Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
That day, Alice did not wake up. Marco refused to abandon her.
He kept his vigil at her bedside as the sun set and the candles flickered, watching her face for any signs of waking.
Her mother stayed for a long time but was persuaded to go to bed later that night.
Giovanni and Beatrice came and went. Surprisingly, Marco was joined by Silas Klane as his vigil continued into the early morning hours.
He quietly entered the room and sat in the chair on the other side of the bed.
Silas stared at Alice for a long time before speaking unexpectedly.
“You know, of course, that my wife was once kidnapped,” he said quietly as if he was continuing a conversation that Marco didn’t even know he had been part of.
“I did, yes,” Marco answered. Everyone knew the story of how Anna Klane, the new wife of Lucifer of London, had been abducted by his enemies. Silas nodded slowly.
“I am a man who has lived a hard life, yet nothing terrified me more than the sound of her screams,” he said softly.
His words cut Marco right to the core. He closed his eyes and thought of how it had felt to hear Alice’s desperate voice as she tried to fight off Hackman.
He swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists.
“I think I understand that,” he said, his voice trembling. Silas nodded in confirmation.
“Yet my wife was so courageous,” Silas said quietly. He shook his head in wonderment. “She fought so bravely against a hardened criminal. Yet there I was, Lucifer of London, trembling in my boots at the notion that she might be hurt.”
It was true. Marco had known many types of fear in his life, but nothing compared to the terror of losing Alice forever.
“I have endured many things too. I thought I would never be afraid after what happened to my factory. After all, what could be worse than losing my life's work and the man who helped me rise?” Marco said. He swallowed heavily. “Now I know.”
Silas nodded solemnly.
“It is quite a fear,” Silas whispered, his dark eyes full of severity and his voice sharp. “Yet it makes you stronger. The wolf with something to protect is more fearsome than the lone beast.”
“I suppose that is true,” Marco said, thinking that he had no doubt of the ferocity of Silas Klane. He looked down at Alice and gently stroked her hand upon the blanket. “I would do anything for her.”
“There is power in that,” Silas said softly, nodding knowingly. “After all, she is the daughter of the man who devastated you.”
Marco stared at him sharply. “Did Gio tell you?” he demanded.
“No, your secrets are safe with him,” Silas smiled and shook his head. “But I have my ways. I have known since the morning after the attack.”
Marco thought to ask Silas how he knew this but then realized that was foolhardy. He was not called Lucifer of London for nothing.
“You are quite formidable, Lucifer,” Marco said quietly, shaking his head in astonishment.
“That I am, but hopefully, there is comfort in knowing I am on your side,” Silas said, grinning toothily. For a moment, Marco saw the devil beneath the calm facade. “With my reputation and Giovanni’s status as a marquess, we shall see Hackman imprisoned for his crimes. Perhaps even hanged.”
“That is good,” Marco said vaguely, staring at Alice’s face. How he wished her eyes were open and he could watch her reaction to hearing that her captor could no longer hurt her.
“It does not seem like that comforts you,” Silas said shrewdly. Marco sighed heavily.
“I do not wish to seem ungrateful, but nothing will comfort me until she wakes,” Marco said frankly. Silas nodded and stood up, squeezing Marco’s shoulder as he moved towards the door.
“I understand completely,” he said quietly, his words full of conviction. “Do not lose hope. She is strong.”
Marco barely slept that night, dozing a little where he sat beside Alice’s bed, then jerking awake to check if she was breathing or at any slight sound.
His vigil continued throughout the next day.
Servants bought food he barely touched, and the physician came to check Alice’s wellbeing and reported that her heartbeat was steady, and she had no fever.
He said her body needed to sleep to heal itself and that there was hope she would awaken soon.
Still, Marco sat. The Dowager sat with him and spoke to her daughter quietly, urging her to wake as he had.
He hoped her mother's voice would rouse her, but it did not. Twilight waned, the moon rose, and Marco was filled with a deep fear when the bell on the mantlepiece chimed at six o’clock on Tuesday morning, and she still did not stir.
Alice had been unconscious since Sunday afternoon, and he was losing hope.
He was so lost in his thoughts he did not notice Giovanni entering.
“You need to let the doctor attend you, Marco,” Giovanni said quietly, standing by Marco’s side. “Your neck is still badly bruised."
Marco couldn’t take his eyes off Alice’s face. His throat was tight with despair, and his hands balled into fists.
