by Ava Rose
“It appears to be some kind of muscle relaxant. Thankfully, the patient has some returning function in his limbs, though I believe he may remain rather sleepy for a day or so. He is breathing on his own, which is a good sign. The effects should resolve completely with time. I suspect the aim was to disable temporarily, rather than kill.”
Relief rushed through her. Henry would be fine. Eventually.
Pen showed Dr. Poole out and at Libby’s request, everyone left her alone with Henry, although the door remained open for propriety. She took his hand again, determined to remain with him until he woke.
She was certain that this was the work of their stalker. However, she was unsure if Henry was attacked suddenly or if he saw the stalker and followed. It didn’t matter which. It would not stop her from investigating. But now she would do so while keeping Henry safe. In this house.
***
The following morning
“Libby,” came a whisper.
She started and raised her head from the bed. Anna was standing beside her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Had she drifted off to sleep? A look around told her it was morning. One of the powder blue curtains had been opened a touch to allow natural light to filter in.
“You should go upstairs and get some proper sleep. I’ll watch him.”
She sat up with a sigh. Anna was right. Her body ached all over and she was exhausted. She studied Henry, who had a better color in his face this morning. Where he was barely breathing last night, now his bare chest rose and fell rhythmically.
“Wake me if he wakes up,” she said, struggling to her feet.
A moan stopped her procession and she turned in time to see his eyes open. Moving back to the bed, she leaned over him, calling his name. His silvery eyes were unfocused and he stared blankly ahead.
“I don’t think he is awake,” Anna observed.
No, he was not.
“Go on and get some rest.”
Anna would not allow her to stay and she did not have the strength to argue this morning. Pen appeared in the doorway as she was leaving.
“How is he?” her brother asked.
“He seems stable and he opened his eyes just now, but not from wakefulness. I think he is a little improved, though.”
Pen nodded. “You should rest, Libby. I'll make sure he's comfortable and looked after.”
She agreed and left Henry in their care. She got into bed once she was in her room and the instant her head touched the pillow, she was taken away by slumber.
***
When she woke, it was already mid-afternoon and the first thing she did was inquire about Henry before having a bath and getting dressed.
Nothing had changed. Dr. Poole had said the effects of the muscle poison could last up to a day. She tried not to worry, but it was not easy.
When she arrived at his bed chamber, she found her mother seated beside him, reading.
“Mama,” she said quietly as she approached.
Christiana looked up and smiled a little. “How are you, Libby?”
Good question. How was she?
“I don't know,” she replied, looking at Henry. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and beside Christiana was a bowl filled with water and a towel. “Does he have a fever?”
Her mother nodded. “He did. Dr. Poole called again while you were sleeping. He said to expect the fever to break, which it now has. He will be fine.” Christiana marked her page and closed the book in her hand before rising to her feet. “Would you like to sit with him?”
“Yes, please.”
On her way out, Christiana paused. “I know what is going through your mind, Libby. Don't blame yourself. It is not your fault.”
Her throat and chest constricted with emotion and she swallowed hard. She might lift the blame off herself when he recovered, or at least when he was awake.
She sat for a long time just watching him, then she grew restless. Sitting still was not her thing and she needed to find something to do. She went to the library to retrieve a book and when she returned, his body was trembling. The fever had returned.
Well, there was what she had asked for. Something to occupy her. She pulled the bed covers from his body so as not to encourage the fever to take full hold, although she suspected that it already had. Then she wet a clean towel and began to gently mop his brow.
***
Two days later
Both Henry's body and his state of mind told him that he was in trouble and trapped in sleep. He had tried to wake several times and every time he got close, something would pull him back to the bottom and he would have to start all over again.
There had been bouts of intense cold and then intense heat. The cold had been harder to bear because it came with a looped dream. It would be horrible at first, where someone would be throwing knives at him and then it would change and he would find a comfortable bed and lay down, warm and safe.
It was very difficult. He did not know where he was or what was happening to him and he was afraid.
But through the darkness, he felt the presence of people. People who were trying to help him. There was one presence that struck him the most. He enjoyed her voice and her touch. He was more aware now and he could clearly hear her voice. Henry followed it, held on to it to pull him out of this darkness.
His eyelids felt incredibly heavy, like he had not used them in a while and his throat was extremely dry. “Henry,” she whispered. “Come back to me.”
The soft melody made him smile. He wanted to see her lovely face, but his eyes were not cooperating.
Soft hands touched his brow and then smoothed his hair. It gave him a beautiful, blissful feeling. He relaxed again, not minding very much that he was still unable to open his eyes.
Sleep took him again, but this time he did not get lost and he did not have to fight anything. He was safe, and when he was ready, he followed her voice and her touch once again.
He opened his eyes. The brightness that hit him was a bit overwhelming at first but with slow blinking and patience, his eyes adjusted and he was able to see.
