by C. J. Archer
His breathing fanned my hair on the top of my head, and he lightly stroked my neck. "You're unharmed." His voice rumbled in my ear, more gravely from the smoke, but no less rich.
"Yes."
"Gus? The others?"
"Gus is wounded but not badly. Cook and Seth are fine. General Eastbrooke is dead."
He seemed unsurprised and I realized he must have known the general was our villain once he saw his coachman in the kitchen with the gun that had shot Gus, and the explosive device that had caused so much damage.
"How long have I slept?" he asked.
"Not long." Reluctantly, I pulled away. He reached for me, but I caught his hand and held it instead of letting him draw me close. He looked exhausted. The shadows around his eyes were almost as dark as the bruise on his forehead. "You must rest, Lincoln."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I need to—"
"No." I put up my finger. "The only thing you need to do is rest. Dr. Fawkner said so. The danger has passed and everything is being taken care of."
"You're beautiful when you're ordering me about."
I sucked in a breath. Be strong, Charlie. Don't give in. "Did you keep notes on where the supernaturals have gone, or is it all in your head?"
"Both. There's a coded document in the middle drawer of my desk. It lists the names and locations of them all."
"And the code?"
He tapped his forehead.
"That's not very helpful. What if you'd—?" I bit my lip because it threatened to wobble.
"The code is kept in a safety deposit box in my bank. It's one of many. If anything ever happens to me, remember to check it. The bank details are in my wall safe." He nodded at the painting of an idyllic country scene on the wall. "I change the code to that regularly, but the current code is your birth date."
I blinked.
"I'll keep you informed every time I change it," he went on. "None of that's necessary now. My memory is fine. I'll write down the cipher and you can decode my list." He walked to the desk, steadier than I expected, but sat heavily.
He reached for the inkstand but paused when he saw the engagement box had been moved. He picked it up and cradled it in his palm before setting it down again in its original position near the back of his desk.
A few minutes later, he handed me the paper. The code was ridiculously long. "Your memory is better than fine," I said.
"Unless this doesn't work and you end up with a laundry list instead."
I smiled with relief. If he was making jokes, he must be all right. "Go to bed, Lincoln. You look tired and I suspect your head aches."
He bristled. I may have insulted his manliness, but I didn't care. "I don't want to sleep. I want to talk to you."
"There'll be no more talking tonight. Tomorrow. I promise."
He lowered his head and I touched his chin. He looked up at me, hopefully.
"Goodnight, Lincoln."
He eyed the sofa. "I'll stay out here with you, to help with the code if necessary."
If he didn't look so weak, I'd thump him. "Do you need help getting to the sofa?"
"I can manage." He rose and stepped away, then paused. "I think I do need help. If you could put your arm around me…"
It was a bald faced lie and I knew it. What's more, if the slight curve of his lips was an indication, he knew that I knew it. Even so, I tucked myself into his side and put my arm around his waist. He circled his arm around my shoulders, but didn't put any of his weight on me, and allowed me to steer him to the sofa.
I positioned two cushions at one end and he lay down, his legs dangling over the edge at the other end. I helped him off with his shoes only to stop at the sight of the bandages wrapped around his feet. I'd forgotten about the cuts he'd inflicted by walking over broken glass in this very room.
I rested my hand on the top of one his feet and swept my gaze up to his face. He quickly closed his eyes, but I knew he'd been watching me. Oh, Lincoln, you're a broken, battered mess.
I resisted the urge to kiss him, although it wasn't easy. I lit a fire in the grate and returned to the desk. It took some time to use the code to write out all the names and new addresses of the supernaturals. When I finished, I glanced at Lincoln. He slept in exactly the position I'd left him, his arms crossed over his chest. The color had returned to his face and his breathing sounded steady, thank God.
Another two hours later, I'd written letters to every supernatural in my best hand, and left a space for Lincoln to sign when he woke. Then I left after casting a long look at him asleep on the sofa, more at peace than I'd ever seen him.
