Page 83 of His Wicked Secret
Pain. Audrey couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. Images flickered through her mind, fragments of memories, and she struggled to catch the pieces. A ship sailing to France, a quiet inn, soldiers, an explosion, a moonlit cliff, a drawn knife, a shot in the dark…and then pain. So much pain.
And then something else. Something greater.
“Please, my love, come back to me.”
That voice.
It was as though she was trapped in a place between breaths, a world of memories and sensations.
Flashing green eyes, soft curved lips, a soft chuckle intended only for her.
Air filled her lungs in a gasp.
The glimmer of light upon water, the splash of fish in the pond, the rocking of a boat. Another deep kiss to satisfy centuries of longing.
A slow breath escaped her lips.
“I love you.”
Those words were forever carved into her heart. They could never be unsaid. But now she was suddenly too afraid to face the man she’d said them to.
“Her breathing has evened out.” A different voice spoke somewhere above her, and her muscles tensed. And then…
“She squeezed my hand.”Jonathan. With the name came all the memories of what had happened. The men, the soldiers, attacking from the shadows to save the man she loved, collapsing from pain, and being swallowed up by darkness.
“It could be muscle spasms. It’s best not to get your hopes up.” The other voice spoke again.
She prickled at his tone, wanting to tell the man she was fine.
But I’m not. Everything hurts, and I can’t seem to open my eyes.
“We’re almost home, Audrey. The winds of the Channel were fair, just as I promised.”
Jonathan’s voice was close, and the press of his lips to her forehead sent a shiver of relief through her. He was safe. She had protected him, just as he had protected her. The way that she hoped they would always protect each other.
She slipped away again, her mind drifting as her body succumbed to exhaustion.
When she next woke, her eyelids flickered, and she noticed the world had become still. There was no more rocking. It took a long while to find the strength to open her eyes fully. When she did, she realized she was in her bed at Cedric’s townhouse with Jonathan in bed beside her, though he lay atop the covers, fully clothed.
Had it all been a strange and terrifying dream? Had she even gone to France? A terrible pain throbbed in her side, and a moan escaped her. The pain reminded her it most certainly hadn’t been a dream.
Jonathan was asleep on the bed, both of his hands holding on to one of hers. Lines of worry were etched on his face, even in sleep, as if his concern had followed him even into his dreams. She wished she could wipe them away.
She suddenly felt foolish for ever having left him. She had put so much weight on proving herself and making a difference that she forgot there were more than enough battles to fight at home in London. The rights of women, for one. She would turn her eye to those issues and leave the spycraft to others.
Well, except perhaps when absolutely necessary.
She lay there for several long minutes, studying Jonathan’s face, down to the faint hint of freckles on his nose and cheeks gained from the hours he spent working in the gardens at the Essex estate. He had worked so hard in life and only now was having a chance to enjoy it. And she’d almost gotten him killed. She vowed right then not to cause him any more trouble.
No serious trouble, at any rate.
At least, nothing Jonathan couldn’t handle.
She didn’t want his life to getboring, after all.
She whispered his name and had the pleasure of seeing him wake up, to see how his eyes shone like twin jade pools in relief. They had told one another that they loved each other back at the inn; she hadn’t forgotten that. But would anything be different between them now after their confessions?
His face shone with a love that filled her with joy. “Thank God. I was so worried you would never wake.”