He had thought that her face would be hovering over him, but only a white ceiling greeted him. His hands moved searchingly and they connected with hers.
He sighed with relief. She was there. “Libby,” he croaked, wincing at the dryness in his throat and the odd taste in his mouth.
“Welcome back to the world of the living,” she said.
He turned his head, and her smile was so brilliant he felt as if he could be in heaven.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said, smiling back.
She didn’t say anything, only clutched more tightly at his hand.
“How long have I been dead?”
She frowned and gave him a warning look. “That is not funny, Henry.”
He laughed weakly. “Forgive me. How long have I been asleep?”
“That is much better. About three days.”
Good Lord! He had been asleep for three days?
The memory came flooding in as he was about to ask what had happened. The stalker had escaped and he had not been able to chase after him because...
“Was I poisoned?”
She nodded solemnly. “Some kind of muscle thing that made you weak and put you to sleep for a while.”
Holy God!
“The doctor said the amount was not enough to kill you.”
“Hmm. Good thing, that.” He closed his eyes briefly, trying to dismiss all thoughts of what might have been.
“I just glad you're all right,” she said softly.
“So am I, Libby.”
He tried to sit up, but his dearth of strength caused his body to feel weighted and he sighed.
“Give yourself time, Henry. You've only just woken.” Libby reached for a cup on the dresser and raised it to his lips. “Boiled and cooled water,” she explained. “It will help your throat.”
He allowed her to feed him the drink and the coolness of it relieved the dryness in his throat
and washed away the bitter taste in his mouth.
“Would you like to eat something?”
“Definitely! But I think I will need a bath first.”
Libby's cheeks colored a delightful shade of pink. “Oh, right. I'll get Antoine. He is handy with wounds and Dr. Poole was happy to leave you in his care.”
He watched her leave, wondering how long she had sat with him. She looked tired, and he remembered feeling her presence most of the time.
His heart swelled with emotion.
A short while later, Antoine walked in and when he saw Henry, a soft expression touched his features. It was a first in Henry's experience. The man had never cared to give him a look other than that of condescension.
“It is good to see you awake, Sir,” he said. A footman followed behind him carrying wound dressing items and a stack of towels.
“Believe me, I'm pretty pleased, too.”
The butler smiled then.
How near death had he been exactly, for the Armstrong-Leeds butler to be nice to him?
“I will see to your wound now, Sir,” Antoine informed him as he leaned over and began peeling off the bandage covering his wound. “And then we will run you a bath.”
After his wound had been redressed and a hot bath had been run, Henry pulled himself out of the bed and walked carefully to the bath. He was feeling incredibly weak and when first he was vertical, dizziness assailed him. Antoine assisted, and when he lay back in the warm water, sleep threatened to claim him once again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Libby was waiting in the drawing room for Henry to be through with his bath, when a footman walked in carrying a valise and a letter.
“This was just delivered for you, Lady Elizabeth,” he said.
“Who is it from?” she asked with a somewhat puzzled frown. As she held out her hand to collect the missive, Antoine passed by.
“From someone in Lex—”
“Please, excuse me,” she cut the footman off and rushed after the butler. “Is Detective DeHavillend through?”
“Yes, my lady. I am going to have his meal sent in now,” he replied.
Good.
Libby picked up her heavy velvet skirt and started to head toward Henry’s room, but stopped short, feeling like there was something she was forgetting. Turning, she found the footman in the drawing room doorway looking unsure as to what to do with the valise and the letter.
“Can you have those taken up to my rooms, please?”
He bowed and she continued on to Henry’s bed chamber. She found him back in bed. She was about to leave him to sleep when he opened his eyes and directed his silver gaze at her.
“Are you going to come in or are you going to lurk there like a thief?”
Libby smiled widely as she stepped into the room and went to the chair by his bed. He was clean-shaven and looked stronger than when he had first woken up.
“How are you?”
“Hungry.”
“That is a good sign.” She wanted to ask him about what had happened that night and discuss an idea she had been considering, but endeavored to restrain herself until he had eaten.
Antoine cleared his throat to announce himself from the hallway. He walked in with a footman carrying a loaded tray that he set down on the bed beside Henry.
“Compliments of Lady Christiana, Sir,” Antoine announced.
“Please extend my gratitude.”
The food was not the typical food given to a convalescing person, which more often than not would be soup. Her mother made sure Henry had a full three-course meal: soup, roast beef with vegetables and potatoes, and a slice of decadent cake.
“I was not expecting this,” he admitted.
“My mother takes our meals very seriously.”
“I can see that.” He balanced the soup bowl on his lap and started eating.
Libby watched him shamelessly. She surmised he did not eat like this very often. He was a bachelor and his work took a lot of his time. He devoured everything fast until he came to the cake, which he ate very slowly.
