Wicked Promise (38 page)

"Don't try to talk," he said to her, the sound of tears in his voice. "You have to save your strength." He swallowed and she could see the muscles in his throat constricting. "Rand has gone for a surgeon. You have to hang on."

Pain knifed into her chest and she closed her eyes. She prayed he would tell her he loved her. That the words he had said before were no longer true. She wanted to hear it so badly. If she were going to die, she needed the words to give her the courage to face the unknown.

And she had prayed so hard, hoped for so long it was true.

She tried to wet her lips. They felt cotton-dry. She tried to swallow but her throat felt tight and swollen. Her eyelids burned. She forced them open, saw Nicholas's dark head bent over hers, saw that he was praying. His cheeks were covered with tears.

With the last of her strength, she reached out to him, cupped his face in her hand. "I... love you," she whispered. "Do you... love me?"

A sound of anguish tore from his throat. She saw his lips begin to move, knew that he was speaking, thought that per¬haps he was saying the words she so desperately wanted to hear. Elizabeth could no longer hear him. It saddened her to think she would never know for sure.

Darkness swirled in. The pain surged once, twice, then be¬gan to wane. She saw him reaching out to her, thought that he was begging her to stay, begging her not to leave him, then her eyes slid closed and his beloved face faded away.

 

"I love you, Elizabeth. God, I love you so much." Nick had repeated the phrase a thousand times in the past three days—or was it four? He couldn't seem to remember. He only knew that Elizabeth hovered on the brink of death, that she had lost consciousness before he could say the words she had longed to hear, that he had waited too long to say what was in his heart.

He kissed her palm and carefully rested her cold hand be¬neath the blanket. With each of her shallow breaths, his heart ached more. A painful knot clogged his throat and guilt was a heavy stone crushing his chest. It was his fault this had happened. He should have kept her away from Bascomb, should have kept her safe. He had tried so hard and yet he had failed her again.

Nicholas dragged in a deep, shuddering breath and bowed his head.

Lord, I know I haven't been all the things I should be. I've done things I regret, things I wish I could change. I've failed You more than once. Perhaps in the years ahead, I will fail You again. But I am a different man now, a better man be¬cause of Elizabeth. I know I don't deserve her—I probably never will. But the truth is, I love her—more than my own life—and I beg you to let her live. I'll take care of her, Lord. And I'll try to be an even better man.

Nicholas released a slow, painful breath and leaned back in the chair beside the bed he had sat in these past four days. He felt like screaming out his rage. He felt like weeping. But Elizabeth didn't need either of those things. She needed his strength and he was determined to give it.

He hadn't lied. He loved her more than life and he was damned if he would let death steal her away.

Maggie Warring Sutton, Marchioness of Trent, stood next to her husband just inside the door to Elizabeth's bedchamber.

"I can't bear it, Andrew. I can't bear to see him like this." Day after day, her brother had sat at Elizabeth's bedside. No amount of coaxing could force him to leave. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't slept. Dark circles turned his eyes a flat dull gray without the slightest trace of blue. And still Elizabeth had not awakened.

Andrew squeezed her hand. "You mustn't lose heart, my love. The doctor says there is yet a chance she may live."

"She has to, Andrew. Nicholas loves her so much."

"He keeps saying he never told her the way he felt. He sits there, praying she will open her eyes so that he can tell her now."

Maggie's throat closed up. Her brother's face rose into her mind, his handsome features ravaged by pain as he clung to Elizabeth's hand. Downstairs Rand Clayton paced the floor of the drawing room, nearly as distraught as Nick, blaming him¬self for convincing his friend that Elizabeth would be safe. Aunt Sophie fared better than the rest, determined her niece would not die, seeing to her care from dusk until dawn, her own way of coping with her fears.

That Oliver Bascomb was dead no longer seemed important. Not if the price was Elizabeth's life.

"I can't bear it, Andrew. I simply cannot." But of course she would. She had her husband to lean on, to lend his strength and support. She never could have guessed how good it felt to love a man like Andrew Sutton, to plan for a future together, to look forward to giving him children.

She prayed God would grant Nicholas that same chance at happiness, that the Lord would spare the woman who was his one true love.

Nicholas paced the floor beside Elizabeth's bedside. For days he had wavered between anger and despair, had alternately raged and prayed. He was raging now and he hoped Elizabeth could hear him.

"You will not die—do you hear me, Elizabeth Woolcot? You will open those big green eyes and will listen to what I have to say."

She did not move.

"You are going to marry me—do you hear? You agreed, and now you will do as you have promised."

She did not awaken.

