Page 59 of Wedded to the Forbidden Duke
When he reached his destination—then he could stop. No sooner.
When Ian reached the London townhouse, he was so tired he could barely walk.
He had just enough presence of mind to pass off the reins of his horse—who was no doubt as exhausted as he was—to the first servant he saw.
“Get him water,” he said, his voice ragged and hoarse. “Food and rest, too. He’s had a hard ride.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” It was a thankful element of his friendship with Zachary that the servants of the family recognized him well enough, after so many years.
As the servant boy led the horse away, Ian trudged up the front walkway, and pounded on the door.
The door opened, revealing a concerned-looking butler.
“Ah,” he said, taking in Ian’s disheveled appearance. “The Duke of Harwick is here,” he called over his shoulder.
“Ian?” came a familiar voice. Zachary appeared in the doorway, relieving the butler, and looked at his friend in dismay. “Good God, you look dreadful.”
Ian trudged inside past him, taking step by excruciating step towards the staircase.
“Ian, what on Earth are you doing? What has happened to you?”
“I need to see Cecilia,” he said, before collapsing on the floor.
“Ian!” Zachary rushed over to him. “Fetch some water!” he called to some nearby servants. “And food!”
Ian shook him off. “Don’t want any bloody food and water,” he insisted, “I want to see my wife. Where is my wife?”
“Upstairs,” Zachary said.
Ian immediately began trying to crawl up the stairs. He barely had the energy to make it halfway up the first.
“Ian,” Zachary said. “You are of no use to Cecilia in this state. Have some food, and some water, and you can see her after that.”
“My fault,” Ian said. “I told her…Zachary, I have to tell her. She has to know I didn’t mean any of it, not a word, and now she’sgoing to die and it’s all my fault—for God’s sake, let me go. Bring me to her.”
“She is resting,” Zachary said, his voice clearly strained with efforts to keep his patience in the midst of Ian’s ramblings. “You can see her when she wakes up, and I am certain she would much rather not see you in this state. You need sleep as badly as she does now, I would estimate.”
“Sleeping?” Ian looked up at him through bleary eyes. He felt almost as though he was seeing double. Twin images of Zachary swam before him. “She is all right, then? Cecilia is alive?”
Zachary nodded. “She is all right.”
“Thank God,” Ian muttered, before promptly losing consciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ian slept hardly half an hour before insisting to be allowed at his wife’s side.
When he saw her, his heart went cold.
Cecilia’s face was pale. Though she was breathing, the delicate features of her face, usually so lively and passionate and expressive, were so still and devoid of any fire.
“Please wake up,” he muttered, clinging to her hand. “Open your eyes, Cecilia. Tell me I was wrong. Argue with me. Tell me you hate me. I would gladly bear a thousand years of angry glares from across the room, if only it means that you all right and have opened your eyes. I was a fool not to tell you sooner how much I love you. I should have told you the moment I realized.”
Her eyes fluttered. When she opened them, she looked at him blankly at first, as though she did not recognize him at all. Ian could hardly breathe.
“What in the devil are you doing here?” she finally asked. Her throat sounded raw, but behind that was that fire that was so familiar to him, the fire he loved so much.
Ian sighed in relief. If she was angry at him, that meant she was all right. “Thank God.” He pressed a kiss to her hand. “Cecilia, I was so worried.”
