by Julia Quinn
Anthony jumped to his feet and ran around the back of the carriage to the other side. The door had already come off its hinges, leaving a hole just large enough for him to stuff his upper body into. “Kate?” he called out, trying not to notice the sharp sound of panic in his voice. Every breath from his lips seemed overloud, reverberating in the tight space, reminding him that he wasn’t hearing the same sounds from Kate.
And then, as he carefully moved a seat cushion that had turned sideways, he saw her. She was terrifyingly still, but her head didn’t appear to be stuck in an unnatural position, and he didn’t see any blood.
That had to be a good sign. He didn’t know much of medicine, but he held on to that thought like a miracle.
“You can’t die, Kate,” he said as his terrified fingers yanked away at the wreckage, desperate to open the hole until it was wide enough to pull her through. “Do you hear me? You can’t die!”
A jagged piece of wood sliced open the back of his hand, but Anthony didn’t notice the blood running over his skin as he pulled on another broken beam. “You had better be breathing,” he warned, his voice shaking and precariously close to a sob. “This wasn’t supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you. It isn’t your time. Do you understand me?”
He tore away another broken piece of wood and reached through the newly widened hole to grasp her hand. His fingers found her pulse, which seemed steady enough to him, but it was still impossible to tell if she was bleeding, or had broken her back, or had hit her head, or had . . .
His heart shuddered. There were so many ways to die. If a bee could bring down a man in his prime, surely a carriage accident could steal the life of one small woman.
Anthony grabbed the last piece of wood that stood in his way and heaved, but it didn’t budge. “Don’t do this to me,” he muttered. “Not now. It isn’t her time. Do you hear me? It isn’t her time!” He felt something wet on his cheeks and dimly realized that it was tears. “It was supposed to be me,” he said, choking on the words. “It was always supposed to be me.”
And then, just as he was preparing to give that last piece of wood another desperate yank, Kate’s fingers tightened like a claw around his wrist. His eyes flew to her face, just in time to see her eyes open wide and clear, with nary a blink.
“What the devil,” she asked, sounding quite lucid and utterly awake, “are you talking about?”
Relief flooded his chest so quickly it was almost painful. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice wobbling on every syllable.
She grimaced, then said, “I’ll be fine.”
Anthony paused for the barest of seconds as he considered her choice of words. “But are you fine right now?”
She let out a little cough, and he fancied he could hear her wince with pain. “I did something to my leg,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’m bleeding.”
“Are you faint? Dizzy? Weak?”
She shook her head. “Just in pain. What are you doing here?”
He smiled through his tears. “I came to find you.”
“You did?” she whispered.
He nodded. “I came to—That is to say, I realized . . .” He swallowed convulsively. He’d never dreamed that the day would come when he’d say these words to a woman, and they’d grown so big in his heart he could barely squeeze them out. “I love you, Kate,” he said chokingly. “It took me a while to figure it out, but I do, and I had to tell you. Today.”
Her lips wobbled into a shaky smile as she motioned to the rest of her body with her chin. “You’ve bloody good timing.”
Amazingly, he found himself grinning in return. “Almost makes you glad I waited so long, eh? If I’d told you last week, I wouldn’t have followed you out to the park today.”
She stuck out her tongue, which, considering the circumstances, made him love her even more. “Just get me out,” she said.
“Then you’ll tell me you love me?” he teased.
She smiled, wistful and warm, and nodded.
It was, of course, as good as a declaration, and even though he was crawling through the wreckage of an overturned carriage, even though Kate was stuck in the cursed carriage, with what might very well be a broken leg, he was suddenly consumed with an overwhelming sense of contentment and peace.
And he realized he hadn’t felt that way for nearly twelve years, not since that fateful afternoon when he’d walked into his parents’ bedroom and seen his father laid out on the bed, cold and still.
“I’m going to pull you through now,” he said, sliding his arms beneath her back. “It’ll hurt your leg, I’m afraid, but it can’t be avoided.”
“My leg already hurts,” she said, smiling bravely. “I just want to get out.”
Anthony gave her a single, serious nod, then curved his hands around her side and began to pull. “How is that?” he asked, his heart stopping every time he saw her wince with pain.
“Fine,” she gasped, but he could tell she was merely putting up a brave front.
“I’m going to have to turn you,” he said, eyeing a broken and jagged piece of wood that stuck down from above. It was going to be difficult to maneuver her around it. He couldn’t care less if he tore her clothing—hell, he’d buy her a hundred new dresses if she’d only promise never again to step into a carriage if it was being driven by anyone other than himself. But he couldn’t bear the thought of scratching even an inch of her skin. She’d been through enough already. She didn’t need more.
“I need to pull you out headfirst,” he told her. “Do you think you can wiggle yourself around? Just enough so I can grasp under your arms.”
She nodded, gritting her teeth as she painstakingly turned herself inch by inch, lifting herself up on her hands as she scooted her hips around clockwise.