“Your sweet tooth at play?” she asked.
“Mmm hmm.”
Once he was done, he sighed with some contentment. “Do you know when the doctor is coming back?” he asked.
“This evening, I believe.”
“I need to know how soon I can return to work.”
There was the opening she had been waiting for.
“Don't you think it's too soon to be thinking of that?”
He placed the empty cake plate back onto the tray and wiped his mouth with a napkin before shaking his head. “There is a killer out there. We need to find him.”
“I need to find him.”
Henry's gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You need to find him?”
“Henry, what exactly happened that night?”
“I saw our stalker after I left you. He must have been following us again. I went after him and we scuffled in an alley. He stabbed me but I was able to get a shot in, at least. I got him in the arm.”
Libby felt worse than she had earlier now that she had confirmation that he had been wounded because of her.
“I cannot allow you to continue with this case, Henry,” she said solemnly, her eyes fixed on her hands on her lap.
“You can't be serious.”
She looked at him now. “I mean it, Henry. You went through all of this because of me. I couldn’t live with myself if anything more were to happen to you.”
Libby cared deeply for Henry. She had acknowledged the extent of her feelings the night of his attack, and although she had come to terms with the reality that she might never be his, she could not bear it if something worse happened to him.
“Nothing is going to happen, Libby. I will be more cautious.”
“I've never met anyone more cautious, Henry.”
He reached over and took her hand. “I can't do that. I can't live with myself if I don't finish this, just like you can't live with yourself if something happens to me. Please understand, Libby.”
“Don't do that,” she muttered, emotion thickening her voice. “Do not use my own argument against me.”
His lips curved in a sly smile. “It's working, then?”
She pulled her hand from his. “I am not going to talk about this anymore. Once you are well, you will go home and continue to search for Lady Kingsleigh's necklace and forget this case ever existed.”
“Now you are being ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous about trying to save you?” Her words were snappier than she intended.
“I don't need to be saved,” he snapped back.
“I am quite through with this conversation,” she said coolly, before rising and leaving the room.
***
Elizabeth's resoluteness in trying to keep him off the case was flattering but she would not win against him. Starting this had been a choice, but finishing it had become a responsibility to Henry.
She had no say in that anymore, especially now that he was acquainted with her family. They were decent people and they did not deserve this misfortune.
He wanted to call her back, but she was a woman who felt things strongly. Allowing her a moment to regain her bearing was necessary if he wanted to convince her to let him finish solving the case.
With a weary sigh, Henry leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Damn poison. It had really taken his energy.
“Henry,” came Mary's voice.
He turned his head to see her in the doorway. As usual, the brown cat Treacle was with her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, stepping into the room.
“I am much better, thank you Mary.”
“You gave us quite the scare, especially Libby.”
Knowing that Libby cared about him enough to be worried when he was unwell was rather comforting.
“My apologies.”
She laughed. “Oh, don't apologize, silly. It was beyond your control. Besides, we are all happy you're
recuperating in our home and not alone.” She sat in the chair Libby had vacated.
Henry wondered what would have happened if he had gone to his apartments instead. He would have had it worse because there would have been no one to take care of him, not even to call him a doctor and stitch him up.
Suddenly, his solitary life did not hold as much appeal as it did before.
“I should ring for someone to take that tray away,” Mary said. He was grateful to her for rescuing him from his thoughts.
When she rose, Treacle jumped onto the bed, landing on Henry's lap. It kneaded his quilt for a moment, seeking the most comfortable spot.
“He likes you,” Mary declared.
“I can see that,” he murmured, surprised. Having the cat sleep on his lap gave him a cozy feeling. He reached out and stroked the soft fur. It began to purr and Mary laughed.
“The two of you are going to get along just fine,” she said, then turned serious. “Henry, I wanted to ask if you need any help with the case while you are recovering. Look for clues, perhaps.”
How thoughtful of her, but he needed to protect not only Libby but her family.
“Thank you for the offer but you should stay home with your family where you are safe. I will finish the case when I am better.”
She nodded. “I understand. Would you like me to help with Lady Kingsleigh's case then?”
That was not a bad idea. Far less dangerous than stalkers and murderers.
“I had a bag with me when I came. Do you kno—”
“That bag?” she asked, pointing at a brown leather bag in the corner.
“Yes.”
“I knew the bag was important so I had them place it there after cleaning.”
“Cleaning?”
“Only the outside. It was dirty. I was there when it was done so nothing inside got tampered with.”
He smiled in relief. “Thank you. Can you bring the bag here, please?”
Since she had pushed her way into being his apprentice, they might as well discuss the Kingsleigh case. He was stuck—more out of disinterest—and a different mind might view it from a different angle and perhaps find something he had missed.
She retrieved the bag and brought it to the bed, then opened it at his directive, pulling out the Kingsleigh folder.
