Chapter Twenty-Four
By the time dawn broke over Blackwood Hall, Evangeline had not slept for nearly twenty-four hours.
She sat in a chair beside Anthony's bed, one hand resting lightly upon the coverlet, her gaze fixed upon his face as though looking away might somehow cause him to disappear.
The candles had long since burned low, and pale morning light now filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bedchamber.
A tray of untouched tea sat forgotten on a nearby table.
Mrs Dearwell had attempted several times throughout the night to persuade her to rest, but Evangeline had refused.
She could not leave him.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him as he had been when they brought him home.
Unconscious and bleeding.
The very memory sent a fresh wave of dread through her.
A tenant returning from London had discovered him shortly after midnight lying beside the road.
By some miracle, the man had recognised both Anthony and his horse.
He had ridden immediately to Blackwood Hall, raising the alarm, and within the hour, servants had been dispatched to retrieve their injured master.
Since then, the house had existed in a state of anxious vigilance.
Even now, as the physician completed his examination, Evangeline found herself twisting her hands together beneath her skirts.
The older man finally stepped away from the bed and removed his spectacles.
"Well?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The physician offered a reassuring smile. "His Grace is fortunate."
The words loosened something painfully tight within her chest.
"He has suffered a severe concussion, several bruised ribs, a deep cut along his shoulder, and enough bruises and abrasions to make him uncomfortable for some time." The physician closed his leather case before continuing. "However, I see no reason he should not make a full recovery."
Relief washed through her so powerfully that she nearly had to sit down.
The physician continued speaking, though his voice seemed distant for a moment.
"He must remain in bed for several days. He will likely experience headaches, dizziness, and fatigue. The temptation to resume his usual activities too soon must be resisted."
Evangeline almost laughed. Anthony resisting temptation to overwork himself would require divine intervention.
"I shall see that he follows your instructions," she said.
The physician's expression suggested he doubted anyone could successfully force the Duke of Blackwood to obey instructions, but he wisely kept that opinion to himself.
Once he had departed, silence settled over the room once more. The only sound was the steady ticking of the clock upon the mantel and the distant murmur of servants moving through the house.
Then Anthony stirred. The movement was slight, just a shift of his hand against the blanket and a faint tightening around his eyes.
Evangeline leaned forward. "Anthony?"
His brow furrowed, and slowly, painfully so, his eyes opened.
For a brief moment confusion clouded his features. He stared at the canopy overhead as though trying to remember where he was. Then his gaze moved across the room and found her.
The moment he recognised her, his expression softened.
"Evangeline." His voice was rough and faint. The sound of it nearly undid her.
"Oh, thank heavens," she whispered. "You had us all so worried."
"You can't get rid of me that easily," he said, wincing slightly.
Evangeline smiled, blinking back tears. For the first time since the previous evening, he felt real again. Not an injured body lying motionless in a bed.
But Anthony, her Anthony, the man she loved.
She had known it already, of course. Despite the promise she'd made to guard her heart, Anthony had snuck in there. And now, sitting beside him, faced with how close she had come to losing him, the truth settled more firmly than ever before.
She loved him.
And she did not know what she would have done if he had not awakened.
Anthony studied her for a moment before speaking again. "Are you well?"
The question surprised her so completely that she could only stare. Of all the things he might have asked, that had not occurred to her.
That his first concern was her.
The simple fact of it tightened her throat. "Yes," she said softly. "I am perfectly well."
Only then did some of the tension leave his face.
She helped him sit up enough to drink a little water. The movement clearly caused him pain, though he attempted to hide it. Evangeline was becoming increasingly skilled at recognising when Anthony was pretending not to suffer.
Once he had settled against the pillows again, he closed his eyes briefly before reopening them.
"What happened?"
Before she could answer, a knock sounded at the door, and Sebastian entered without waiting for permission.
He looked almost as exhausted as she felt.
His coat was rumpled, his cravat imperfectly tied, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that suggested he too had spent a sleepless night.
Relief flickered across his face when he saw Anthony awake. "Good to see you're awake."
Anthony frowned. "I assume from your expression that something is wrong."
Sebastian pulled a chair closer to the bed. "We may have a problem."