“There you are,” Anthony said encouragingly. “Now I’m going to—”
“Just do it,” Kate ground out. “You don’t need to explain.”
“Very well,” he replied, inching backward until his knees found purchase on the grass. On a mental count of three, he gritted his teeth and began to pull her out.
And stopped a second later, as Kate let out an earsplitting scream. If he hadn’t been so convinced that he’d die within the next nine years, he would have sworn she’d just taken ten off his life.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. But she was breathing hard, puffing through pursed lips, and her face was tense with pain.
“What happened?” came a voice from just outside the carriage. It was Edwina, done with the horses and sounding frantic. “I heard Kate scream.”
“Edwina?” Kate asked, twisting her neck as she tried to see out. “Are you all right?” She yanked on Anthony’s sleeve. “Is Edwina all right? Is she hurt? Does she need a doctor?”
“Edwina’s fine,” he replied. “You need a doctor.”
“And Mr. Bagwell?”
“How’s Bagwell?” Anthony asked Edwina, his voice curt as he concentrated on maneuvering Kate around the debris.
“A bump on his head, but he’s back on his feet.”
“It’s nothing. Can I help?” came a worried male voice.
Anthony had a feeling that the accident had been as much Newton’s fault as Bagwell’s, but still, the young man had been in control of the reins, and Anthony wasn’t inclined to feel charitable toward him just now. “I’ll let you know,” he said curtly, before turning back to Kate and saying, “Bagwell’s fine.”
“I can’t believe I forgot to ask after them.”
“I’m sure your lapse will be pardoned, given the circumstances,” Anthony said, edging farther back until he was nearly entirely out of the carriage. Kate was now positioned at the opening, and it would take only one more—rather long and almost certainly painful—tug to get her out.
“Edwina? Edwina?” Kate was calling out. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”
Edwina jammed her face into the opening. “I’m fine,�
�� she said reassuringly. “Mr. Bagwell was thrown clear, and I was able to—”
Anthony elbowed her out of the way. “Grit your teeth, Kate,” he ordered.
“What? I—Aaaaaaaargh!”
With one single tug, he freed her completely from the wreckage, both of them landing on the ground, both of them breathing hard. But where Anthony’s hyperventilation was from exertion, Kate’s was obviously from intense pain.
“Good God!” Edwina nearly yelled. “Look at her leg!”
Anthony glanced over at Kate and felt his stomach drop down clear to his toes. Her lower leg was crooked and bent, and more than obviously broken. He swallowed convulsively, trying not to let his concern show. Legs could be set, but he’d also heard of men who’d lost limbs due to infection and bad medical care.
“What’s wrong with my leg?” Kate asked. “It hurts, but—Oh, my God!”
“Best not to look,” Anthony said, trying to tip her chin in the other direction.
Her breathing, which was already rapid from trying to control the pain, grew erratic and panicked. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “It hurts. Didn’t realize how much it hurt until I saw—”
“Don’t look,” Anthony ordered.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Kate?” Edwina asked in a concerned voice, leaning in. “Are you all right?”
“Look at my leg!” Kate nearly shrieked. “Does it look all right?”
“I was actually speaking of your face. You look a bit green.”
But Kate couldn’t reply. She was hyperventilating too hard. And then, with Anthony, Edwina, Mr. Bagwell, and Newton all staring down at her, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted.
Three hours later, Kate was installed in her bed, certainly not comfortable but at least in a bit less pain thanks to the laudanum Anthony had forced down her throat the minute they’d gotten home. Her leg had been expertly set by the three surgeons Anthony had summoned (not, as all three surgeons had pointed out, that more than one was needed to set a bone, but Anthony had crossed his arms implacably and stared them all down until they’d shut up), and a physician had stopped by to leave several prescriptions that he swore would hasten the bone-knitting process.
Anthony had fussed over her like a mother hen, second-guessing every move from every doctor until one of them had actually had the audacity to ask him when he’d received his license from the Royal College of Physicians.
Anthony had not been amused.
But after much haranguing, Kate’s leg was set and splinted, and she was told to look forward to at least a month of confinement in bed.
“Look forward?” she groaned to Anthony once the last of the surgeons had gone. “How can I look forward to that?”
“You’ll be able to catch up on your reading,” he suggested.
She let out an impatient exhale through her nose; it was hard to breathe through her mouth while clenching her teeth. “I wasn’t aware I was behind on my reading.”
If he’d been tempted to laugh, he did a good job of hiding it. “Perhaps you could take up needlework,” he suggested.
She just glared at him. As if the prospect of needlework were going to make her feel better.
He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed and patted the back of her hand. “I’ll keep you company,” he said with an encouraging smile. “I’d already decided to cut back on the time I spent at my club.”
Kate sighed. She was tired and cranky and in pain, and she was taking it out on her husband, which really wasn’t fair. She turned her hand over so that their palms met and then entwined her fingers through his. “I love you, you know,” she said softly.
He squeezed her hands and nodded, the warmth of his eyes on hers saying more than words ever could.
“You told me not to,” Kate said.
