Page 32 of Tamed By a Passionate Lady
But she knew, at that moment, that she loved him.
And she had loved him, quite hopelessly, ever since.
***
Adaline picked up his cold hand, that she still held within her own, pressing it to her lips fervently. She had been lost from that moment on. He had claimed her heart so quickly that the memory of it still shook her to the core.
She had never been a particularly romantic girl. She had never truly believed in love at first sight, even though she had heard stories of it. If she was being honest with herself, she had always thought that it was imaginary, something poets and playwrights invented to make their stories more interesting.
She had no expectations of love when she had been growing up. She had never experienced any tremors when she had started to circulate in society, after her debut, socialising with young gentlemen at balls and parties. Some had become infatuated with her, but she had never encouraged them. They simply did not interest her, and besides, she had always been so very shy.
She had been happy enough with her life in Coventry. She had a happy family. It had only ever been the three of them. Mama had never had any more children after she was born, so she was the only child, loved to the point of indulgence. She spent her days drawing and painting, so absorbed in her work that sometimes the outside world vanished entirely.
She smiled slightly. Once upon a time, she had entertained girlish dreams to exhibit her work. She had wanted to be a great artist, like Da Vinci. But then she had realised that it wasn’t something that women, particularly ladies, could ever achieve. It would always be simply a hobby.
She gazed down at his hand in her own. The simple truth was that the minute that she had met him she had turned, like a sunflower seeking the sun, towards him. She had devoted her life to him. It had almost been a sacred thing, like a vocation. Had that been her mistake? Had she made him almost godlike in that devotion?
She sighed deeply, placing his hand back on the bed, staring hard at his unresponsive face. A deep disappointment flooded through her. It wasn’t working. She may as well have saved her breath.
She should get up. She had things to do. She had not even breakfasted yet, and there were practical things to organise for James’ care. She needed to speak to Mrs. Bolt. The linen on the bed would need to be changed today, and her husband would need to be washed, as well.
She sighed again, gazing at him one last time as she stood up.
Suddenly, she saw his hand, the one that she had just placed back on the bed, move slightly. A flexing of the fingers, almost as if he was testing them to see if they still worked.
She gasped, her eyes rivetted. Maybe she had imagined it?
But then, it moved again. And his head was ever so slightly moving on the pillow, from side to side.
She sat down, picking up his hand and gripped it to her chest, so that he could feel her heart beating frantically.
“James,” she said, in a clear voice. “James, I am here…”
Her voice trailed off for a moment, hesitantly. What could she say to him? Whatshouldshe say to him to implore him to finally open those eyes, and return to the land of the living?
She took a deep, ragged breath. Her heart was aching in her chest, and she felt tears thickening behind her eyes.
“Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “Come back to me.”
***
The tears started to blur her vision. But she could see that his head was still turning restlessly, from side to side.
Her heart leapt with real hope, for the first time since the sailors had brought him into this room. When she had first seen how damaged he was, how broken, like a bird that had fallen from its nest.
“Come back to me,” she whispered, again, desperately.
She didn’t let go of his hand. Carefully, with her other hand, she wiped away the tears that were blurring her sight, leaning closer towards him, so that her face was only inches away from his.
She studied it carefully. It was true; his face was becoming more animated with each passing second. Colour had slowly returned to his cheeks – they were no longer pale. And his eyelids were flickering, as if he were trying to open them but could not quite manage it.
“I love you,” she whispered, the tears streaming down her cheeks again. “I know that you never wanted me to love you. I know that you never sought my love, and that you do not welcome it.” A deep, ragged breath. “But the love is real, James. I want that love to be the light that brings you back to this world.” She gripped his hand tighter. “Use my love to guide you over the threshold. Use it, in any way that you will….”
He groaned slightly. It was the first time that she had heard his voice since it had happened. Her heart surged in triumph. He was responding to her. He was coming back to her.
She just knew it.
What else could she say to him to lure him onward, to cross that abyss back to consciousness?