Anthony's gaze sharpened immediately. "Nathaniel."
Sebastian nodded. "A witness reported seeing him near the road shortly before the shooting."
Evangeline felt cold all over.
"When the authorities attempted to question him," Sebastian continued, "they discovered he had vanished."
Anthony's expression darkened. "Vanished."
"No one has seen him since last night."
Evangeline glanced toward Anthony and saw the familiar determination beginning to emerge behind his eyes. A moment later he attempted to push himself upright, but Evangeline placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You are not going anywhere."
"I cannot remain in bed while—"
"Yes, you can."
Anthony looked genuinely startled by her interruption.
"Listen to your wife," Sebastian said.
Anthony glared at him.
"I have already contacted the magistrate," he continued. "Men are searching Nathaniel's known residences and speaking with anyone who may know where he has gone."
"I should be out there looking," Anthony argued.
"We will find him," Sebastian replied. "Until then your only responsibility is recovery."
After a long moment Anthony nodded reluctantly.
"Well, I should let you get some rest," he said.
With that, Sebastian departed.
***
Over the next two days, a strange and unexpectedly intimate routine emerged.
Evangeline read aloud when headaches prevented conversation. She refreshed cold compresses, monitored medicines, and ensured he rested even when he insisted he was perfectly capable of returning to work.
He complained frequently, and she ignored him.
The arrangement suited them both surprisingly well.
More than once she caught him watching her while she read, his expression thoughtful and unguarded in a way she rarely saw.
The experience revealed a side of Anthony few people ever witnessed.
Without his title, responsibilities, and endless obligations, he seemed almost younger. Less guarded.
And increasingly willing to allow her close.
By the third day he was finally strong enough to leave the bed for short periods.
Evangeline regarded this as excellent progress while Anthony regarded it as proof he should immediately resume normal activities.
Naturally, they disagreed.
"You require a proper bath."
Anthony looked up from the newspaper he had been pretending to read.
"I washed yesterday."
"You splashed water on your face."
"It counts."
"It does not."
His expression suggested he knew he was losing the argument. Unfortunately for him, he was entirely correct.
An hour later Evangeline had Anthony seated in the bathing room while hot water filled the large copper tub. Steam drifted through the air carrying the scent of lavender and soap. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating the room in warm afternoon light.
Once the servants had withdrawn, a quiet stillness settled between them.
For the first time, there was nowhere for Anthony's scars to hide. Evangeline had seen glimpses before in the dim candle light of their room, or beneath the neckline of his night shirt. But never all of them all at once.
Now she found herself confronted with the visible history of a life marked by hardship.
A long pale scar crossed his torso. Others marked his shoulder and back. Some were old enough to have faded with time while others remained stark reminders of battles fought years before. Fresh bruises from the fall darkened his skin in shades of purple and gold.
She dipped a cloth into the warm water and carefully cleaned the healing wound along his shoulder.
Anthony watched her silently.
Only after several moments did he speak. "I expected them to trouble you."
The quiet admission made her pause, and she looked up.
"Why?"
His gaze dropped briefly to the scars. "Most people find them difficult to ignore."
The vulnerability in the statement struck her more deeply than any wound she could see. How many years had he carried that belief? How many whispered comments and lingering stares had convinced him he was something to be endured rather than loved?
Evangeline set aside the cloth and reached out gently, allowing her fingertips to trace one of the older scars.
Not with pity, only tenderness.
"They tell the story of a man who survived."
Anthony's eyes lifted to hers.
"They tell the story of a man who has spent years protecting people who depend upon him."
His expression softened.
"And they are part of you."
The room fell silent, but neither of them looked away.
Evangeline's hand remained resting lightly against his skin. For the first time since she had known him, Anthony seemed completely stripped of every defence he possessed.
There was no title between them, no carefully maintained distance. Only honesty and trust.
And as she sat beside him in the golden afternoon light, caring for him as naturally as breathing, Evangeline realised that nothing they had shared before, no conversation, no attraction, not even desire, had brought them closer than this moment.
Because this was the first time Anthony had allowed himself to be truly seen. And she suspected he was beginning to understand that she loved every part of what she saw.