Chapter 20
"He's awake," Doyle announced as he brought in luncheon to Lady Vickers, Gus and me in the sitting room the next day. She had been told what had transpired in her absence and taken it remarkably well. That could have been because she hadn't seen the kitchen, the dismembered body parts, or the general's dead body. "He asked me to post these." Doyle set the tray down and picked up the stack of papers. It was the letters, all signed.
"He's not coming down?" I asked.
Doyle shook his head.
For Lincoln to remain in his room, he must feel very unwell. "Is it his head?"
"He wouldn't say, but I suspect so. I opened the curtains, but the light hurt his eyes. And he can't keep anything down this morning."
"Oh." I stared at the letters in Doyle's hand, but hardly saw them. "I should see if he needs anything."
Lady Vickers pulled a face as she accepted her plate of sandwiches from Doyle. "If you want my advice, stay here, Charlie. Capable men like Mr. Fitzroy don't like their paramours to see them when they're low."
"We're not paramours."
"You know what I mean. Send for the doctor, Doyle."
"He's on his way, madam." Doyle bowed. "Thank you for your advice."
He left and I tried to eat my lunch, but I wasn't hungry. I'd been shooed out of the service rooms earlier as Seth oversaw the continued clean up, so sat with Gus in his room for a while until he decided he was well enough to come downstairs. But I couldn't sit idly forever. For one thing, Lady Vickers would drive me mad with her endless gossiping, and for another, I now had Lincoln to worry about.
Seth provided a welcome distraction when he strode in, dressed in blue overalls like a navvy. His mother clicked her tongue and ordered him not to sit on the furniture.
Gus snickered and made a point of stretching like a languid cat in the armchair by the fire. Instead of sneering back at him, Seth picked up the blanket from the back of the sofa and tucked it around Gus.
"Have a rest, my friend," Seth said quietly.
Gus's smug smile vanished. He nodded soberly.
"How is it back there?" I asked Seth.
"Filthy, but at least the area is secure now and the ceiling won't collapse. Thank goodness that part of the house is only single level."
"How long do you think repairs will take?"
"Weeks. I'll find a builder this afternoon. I know of several who're quite good if they remain sober long enough."
I suspected he knew them from his days as a boxer, but didn't mention as much in front of his mother. She looked horrified enough that her son knew tradesmen.
"I forgot to ask Doyle how Cook is coping without a kitchen," I said, holding up my sandwich.
"Badly, God help me. He's working from the servants' dining room and complaining endlessly. I hope everyone likes sandwiches because we won't be eating much better for a while."
He went to sit, but his mother scolded him. "Look at you! You're a disgrace."
He rolled his eyes. "Doyle says Fitzroy's unwell," he said to me. "Have you been in this morning?"
I shook my head. "He won't want me to see him like that."
"Are you sure?"
I stared down at my clasped hands in my lap.
Seth crouched in front of me. "He'll be fine. There's no need to worry."
I nodded as my tears welled. "It's just that…Gus said
Lincoln was closest to the coachman when the explosion went off. Lincoln was trying to disarm him, wasn't he?"
"Probably." He looked to Gus.
"The man were drunk," Gus said, darkly. "He had a gun and a small bomb what looked like he'd made in his stables. I think he was supposed to use it later, when no one were around, as a distraction, may be. He weren't meant to shoot no one neither, I expect." He touched his side, heavily bandaged beneath his shirt. "Fitzroy tried to calm him down and draw near to overpower him. The coachman panicked and lit the bomb, but he didn't get rid of it fast enough. It all happened so quick."
"Lincoln tried to stop him." I wiped at my cheeks. "He risked his own life to save everyone else. It was a selfless act."
"It was." Seth touched my knee.
"You don't understand," I said, unable to stop crying now. "I accused him of being selfish."
"No, Charlie. Don't blame yourself."
"He would have risked himself no matter what," Gus added.