“I was an ass.”
She didn’t argue; a quirk of his lips told her that he noticed her lack of contradiction. After a moment of silence, she said, “You were saying some odd things in the park.”
Anthony’s hand remained in hers, but his body pulled back slightly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.
“I think you do,” she said softly.
Anthony closed his eyes for a moment, then stood, his fingers trailing through her grasp until finally they were no longer touching at all. For so many years he’d been careful to keep his odd convictions to himself. It seemed best. Either people would believe him and then worry or they wouldn’t and then think him insane.
Neither option was particularly appealing.
But now, in the heat of one terrified moment, he’d blurted it out to his wife. He couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said. But it had been enough to make her curious. And Kate wasn’t the sort to let go of a curiosity. He could practice all the avoidance he wanted, but eventually she’d get it out of him. A more stubborn woman had never been born.
He walked to the window and leaned against the sill, gazing blankly in front of him as if he could actually see the streetscape through the heavy burgundy drapes that had long since been pulled shut. “There is something you should know about me,” he whispered.
She didn’t say anything, but he knew she’d heard. Maybe it was the sound of her changing her position in bed, maybe it was the sheer electricity in the air. But somehow he knew.
He turned around. It would have been easier to speak his words to the curtains, but she deserved better from him. She was sitting up in bed, her leg propped up on pillows, her eyes wide and filled with a heartbreaking mix of curiosity and concern.
“I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding ridiculous,” he said.
“Sometimes the easiest way is just to say it,” she murmured. She patted an empty spot on the bed. “Do you want to sit beside me?”
He shook his head. Proximity would only make it that much more difficult. “Something happened to me when my father died,” he said.
“You were very close to him, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “Closer than I’d ever been to anyone, until I met you.”
Her eyes glistened. “What happened?”
“It was very unexpected,” he said. His voice was flat, as if he were recounting an obscure news item and not the single most disturbing event of his life. “A bee, I told you.”
She nodded.
“Who would have thought a bee could kill a man?” Anthony said with a caustic laugh. “It would have been funny if it weren’t so tragic.”
She didn’t say anything, just looked at him with a sympathy that made his heart break.
“I stayed with him throughout the night,” he continued, turning slightly so that he would not have to look into her eyes. “He was dead, of course, but I needed a little more time. I just sat beside him and watched his face.” Another short burst of angry laughter escaped his lips. “God, what a fool I was. I think I half expected him to open his eyes at any moment.”
“I don’t think that’s foolish,” Kate said softly. “I’ve seen death, too. It’s hard to believe that someone is gone when he looks so normal and at peace.”
“I don’t know when it happened,” Anthony said, “but by morning I was sure.”
“That he was dead?” she asked.
“No,” he said roughly, “that I would be, too.”
He waited for her to comment, he waited for her to cry, to do anything, but she just sat there staring at him with no perceptible change of expression, until finally he had to say, “I’m not as great a man as my father was.”
“He might choose to disagree,” she said quietly.
“Well, he’s not here to do that, is he?” Anthony snapped.
Again, she said nothing. Again, he felt like a heel.
He cursed under his breath and pressed his fingers against his temples. His head was starting to throb. He was starting to feel dizzy, and he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. “It’s my judgment to make,” he said in a low voice. “You didn’t k
now him.”
He sagged against a wall with a long, weary exhale, and said, “Just let me tell you. Don’t talk, don’t interrupt, don’t judge. It’s hard enough to get it out as it is. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded.
Anthony took a shaky breath. “My father was the greatest man I’ve ever known. Not a day goes by when I don’t realize that I’m not living up to his standards. I knew that he was everything to which I could aspire. I might not ever match his greatness, but if I could come close I’d be satisfied. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to come close.”
He looked at Kate. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe for reassurance, maybe for sympathy. Maybe just to see her face.
“If there was one thing I knew,” he whispered, somehow finding the courage to keep his eyes focused on hers, “it was that I would never surpass him. Not even in years.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered.
He shrugged helplessly. “I know it makes no sense. I know I can offer no rational explanation. But since that night when I sat with my father’s dead body, I knew I couldn’t possibly live any longer than he had.”
“I see,” she said quietly.
“Do you?” And then, as if a dam had burst, the words poured forth. It all gushed out of him—why he’d been so dead set against marrying for love, the jealousy he’d felt when he’d realized that she’d managed to fight her demons and win.
He watched as she brought one of her hands to her mouth and bit the end of her thumb. He’d seen her do that before, he realized—whenever she was disturbed or deep in thought.
“How old was your father when he died?” she asked.
“Thirty-eight.”
“How old are you now?”
He looked at her curiously; she knew his age. But he said it anyway. “Twenty-nine.”
“So by your estimation, we have nine years left.”
“At most.”
“And you truly believe this.”
He nodded.
She pursed her lips and let out a long breath through her nose. Finally, after what felt like an endless silence, she looked back up at him with clear, direct eyes, and said, “Well, you’re wrong.”