Nick paced away then back to the bed. "I am tired of ar¬guing with you, Bess. You are stubborn and you are willful. You rarely do as I tell you, but in this you will do as I say. The doctor says that your wound is beginning to heal. There is no reason for you to lie there, pretending you do not hear me. I love you and I intend that we shall be married." He dragged in a shaky breath, wondering if his words were use¬less, feeling more alone, more weary, than he had ever felt before.

Still, he refused to give up.

"I'm talking to you, Miss Woolcot. I love you—do you hear? We are going to be married and—" He started to say something more when he noticed her eyes had popped open. At first he thought he had finally gone mad, that all his ranting and raving had driven him over the edge, but those bright green orbs just kept staring in his direction and the softest hint of a smile curved her lips.

"Say it again," she whispered.

Nick dropped to his knees beside her, clasped her fingers with a hand that trembled. "I intend that we shall be wed."

"The ... other..."

Tears stung the backs of his eyes. "I love you. I've loved you since that first day when you stumbled into my study. I loved you the moment I saw you in the garden gazing up at some fool bird. I loved you the instant you stepped into that foul-smelling cell and told me you had come to help me es¬cape."

"I'm not. . . going to die," she said with such conviction that relief swept through him. He found himself smiling. God, he had forgotten how good it felt

"No, you're not going to die. I won't let you."

"I love you."

A surge of love tore through him, so rare, so powerful, that for a moment he couldn't catch his breath. God had answered his prayers. He had returned Elizabeth to him, and Nick wasn't a man who took such miracles lightly. Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you, too. From now on I shall say it until you can't bear to hear the words."

"Truly, my lord?" she whispered.

"I promise you that, Bess. I love you. I'll tell you well and often. I won't ever let you forget."

It was a promise he meant to keep.

Today was the six-month anniversary of their wedding, a simple but elegant affair celebrated in the gardens at Raven¬worth Hall. All of their friends had attended, Rand and the dowager duchess, Lord Trent and Maggie, old friends and new—far more than she had imagined. Off to one side, Elias had stood next to Theo, Mercy Brown, and the loyal Raven¬worth staff.

Jackson Fremantle wasn't there, of course. He had been summarily dismissed, with no letters to recommend him.

After the wedding, in their bedchamber that first night, Nicholas had gifted her, not with the Ravenworth rubies, which remained locked up in Sydney's vault, but a lovely diamond and emerald pendant he had chosen to match her eyes.

Elizabeth smiled to think of it. She had worn the exquisite emerald at supper tonight, and Nicholas had surprised her with a matching bracelet and ear bobs. She had a different gift for him, more precious than any jewels.

She felt his fingers moving lightly over her shoulders, trac¬ing the small line of ridges down her spine. He pressed his lips against the side of her neck and a little shiver ran through her. He was deliriously insatiable, especially tonight. He wanted her again and, as always, she wanted him.

She rolled onto her back to look up at him, saw the love and the wicked glint of desire in his eyes. "Thank you for the bracelet. Six months is hardly a true anniversary, yet to me every day has been special since the moment I met you."

He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. "You are the one who is special, Bess. And I thank God every day that you are mine."

She reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his. "I have a gift for you, as well. I meant to give it to you earlier in the evening, but you were so eager for... other things, I thought perhaps I had better wait until now."

A fine black brow arched up. "I thought you had given me your gift. I thought that when you ran your tongue inside my navel and all the way down to my—"

"Nicholas Warring! That isn't the kind of gift I meant and you know it."

He grinned roguishly. He was after all the Wicked Earl and, thankfully, some things did not change. "Sorry." But the un¬repentant gleam in his eye said he wasn't sorry at all.

"The gift I have is something that will last through a life¬time and beyond. Can you guess what it is?"

He grinned and shook his head. "A new pair of riding boots?"

She smiled at him, took his hand, and placed it very care¬fully over the slight curve of her stomach. All amusement faded from his face.

"Tell me you are not jesting. Sweet God, Bess, say that the gift is a child." His gaze was so intense, his expression so filled with hope, tears sprang into her eyes.

"We are going to have a babe, my lord. If we are lucky, perhaps it will be a son."

His throat worked but no words came out. For an instant he glanced away. When he turned back, he was smiling. "It is the gift I have desired above all else. A gift I never thought to receive. Son or daughter, it doesn't matter. What matters is that the child will be ours and that we will love it beyond all reason." He bent and kissed her deeply. "I love you, Lady Ravenworth. I love you so damned much."

Happiness surged through her, and a ragged, almost painful swell of love. She was his wife now, and soon she would be the mother of his child.

In her wildest imagination, Elizabeth never would have guessed the joy she would find in the arms of the Wicked Earl.