Chapter 12
Twelve
Emotions swept over Amelia’s face too quickly for Henry to identify, save one—fear.
He hated that he was the reason for it. Or rather, whoever had set the blasted bomb was.
She glanced away, breaking their gaze, as if needing a moment to gather herself. Was the reality of the dangers his position brought setting in, giving her second thoughts? The concern had him shifting in the bed, even as he hid a grimace at the pain the movement caused.
“I will leave the two of you for a moment,” his mother said, her eyes flashing between them as if sensing tension.
“Thank you.” Her guest smiled politely but still didn’t look at Henry again.
“Of course.” His mother closed the door quietly behind her.
“Amelia?” Henry held out his hand, pleased that he could. His shoulder and side hurt like the devil, but not nearly as bad as his head. Better that he hid the extent of his injuries until her shock eased.
What exactly had Fletcher told her?
She came forward almost reluctantly, staring at his hand not his face. “How painful is it?”
“Painful.” Very. But sharing the details now seemed like a poor idea when she already appeared so shaken.
He was exhausted as well, and while sleep would surely help, each time he closed his eyes he relived the moment the bomb had detonated.
The wild terror in Marcus’s eyes. The debris pelting down.
The ringing in Henry’s own ears that made him fear he’d never hear again.
A faint ringing remained, which concerned him—but at least he could hear voices more clearly, something which had been difficult for several hours following the blast.
Amelia at last took his hand, though she wore gloves, robbing him of the feel of her soft skin. “When Sergeant Fletcher told me—” She bit off the words, finally meeting his gaze, eyes luminous. It took a moment before she could continue. “I’m so relieved you weren’t hurt worse.”
“As am I.” He wanted to reassure her that he would soon recover, but would it ease her distress?
“What happened?” she asked, finally taking the chair at his bedside, her gaze seeming to catalog each of the cuts on his face and neck. No doubt she wondered what the rest of him looked like, particularly his scalp where the bandage was.
Henry gathered the bits of memory he’d been able to piece together.
The gaps he couldn’t recall bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Though not uncommon with head wounds, according to the doctor, it served as a sign that the injury was serious.
Then again, based on his current headache and nausea, he already knew that.
What happened? “I worked late. It must’ve been just past seven o’clock when I left the Yard.
” He tightened his hold on her hand, remembering how he’d been thinking of her.
“Marcus came to talk to me, much to my surprise, and we spoke for a few minutes.” About what, he couldn’t recall.
Why would Marcus have sought him out near the Yard?
“We moved around the side of the building and then...”
The rest he didn’t know. He remembered the deafening sound of the blast, the feel of it, the memory enough to make him stiffen. The air shoving him. The glass and stone tumbling down on them in a cloud of debris. Darkness.
“Oh, Henry. How terrible.”
It had been truly terrible, but at least he was alive to speak of it. “I keep thinking of Marcus,” Henry murmured. “I can’t imagine what he thinks, having been caught in it.”
“Fletcher said he intended to check on him this afternoon.”
Henry started to nod, only to wince at the taut pain. “Good, though it might not be easy to find him. I hope he has somewhere to recover. Somewhere safe.”
She glanced around the room which had been his for much of his life. “I would have offered for you to stay with me if you didn’t have your parents nearby.”
He managed a smile. “Thank you for thinking of me. I intended to return to my lodging house after my hospital visit, but Mother and Father wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I don’t blame them. I would have argued as well.” She bit her lip, suggesting apprehension had descended once again. “A bomb, Henry. Thank goodness you weren’t—” She bit off the rest and shook her head.
“I’m sorry to have frightened you.” Exhaustion pulled at him once again, the urge to close his eyes threatening to overcome him. But reassuring Amelia was important. He didn’t care to think their relationship was being tested so soon after they’d revealed their love for one another.
“Did the physician offer anything for the pain?”
“I-I…I don’t know.” He couldn’t remember that either. He turned to look at the small table near the bed then quickly grimaced. Even the small movement sent a sharp pain through his skull.
“I brought a few things to help and will leave them with your mother.” She managed a smile. “My father would be quite disappointed in me if I didn’t.”
“Thank you, but—Amelia. You’re not leaving already, are you?” Though he could barely keep his eyes open, her presence comforted him more than he could say.
Amelia squeezed his hand, brow furrowed with concern. “You need to rest. Blows to the head should be taken seriously.”
He blinked as exhaustion took an even firmer hold, honesty slipping from his lips. “I’d rest easier…knowing you were nearby.”
At last, she offered a genuine smile. “Perhaps your mother wouldn’t mind if I stayed for a time.”
He fell asleep before he could manage a reply.
Henry woke disoriented, confused. Why he was in his childhood bedchamber?
