Page 44 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

As soon as the door closed behind Harriet, Jane turned her attention back to Richard, who was staring at her with an expression of mingled exasperation and reluctant admiration.

“That was manipulative,” he chided softly.

“I prefer to think of it as… effective,” Jane corrected, picking up her spoon again. “Now, are you going to sit there looking wounded while I eat, or are you going to tell me why you look as though you’ve aged five years in the span of a day?”

Richard was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her face as though he were memorizing every detail. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion that he was clearly struggling to contain.

“I thought I had lost you,” he said simply. “When I found you unconscious beneath that tree… when Dr. Whitmore couldn’t say with certainty when you might wake up… Jane, I have never been so terrified in my life.”

The raw honesty in his admission made Jane’s chest tighten.

She had known that Richard cared for her, that their marriage had evolved into something deeper than they could have ever dreamed of.

But seeing the evidence of his love written so clearly in his exhaustion, his vigil by her bedside, his refusal to leave her side for even basic necessities—it was overwhelming in the most wonderful way.

“I’m here,” she reassured softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m all right, my love. Battered and headachy, but very much alive and determined to stay that way.”

His fingers closed around hers with desperate intensity, as though he were afraid she might disappear if he loosened his grip.

“When Harriet told me you had gone to Lydia’s because you were upset about the gossip columns, I knew immediately something was wrong.

You would never have ridden out in such a state if you hadn’t been distressed. ”

The memory of her morning panic came flooding back—the gossip columns, her fear about Richard’s reaction, her desperate need for Lydia’s counsel. It all seemed rather foolish now, lying in her bed with Richard holding her hand as though it were his most precious possession.

“I might have been a bit dramatic,” Jane admitted with a rueful smile. “The papers made it sound as though I had corrupted the dignified Duke of Myste with my inappropriate desires for adventure, and I convinced myself that you would be furious about the damage to your reputation.”

“Jane,” Richard said, his voice carrying a note of gentle reproach, “when will you understand that nothing—not my reputation, not my social standing, not the opinion of even the King himself—matters to me more than your happiness?”

Before Jane could formulate a response to his declaration, Harriet returned bearing a second tray laden with what appeared to be enough food for a small army.

“I may have gotten carried away,” Harriet announced cheerfully, setting the tray down with a flourish. “But Cook was so delighted to hear that Jane is awake and asking for food that she insisted on preparing half the kitchen!”

Jane looked at the abundance of food—fresh bread, cold meats, cheese, fruit, and what appeared to be a large teapot—and felt her stomach growl in response.

“Perfect,” she quipped. “Now, dear husband, you are going to eat every bite, and I am going to watch to make sure that you do. Consider it my weekly demand, if necessary.”

“Jane—” Richard began, but she cut him off with a look that brooked no argument.

“No protests,” she insisted, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the way she had to pause and close her eyes against a wave of dizziness. “You’ve spent so much time taking care of me. I need you to be taken care of as well. Please, Richard.”

Richard studied her face for a moment, clearly recognizing the futility of arguing with a woman who had just awakened from a head injury and was still managing to be more stubborn than he was.

“Very well,” he conceded, reaching for a piece of bread with obvious reluctance. “But only if you share it with me.”

“It’s a bargain,” Jane agreed, lifting her spoon to take another sip of broth.

As they ate together in companionable silence, Jane found herself marveling at how much her world had changed since the day they got married.

The man sitting beside her, mechanically consuming food while keeping his attention focused on her every movement, was no longer the distant, formal duke she had tied her life to.

He was Richard— her Richard—the man who slept in an uncomfortable chair to keep watch over her, who worried himself sick over her well-being, who looked at her as though she were the most precious thing in his carefully ordered world.

The realization that she had nearly lost this, nearly lost him , through something as random as a spooked horse and an unfortunate fall, made her appreciate just how fragile happiness could be.

She was grateful for the love of this extraordinary man, who had somehow become so essential to her very existence.

