Page 77 of Esperance

Carver returned to Amryn.

Ahmi was still with her, a comforting hand on her shoulder. Amryn’s eyes were closed when he approached, but they fluttered open the moment he knelt over her. “Would you like to go to our rooms?” he asked.

She nodded with a wince.

Carver slid his arms beneath her and pulled her against his chest. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, and her arm felt weak as it curled around his neck. Ahmi trailed him as he walked out of the room.

Amryn said nothing as he carried her. His boots clipped against the floor as he made his way to the staircase, and his arms locked more tightly around her as he ascended the steps. Small tremors wracked her body, and each one cut him like a knife.

When they finally reached their suite, he shifted her weight in his arms so he could grab his keys.

“I’ve got it,” Ahmi said, rushing forward with her own key. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Carver’s focus was solely on Amryn. The flutter of each thin breath. The soft brush of those long curls against his arm. The warmth that seeped from her body and into his.

Heat curled low in his gut, and he had to shove those thoughts away. It didn’t matter how well she fit against him, or the perfect weight of her in his arms, and it certainly wasn’t a good idea to acknowledge how soft she was, pressed against his chest.

His hold on her tightened as Ahmi led the way into the bedroom. Carver moved right for the four poster bed and laid Amryn on top of the quilt, gently easing her head onto the pillow. As he pulled away, his empty arms fell to hang at his sides.

Ahmi turned to him. “I’m going to fetch some soothing tea for her throat and more medicine from the physician, in case she needs it later. She’ll be tired from what was already given to her, but will you stay with her? Or I could send for another maid to—”

“No. I’ll stay with her.” He couldn’t imagine leaving.

The maid nodded, then hurried from the room.

The only sound was their breathing—his low and deep, hers soft and wavering. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, and Amryn’s eyelids drooped. Her lips parted, but all that escaped was a scratchy rasp.

Carver bent toward her. He didn’t analyze why he wrapped his hand around hers—again. “Do you need anything?”

The movement was slight, but she shook her head.

He squeezed her hand. “You should rest. I’ll wake you when the physician comes.”

A tear slipped out from the corner of her eye. “Stay,” she croaked.

The waver of fear in her voice filled him with anger, but his movements were gentle as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his body turned toward her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

Chapter 21

Amryn

Amryn lowered herself into the library chair,eyeing the large book she’d just dropped on the table. She knew a message waited for her within the pages ofZerrif’s Voyage. She’d seen the pin in the painting yesterday—which was the sign her rebel contact had said would be used to alert her to a new message—but she hadn’t had an opportunity to slip away and view it until now.

Things in Esperance had been tense the last several days. While all the women had mostly recovered from the physical effects of the poisoned tea, no one could relax. Trevill’s investigation had found nothing about the origins of the poison, or who could have been responsible. The only thing that seemed sure was that another strike was imminent. Argent had ordered an increased guard on all the ladies. Amryn had managed to leave hers at the library entrance.

Carver had not been so easy to shake.

Her stomach dipped, her mind conjuring up images of him. His burning gaze as he’d stalked toward her in the tea room. The strong yet gentle way he’d carried her to their room. The way his eyes had held hers as he’d taken her hand, and stayed with her.

Over the next few days, he’d only left her occasionally—usually when Ahmi came to attend her. He’d even fallen asleep on the edge of the bed that first night, just so he could be near if she needed anything. She’d been so exhausted and weakened by the poison and the drugging effects of the medicine, she’d barely acknowledged the fact that Carver was sleeping in the room with her.

When she woke the next morning, she becameveryaware of him.

Early morning light filtered through the window when she stirred and found him sprawled out on the bed beside her. He was still sleeping, and she couldn’t look away. He was on his back, with one arm thrown over his head and the other resting against his side. He’d slept on top of the quilt, and his shirt had tugged up to reveal a swath of bronze skin, broken by a myriad of thin lines of scarring. Those marks didn’t detract from the muscled ridges of his abdomen, which tempted her fingertips, though she fought the impulse to touch him. His breaths were low and even, heavy in sleep, and his face was more relaxed than she’d ever seen it. Dark hair fell over his brow and the hard lines of his jaw were covered in a shadow of scruff. The silver band on his forefinger winked in the sunlight, and for the first time, she wondered about the ring. It was the only piece of jewelry he wore. She wondered what it meant to him—who had given it to him. She’d never asked. Just like she’d never asked about the pale scar on his chin, or the countless other marks that covered his body.

When his breath had caught and he stirred, she’d closed her eyes. A coward, not wanting to be caught staring.

But even though he woke, he didn’t move. And as the silent moment stretched, she realizedhewas staring ather.

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