Chapter Twelve #2
She kept one hand on his cheek and one on his chest, just to assure herself that he still breathed. What had she ever done in her life to deserve such ill-fated luck?
She sat back on her heels and covered her mouth with her gloved hand, biting her lip against the laugh that threatened to bubble to the surface.
Hysteria, surely. Though she did have a distressing habit of nervous laughter at the most inappropriate of times.
She’d giggled through three of her four weddings.
And one of their funerals. Though truly, amusement was the furthest thing from her mind on these occasions.
She would rather exile herself to the most remote corner of the world than see harm come to another man. Come to him. No matter how uncomfortable seeing him made her, it was certainly better than what had occurred.
And now, because she wished to spare herself a little embarrassment, Edward lay before her, his eyes still closed. Though he didn’t have any wounds that she could see.
Jane arrived with several footmen in tow.
She glanced down at Lord Lockhaven, then glanced again, biting her lip as she directed the men to move him inside.
Selena followed right on their heels, not stopping even when they reached his room.
Nor when everyone left except for Jane. She simply waited, her heart in her throat, as Jane finished settling him in his bed.
“I’ll…um…I’ll have Mrs. Cowpry bring some cool cloths for his head,” Jane muttered as she hurried from the room. Leaving them alone.
Selena raised her head briefly, staring in surprise at the door Jane had all but closed, leaving only a few inches open in a nod to propriety. She really should leave. Being alone with him, even in this state, flouted the rules of propriety. But she couldn’t make herself go.
She leaned over Edward’s still form, lightly placing her hand on his chest so she could feel the steady rise and fall.
And finally, she let out a long breath, her head hanging.
“This is my fault,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Edward whispered back, his eyes still closed. “Yes, it is.”
Selena jumped back, slapping her hand over her mouth to mute her startled squeal. She looked more closely at Edward. At his chest that, upon closer inspection, rose and fell too quickly for someone unconscious. And his twitching lips utterly betrayed his true state.
“Ohh,” she growled. She folded her arms, glaring down at him while he chuckled. “You, my lord, are a cad. A cold-hearted, weasel-livered, toad-eating, scapegrace!”
“Very likely.” He didn’t open his eyes, but he did speak. “That doesn’t mean I am not grievously wounded, madam,” he said, a slight smile belying his words.
“Um hmm.”
He let out a sigh and opened both eyes, though he remained supine. “Did you call me weasel-livered?”
“Yes.” It might not make sense, but it was the worst insult she could think of on such short notice.
“Ah, madam, you wound me. But surely you cannot blame me for such a small subterfuge.”
“Oh, can I not?” She could, and she would. He’d scared a good nine years from her life.
“Had you known that my pride was more wounded than my body you would not have felt it necessary to be here so sweetly at my side, betraying your true emotions whilst—”
She gasped, outraged. “I am betraying nothing.”
“But you are.” He sat up, propping himself against the pillows with a wince that cooled her anger somewhat. The man obviously was injured, if far less so than he had let on. She let out a huff and reached over to help settle him.
“In truth,” he persisted, capturing her hand so she couldn’t move away again, “the very fact that you insist you are betraying nothing betrays the fact that you do in fact have feelings to betray.”
“I…” She frowned, her head pounding from trying to follow his logic. Perhaps he was grievously injured after all. A head injury, undoubtedly. She pulled her hand from his grasp but stayed at his bedside. “That is too many ‘facts’ for me to follow,” she said, rubbing at her temples.
He nodded as if he’d made his point. “Just so.”
“No. You misunderstand—”
“Do I?”
“Yes!” She threw her hands up.
“Aha! Then you agree.”
“No,” she all but growled. “All the saints in heaven, you are the most aggravating man alive.”
He nodded again. “I have been told so, yes.”
“You needn’t look so pleased about it.”
He seemed to make at least some effort to stifle his smile, but to no avail. “My apologies, madam. It seems I cannot help myself.”
She let out a delicate snort. “That is undeniably evident,” she said with a shake of her head, biting her lip to keep from smiling. She refused to encourage him. “I cannot believe you were lying there pretending to be injured—”
“I’m not entirely pretending,” he said with a grimace, rubbing at his shoulder.
She frowned again, a knot of worry worming its way back through her.
“In my defense,” he continued, his tone quickly dissipating her concern, “it seemed to be the only way to get your attention.”
“That’s not true.”
“Is it not?”
“You always have my attention,” she muttered, letting the truth slip out.
He froze for a moment and the air between them grew heavy. She had been a fool to admit such a thing.
Another heartbeat passed before he finally spoke. “You could have fooled me,” he said, his flippant tone at odds with the sudden intensity of his gaze.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”
He coughed out a laugh, betraying a world of frustrated amusement. “You literally run from me every time we spend more than three minutes in close proximity.”
“I do not,” she said with an incensed gasp. Even though he wasn’t completely wrong.
“I do hate to keep arguing, my dear, but you certainly do. You very literally turn tail and flee with nary a care for whatever innocent bystanders—or statuary—may be in your way.”
Her mouth dropped open, the urge to contradict him burning through her. But, well, again, he wasn’t mistaken.
She plopped on the bed with a huff. “Yes, well, you…”
He arched an eyebrow, his lips pulling into a half-grin that sent her stomach careening. “I what?”
She blew out another breath, exhausted from trying to deny what was becoming increasingly obvious to everyone. “You make me nervous.”
His other eyebrow raised, joining the first in a look of delighted surprise. When he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave, and he leaned forward, his nearness sucking all the oxygen from her lungs. “And why is that?”
She struggled to suck in a breath. “I do not know.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he said, his eyes roving over her face, lingering on her lips.
Her heart thundered as she dragged in a stuttering breath. “Do I?”
“Oh, yes.” He leaned in closer, until his lips were scarcely an inch from hers. And then he grinned. “You fancy me.”
He sat back with a self-satisfied grin that had her sputtering. “I…I do not…” The argument sounded weak even to her own ears.
“I think you do.” His smile grew even more smug. And damn it all, it somehow made him even more attractive. What was wrong with her?
“That is not what we are discussing,” she insisted, trying in vain to salvage some modicum of composure.
“I think it is.”
“It is not. We were discussing whether or not I run from you—”
“We’ve already established that you do.”
“Well, if I do, it is only because—”
“You fancy me.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
She threw her hands up again. “Perhaps I was merely trying to escape from your infuriating presence.”
“Well, that is a possibility. I do seem to have that effect on people, though you are the first to actually take flight to avoid me. Though even if my, shall we say somewhat unique, personality is partially at fault when it comes to your penchant for flight, I still contend that at least part of what chases you from my side is your growing desire to spend even more time in my presence because the prospect of that terrifies you for some reason to such a degree that you cannot help but—”.
Selena lunged forward and kissed him, her mouth crushing to his in a sudden, intense, and wholly ill-advised fit of madness.