"The thing is, Charlie," Lady Vickers said, coming to sit by me. "He is a selfish man, but only in some matters, and not others. I'd say it's because he thought he knew what was best for everyone."
"He doesn't," Gus said.
"Both of you, out," Lady Vickers ordered. "I wish to speak to Charlie alone."
"But I'm wounded!"
She stood and pulled me up with her. "Then we'll leave."
I allowed her to lead me out of the sitting room to the base of the staircase. Should I go up and see him?
"I've wanted to tell you something ever since you returned, but it was never the right time," Lady Vickers said, taking hold of both my hands. "I can see the way things are between you and Mr. Fitzroy, and it's creating tension for everyone. It's time to set it aside and move ahead. You must make a decision about him. I'm sure you realize that the choice is up to you."
I was torn between telling her not to meddle and asking her to hug and comfort me. In the end, I said nothing.
"Perhaps what I have to say will help sway your mind. It's the same thing I said to him before he left, and I don't think I'm overstating my influence too much when I tell you my advice led him to bring you back."
I blinked at her. I suddenly felt very small and insignificant. When I lived as a boy, I'd hid behind my hair and crept into tiny spaces to remove myself from the dangerous streets. I'd been a quiet mouse that had only roared when pushed, and Lincoln had pushed me to my limits when we'd first met. Now, the luxury of anonymity was denied me, but at times like this, I longed for it again. I desperately wanted to crawl away and hide.
"I told him that love is not a choice," Lady Vickers went on, leveling her gaze with mine, "but accepting it into one's life is."
She'd spoken to Lincoln about love? And he'd listened? Or was she fooling herself in regards to her influence? It didn't seem like something Lincoln would want to hear.
And yet something had made him change his mind and fetch me.
"Falling in love is a frightening experience for someone used to being in control of one's emotional state. I suspect he felt as if he was losing his self-control, the very thing that made him successful in work, and the thing you yourself fell in love with."
"It's not his self-control I love." I bit my tongue. I'd said more than I wanted to. I glanced up the stairs again, half expecting to see him there, but it was empty.
"Perhaps not, but it is the thing which most people respect about him. It's the thing that makes him unique, and he was losing it with you. His life was heading in a direction he never anticipated, and very quickly, too. He was afraid."
"Lincoln isn't afraid of anything."
"Everyone is afraid of something."
I folded my arms. "How can you know what he feared? You hardly know him."
"We are not that dissimilar. I risked much to be with the man I loved, too."
"You think being with me is a risk for him?"
"Accepting his love for you is. Very much so. Don't belittle his efforts to make everything right between you again. It's difficult for most men, but I suspect even harder for him. You said it yourself—he has rarely had to consider the opinions of others."
"I'm not belittling him," I said. "But I haven't been fair on him. I know that."
She drew me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. "After a little persuading from me, your Mr. Fitzroy decided he would rather risk losing control of his life and his emotions than be without you. That, my dear, is quite a statement he made."
I sniffed. "I know."
"There, there. Don't cry, Pet." She squeezed me then handed me her handkerchief. "I'm rather good at this mother-daughter thing, aren't I?"
I laughed as I dabbed my cheeks. "You are."
"I've always wanted a daughter who'll listen to her mother, rather than an ungrateful son who will not."
"Seth's not ungrateful. Angry, yes, but that will pass."
"I do hope so," she said on a sigh.
I was about to head up the stairs when the doctor arrived. He stayed with Lincoln for an interminably long time, then wouldn't let anyone in to see him afterward except Doyle.
"He needs to rest and stay calm," the doctor said. "His head aches and his vision is blurred. I suspect the combination is unsettling his stomach." He did not sound at all confident in his diagnosis.
"Will he be all right?" I asked.
"Lets hope so."
I groaned.
Lady Vickers took my hand. "Thank you, Doctor."
"I'll return tomorrow," he said, eyeing me carefully.
