice. She was running towards him. Her cheeks were pale, and white dust covered her Prussian blue gown, making her look as if she were wrapped in a starry sky. No cuts or blood marred her.
Acting on pure instinct, he met her midway in the corridor and pulled her into his arms to make sure she was safe. Selfishly, he needed more than ever the sense of peace only she could give him. He released her immediately, lest she feel uncomfortable.
“How are you? I’m sorry I had to leave.” He fought the impulse to touch her face. “After the doctors arrived to take Rowan, I couldn’t find you. I was sick with worry.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I went home briefly. Then your footman told me you were here, and I came immediately.” She searched his face. “Your head.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Rowan?”
He cleared his throat past the swell of emotions blocking it. “They’re operating on him.”
She clamped her hands over her mouth.
“He’s mostly fine,” he hurried to say. “Or so I thought. When I found him, his ankle was broken, but other than that, he didn’t appear to have any major injuries. But he’s been in the theatre for too long, and nobody tells me anything.”
“The surgeons are overwhelmed. Injured people keep arriving. Maybe they’re busy with other patients as well.”
He glanced at the set of double doors opening to the theatre. “I can’t lose him. I shouldn’t have let him close to that damn machine.”
“You didn’t know what would happen.” She brushed a curl of hair from her cheek. “I thought the boiler exploded, but while I searched for you on the pavement, people started to talk about a bomb.”
“A bomb.” He wasn’t sure how that made him feel. Right now, only worry for Rowan dominated his emotions.
If it’d been a bomb, then either the Fenians or the Russians were responsible.
“It was a miracle that Rowan was far from the locomotive when it exploded,” he said. “He’d been about to get onboard when he spotted a friend in the crowd and walked away from the engine.”
Rage swelled. If he’d been at The Octagon, he would have boxed until he dropped on the floor.
“If it was a bomb, what a vile thing to do.” Her shoulders shook. “And for what?”
Seeing her so distraught, he couldn’t contain himself. “You’re fine, aren’t you?” He cupped her cheek and studied her lovely face.
A dark bruise offended her cheek, but the shadows in her eyes bothered him the most; they weren’t as bright as usual.
“I’m fine. But I was scared…” Her bottom lip quivered, and he hated seeing her crying.
He held her, and she rested her head on his chest. “I was scared, too. Mostly for Rowan.”
“When the explosion hit, I thought the worst. I thought I’d lost you.”
In the middle of the storm of emotions troubling him, the fact she’d worried about him brought him a ridiculous amount of relief.
They held each other tightly until a new group of nurses hurried along the corridor, rolling down a stretcher. He let her go, missing her softness immediately.
He handed her his handkerchief.
“Thank you.” She wiped her cheeks. “Rowan was so happy to get on the locomotive.”
“I should have told him not to go. Our father died when Rowan was still a child. But before that his mother had the brilliant idea of running off with her lover. I’m what is left of our family, which isn’t much.”
“Rowan’s mother left him?”
He almost regretted having told her that. She had the uncanny ability to make him lower his guard by simply staring at him. “Father did everything in his power to contain the scandal. We haven’t heard from her ever since. I did my best to find her, but with no results. And now he’s injured.”
She put her hand on his and squeezed it. “Don’t blame yourself for the deeds of wicked people.”
But he was one of those wicked people.
Controlling his voice was hard. Too many emotions to handle at once, and he was used only to pushing them down. “I’ve been too busy to spend time with him. And now this.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“But you obviously love him. That’s what matters.”
“I beg to differ. What’s the point of loving someone if I can’t show it?” He wasn’t thinking of just Rowan.
“You’re showing it now.”
“I’m not so sure. I’m not sure of many things.”
The doors opened, and a white-coated doctor came out. Tristan gazed away from her eyes filled with compassion.
“Lord Montcrest,” the doctor said.
Tristan stood still, his breath flushing out of his lungs.
The doctor’s face was unreadable. “Lord Rowan is in his room. He should be awake now. We had to set the bone and remove shrapnel from his leg. The surgery went well.”
“Thank goodness,” Effie said.
Tristan exhaled, but then the doctor’s words sank in. “Is he out of danger?”
“Yes, granted that no infection sets in. Lord Rowan might have problems walking though,” the doctor said. “Time will tell. Sometimes the healing process goes smoothly, and no lasting damage remains.”
“I want to see him now.” He didn’t sound polite to his own ears.
“I would like to come as well.” Effie gave him a pleading glance.
She had no idea how much comfort her presence brought to him.
“Very well.” The doctor led him to a room where the smell of chlorine couldn’t cover that of blood.
Rowan lay in a white bed with his leg propped up on a tall cushion. He smiled weakly when he saw Tristan. A large bruise covered half of his face; the other half was as bloodless as the bedsheets.
He took Rowan’s hand and was glad to find it warm. Surprisingly, Rowan closed his shaky fingers around his hand, too.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Tired.” Rowan smiled at Effie, blinking slowly.
“We were worried about you.” Effie held his other hand.
“I didn’t have time to be worried.” Rowan tried to shift the pillow. “Everything happened so fast.”
He helped him up. “You’ll get better soon.”
Rowan gave another slow blink. “I feel peculiar.”
“I bet you do.” He was used to the sight of blood and injuries. As absurd as it sounded, he enjoyed the bruises and wounds on his flesh. But Rowan’s heavily bandaged leg disturbed him, even though no blood was visible.
He exchanged a glance with Effie.
She mouthed, “Laudanum.”
Rowan sagged on his pillow. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,” he drawled.
Tristan poured a glass of water from the pitcher just to have something to do. “I never do anything I don’t want to, and you aren’t fine.”
“I would like to sleep now.” Rowan faced the wall.
“Of course.” Effie caressed his head. “I need to go home as well. I went home quickly to see Papa, but he was out. He’s probably home now, and he’ll want to see me.”
Tristan’s heart tightened as Rowan fell asleep. He escorted Effie out of the room.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said, touching his arm.
“Thank you.” He wasn’t sure why panic caught him right now.
Rowan was alive, and Effie didn’t have a scratch.
The bloody locomotive would be rebuilt. Yet he was shivering with fear.
“Your presence here means a lot. I know you don’t approve of me, but I’m grateful you put aside your dislike for me to come. Rowan needed to see you.”
“You make it sound quite dramatic. I don’t dislike you, and I care about Rowan very much.”
“I’m grateful for that as well.”
“Are you going home? Do you want to come with me? My coachman can drive you there.”
“No, I’m staying here with Rowan.”
She squeezed his hand for a long moment, and he loved the feeling of her soft fingers on his skin. “I’m sure Rowan will be all right.”
Oddly enough, he believed that, too when she said it.