“Richard?” she murmured, waiting for him to look up from his meal.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she said simply, “for watching over me. For being here when I woke up.”

His expression softened into something so tender that it made her breath catch. “Jane, there is nowhere else I would rather be. That is what love means to me.”

At that moment, despite her throbbing skull and the sensation of what it must feel like being trampled by the entire royal cavalry, Jane thought she was the luckiest woman in all of London.

The soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains had shifted by the time she next awakened, suggesting several more hours had passed.

This time, consciousness came more easily, the fog of pain and confusion lifting to reveal a world that felt more concrete, more real than her previous spell of wakefulness.

Richard was still beside her, though he had apparently taken her earlier advice to heart. A mostly empty dinner tray sat on the side table, and while he looked exhausted, there was less of the desperate, hollow-eyed intensity that had marked his earlier vigil.

“Richard,” she breathed.

Richard’s head snapped up from what appeared to be correspondence, his face immediately brightening with relief and joy at her more coherent state.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, setting aside his papers to focus entirely on her. “Your color is improved, and your eyes seem clearer.”

“Better,” Jane said softly, her voice still weak but clearer than before.

“How much better?” he pressed gently.

“Much better,” Jane assured him, managing a smile that felt more natural than her earlier attempts. “My head still aches, but it no longer feels as though someone is taking a hammer to it with every heartbeat.”

“Thank God,” Richard sighed, reaching for her hand with the reverence of a man handling something infinitely precious. “The physician said that the first few hours would be the most critical. Each hour you’re awake and coherent is a positive sign.”

Jane studied his face, noting this time with clearer vision the lines of strain around his eyes and his still disheveled appearance despite Harriet’s attempts to make him freshen up.

“You look terrible,” she noted with fond honesty. “When did you last sleep properly? And I do not mean whatever it is you’ve been doing in that chair.”

“Sleep seemed… unimportant,” Richard replied, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “I needed to be here, to make sure you were all right.”

“And I am all right,” Jane said firmly. “Or I will be. Richard, you cannot continue neglecting yourself on my account. What good would it do me to recover fully only to find that you’ve made yourself sick with concern?”

“Harriet would certainly approve of that sentiment,” Richard said, attempting lightness before gravity returned. “But Jane, today taught me something I should have realized long ago – that my careful, ordered world means nothing if you are not in it.”

Jane felt tears prick her eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. “Oh, my beloved Richard. You haven’t lost me. I’m here, I’m healing, and I am not going anywhere.”

“Promise me,” Richard pleaded, his grip on her hand tightening. “Promise me that you will be more careful. That you won’t ride out again when you’re upset. That you’ll let me share your burdens instead of carrying them by yourself.”

“I promise,” Jane said without hesitation. “But only if you promise me something in return.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll remember that we’re partners now. That your well-being matters to me as much as mine matters to you. I simply cannot bear the thought of you suffering on my account.”

Richard was quiet for a long moment, his hazel gaze studying her face as though he were memorizing every detail anew.

“I promise to try,” he allowed. “Though I make no guarantees about my success. Loving you, it seems, has made me rather… irrational.”

“I find your irrationality rather endearing,” Jane admitted with a weak laugh. “Though perhaps we could find a middle ground between complete recklessness and utter paranoia?”

“A reasonable compromise,” Richard agreed, bringing her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her palm. “Jane, there is something I need to tell you about the morning of your accident. About the scandal sheet.”

Jane’s expression grew slightly wary. “What of it?”

“I never read it,” Richard said simply. “When Harriet told me you had gone to Lydia’s because you were upset about the gossip, I realized I hadn’t even looked at the papers. I was so focused on correspondence about a parliamentary bill that I completely missed your distress.”

“You… you never read what they wrote about us?” Jane asked, surprised.

“No. And now, having nearly lost you because of my inattention to something so trivial, I find I care even less about Society’s opinion than I did before—which is saying something.”

Jane stared at him in amazement. “But Richard, your reputation?—”