“I failed her, Gio, before I even became her husband,” Marco whispered, fighting the tears rising behind his eyes.
“How could you say so?” Giovanni exclaimed softly.
“I let him take her,” Marco said, his voice harsh with self-loathing. His guilt and fear welled inside him like a complex poison, threatening to drown him. “I let him touch her, hurt her.”
“You nearly died saving her, Marco,” Giovanni said sharply, shaking Marco’s shoulder lightly. “Come, let the doctor take a look at you.”
“I shall not leave her,” Marco said stubbornly. Giovanni sighed heavily and squeezed his cousin’s shoulder before exiting. Marco thought vaguely that Giovanni had given in quickly. Then Beatrice appeared, holding a bowl of warm water and a towel moments after her husband's departure.
“You are awake early,” he said quietly.
“I have two small children. I am awake more often than not.” Beatrice smiled wryly at him.
“What is that?” Marco said, nodding to the bowl.
“If you will not see the physician, then I shall have to care for you myself,” she said flatly, setting down the water bowl on the nightstand and dipping the cloth into it.
Then, without asking for his permission, she began to treat the wound on his forehead.
Marco had forgotten about the crusted blood that had dried there the previous day.
He couldn't remember how he got the injury, possibly while Hackman was swinging the poker, and winced but said nothing, his gaze fixed on Alice.
He was not the one who was in pain; she was.
“You fought well, cousin,” Beatrice said quietly, wringing out the cloth in the water. Marco could see that it was tinged pink with blood.
“Not well enough,” Marco said bitterly. Her words offered no comfort, only the sting of his failure.
“You are not responsible for this,” she said. Marco sighed heavily and closed his eyes, letting Beatrice press the warm cloth against the cut on his eyebrow. Her comforting presence allowed him to speak the truth that weighed so heavily on his heart.
“She told me that she loved me, Beatrice,” he whispered.
“That is wonderful,” Beatrice said, her voice filled with quiet encouragement.
“Is it?” Marco chuckled darkly and shook his head, only stopping when Beatrice held him in place.” I do not… I do not think she heard me say it back to her.”
Beatrice said nothing for a moment, rinsing the cloth again and setting it to his chin, her blue eyes thoughtful.
“Did I ever tell you that Gio fought for me once?” she asked abruptly.
“You did not.”
“Indeed, he and my brother brawled like sailors in the hallway of Fallenbrook,” Beatrice said drily, and Marco couldn’t help but snort with laughter. It immediately felt like a relief and also as if he shouldn’t be doing it, not with Alice lying prone beside him.
“That doesn’t sound characteristic of either of them,” Marco chuckled, thinking of the stoic Lucifer of London, brawling like a commoner.
“If you’d seen both of them grow up as I did, you would understand it was, but that is not the point,” Beatrice said, smiling wryly.
“What is the point?” Marco asked.
“You fought for her, Marco. Young William told me everything. You stood in front of a gun for her.” Beatrice said, her eyes fixed intensely upon his. “Believe me, she knows you love her.”
Marco felt tears choking his throat, and he nodded, unable to speak. Beatrice patted his cheek gently.
“Come, Marco,” she said softly. “You have not slept in nearly two days. You must rest.”
“I need to stay with her,” Marco said hoarsely, gasping back tears as they dripped down his cheeks.
“You are no good to her exhausted,” Beatrice stated, taking his elbow, and hauling him to his feet. “Go and sleep. The next chamber is prepared. You shall not be more than a shout away. I shall sit with her, and I swear I will wake you if you are needed.”
Marco sighed heavily and nodded wearily, too exhausted to protest. He expected that as soon as he left Alice's side, he would be overcome with guilt and fear, too overwhelmed to even think of sleeping, but as soon as he allowed himself to lie down, his mind shut down, and he fell into an instant, dreamless sleep.
“Marco, wake up.”
Marco jerked awake immediately, startling around with only one thought inside his mind: Alice. He stared at Giovanni, who stood by his bedside.
“Is she awake?” he asked, voice desperate. “Is she....”
“No to either,” Giovanni said, his eyes full of pity. “The Dowager is with her; you need to eat and bathe."
“What time is it?” Marco asked.
“It is six o clock on Wednesday morning,” Giovanni said, gesturing for the servants to bring in a tray and hot water. Marco stared at him in disbelief.
“Wednesday? You allowed me to sleep so long?”