The confusion cleared as his headache descended in full force and the memories along with it. He closed his eyes as his heartbeat quickened, fear running through him. Marcus—noise—pain—
A hand gently touched his, instantly easing the panic.
“Henry?”
He opened his eyes to see Amelia at his side, her warm brown eyes holding on him.
“How is your head?” Her gaze swept over the rest of him, as if guessing that wasn’t all that ailed him.
“Hurts.” How ridiculous to be reduced to single-word responses, but he couldn’t think with his head pounding, let alone form complete sentences to better describe the soreness.
“Your mother said you refused the laudanum before leaving hospital, but pain relief is important.”
“Don’t…don’t like the stuff.” He closed his eyes again, not wanting to argue. Especially not with Amelia.
“Neither do I.” The rustle of her gown had him opening his eyes again to see her retrieving a small brown bottle from upon the bedside table. “I have some peppermint oil that might be helpful.” She lifted a brow. “Would you care to try some on your temples to see if that eases the pain?”
“Yes,” he murmured, not daring to move his head.
She dabbed some on her finger and gently rubbed the oil on his temple just below the bandage, the scent filling the air. “If this doesn’t help, you may need to resort to laudanum for the next couple of days until you start feeling better. I don’t think willow bark tea will be enough.”
Funny how hearing that gentle recommendation from Amelia had him rethinking the laudanum, though the pain did seem to lift as she continued the gentle massage. Was it due to the peppermint oil, or her touch?
“Your father is convinced a shot or three of whiskey would help,” she murmured with a smile as she leaned close to repeat the process on the other side. “I told him I’d share that option with you to see if you’d like a glass.”
That was enough to have Henry smiling. “Sounds like him.”
“Since alcohol is an ingredient in laudanum, it’s hard to argue against him,” she added wryly, before holding the bottle of peppermint oil beneath his nose. “Have a gentle sniff, and we’ll see if this proves helpful first.”
He did as she directed, then waited a few seconds, pleased to feel a bit of relief, even the nausea lessening. “It helps a little.” He held her gaze, grateful she was at his side. “Though your touch does as well.”
Awareness darkened her eyes, followed by a tenderness that matched his own feelings.
She set aside the bottle with a steadier hand.
“I am happy to see if massage helps, though I don’t want to hurt you.
” She reached to gently run her fingers along his forehead and his temples, careful to avoid the bandage.
The tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized was there eased. He closed his eyes again to better enjoy it. “How are my parents taking this?”
Amelia hesitated before answering. “About as well as can be expected, I suppose. We’re all greatly relieved you weren’t hurt worse.”
“As am I.” He’d been injured before—stabbed, beaten—but nothing like this.
He didn’t care for the helpless sensation of being a victim.
Somehow being injured by a bomb made that worse.
How could he fight an opponent he couldn’t see?
Not for a moment did he think he’d been the target of the explosion, he’d been nothing more than collateral damage.
Unimportant. And somehow that was also an awful feeling.
“I suppose your mother is...is somewhat accustomed to this. Between you and your father.”
The emotion in Amelia’s voice had him opening his eyes to reach for her hand. “Amelia.” He hated to cause her distress, yet the injury was a reminder he shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
She blinked back tears as she met his gaze. “I have always known your position as a detective is dangerous, but I suppose I wasn’t truly prepared to nearly lose you. Not like this.”
His heart ached at her words. Would this cause her to change her mind? To decide love wasn’t worth the risk of losing someone?
And would she feel differently if she hadn’t already endured so much loss in her life?
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not sure what else he could say.
Her smile, though tremulous, was welcome. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She took his hand to hold between hers. “And I have no doubt Scotland Yard’s finest, other than you, will be hard at work to discover who did this and why.”
“Yes, they will.” The question was, when would he feel well enough to join the investigation?
Her lips parted as if to say something, but she only shook her head and smiled ruefully. “For now, we will talk of something other than work. Your cases will have to wait.”
Henry considered the remark, unable to remember what cases he’d been working on. Something to do with…no, the thought slipped away from him. The attempt to rectify that was enough to make his head throb again.
He sighed as frustration and weariness swept over him, the pain suddenly too much. “Perhaps I will take that whiskey after all.”
“Your father will be happy to hear that. He said it would mean you were already on the road toward recovery.” Despite her words, Amelia’s smile tightened as she released his hand. “I will return directly.”
Henry murmured his thanks, then watched her depart, closing the door behind her. In truth, it was a relief not to try to hide the pain and unease that gripped him, along with the queasiness, though the peppermint oil had helped to ease that.
The holes in his memory concerned him more than he cared to admit. He couldn’t help but fear the details wouldn’t return.