Tomorrow took an awfully long time to arrive. When it finally did, I warred with myself all day about going against the doctor's orders, but Doyle and Seth assured me they would take care of Lincoln when he wasn't sleeping.
"He won't sleep if you go in there," Seth said as I hovered outside the door. "And he needs to rest. The doctor said it's not just the bump on the head, but he's most likely been suffering exhaustion for some time."
I slumped back against the wall and buried my hands in my hair. I hadn't bothered to fix it that morning, and it hung untidily past my shoulders.
"I knew it," Seth went on with a shake of his head. "I knew he wasn't sleeping while you were away. He was…erratic." He grunted. "I want to say it serves him bloody right."
"But you can't," I finished for him. "Nor can I."
Thank God a distraction arrived in the form of Alice. A hansom delivered her to our door, valise in one hand and the other clamped on her hat as she stared up at Lichfield's central tower.
"I had the same reaction when I first saw it," I said, running down the front steps.
"Charlie!" She dropped her valise and caught me in a hug. "I was beginning to wonder if I had the right place. You spoke so lovingly about it, but it's not at all what I expected."
I took her hands and smiled. "It's so good to see you. You look as pretty as ever, despite the long journey."
"I left at dawn. I think Mrs. Denk was glad to be rid of me." Her smile faded and her eyes shadowed.
I squeezed her hands. "Oh, Alice. I'm so sorry for what your parents have done to you. But you have a home here. Lincoln was adamant that you should be welcomed."
"I want to meet this mysterious gentleman of yours. I admit that I don't know whether to hate him for hurting you or think him wonderful for inviting me to stay."
"Don't hate him." I picked up her valise and headed up the steps. "As to meeting him, it will have to wait. He's unwell."
"Nothing serious, I hope."
"No," I said, unconvincingly. "He received a bad bump on the head the other night when the kitchen caught alight."
She gasped. "Good lord. Is everyone else all right?"
"Gus is a little hurt. We're also short staffed at the moment. Seth and Doyle are taking turns to watch over Lincoln and keep up with chores. That's why I'm carrying this." I indicated her valise.
She went to take it off me, but I refused. I led her upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms and prom
ised to introduce her to the others after she freshened up. "I'm afraid dinner won't be a grand affair without a kitchen to cook in."
"I'm sorry I've come at such a difficult time," she said with a pained wince. "I feel awful for adding an extra burden. I'll try to help where I can."
"You're not a burden. You're excellent company. And thank you for the offer. You may need to do your own mending, washing, and cleaning for the time being."
"So it'll be just like the school but without Mrs. Denk smacking me on the back with her stick, ordering me to stand straight."
I laughed. God, it felt good to laugh. "She never did that to you. She didn't have to. You have perfect posture." I kissed her cheek. "I am glad you're here."
I introduced her to Gus and Lady Vickers over a dinner of cold salads. I thought poor Lady Vickers was going to have an attack of the vapors, she was so upset that a guest had to dine on such meager offerings.
"At least the setting is elegant," I said, indicating the fine china plates, the same ones we'd used the night of the fire.
"That's because these are the only ones left," she said huffily. "They're fit for roasted meats and salads, and delicious jellies and confections, not salads and sandwiches. I'm heartily sick of this."
"It's hardly been two days," I said.
"If you're sick of it," Gus said, "I'll have yours."
She slapped his hand away. "It'll be a welcome relief when you can resume your duties again, Gus."
"Amen," he muttered.
"Eating without me?" Seth said, strolling in. He stopped short when he spotted Alice. "A guest! Charlie, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you've been in Lincoln's room and I'm banished from there. How is he?"
He waved a hand. "Forget him. We have a guest. Lord Vickers," he said, bowing over Alice's hand. "At your service."
"Alice Everheart. Pleased to me you, my lord."
"Bloody hell," Gus muttered with a shake of his head. "Call him Seth or he'll get too big for his boots."
