Page 36 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

E lla’s legs shook as she walked to the duke’s room. She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts and wiped little wisps of hair off her face. Her hand came away with a little sweat. She released a wobbly breath, trying to gain a modicum of serenity.

She wondered at Jack’s behavior. Should she have been insulted by his blatant possessiveness? Did he actually fear she might spend a few minutes reading to Lord Oliver and fall back in love with him?

Back in love ?

Ella knew now that the feelings she’d held for Lord Oliver were shallow at best. He’d been an idea to her. She’d used his handsomeness and the mystery and rumors he wore like a dark cloak to create a character that she’d always dreamed about.

It took Jack to show her that.

Now, he had to trust her.

Though she couldn’t complain about his vigorous, thorough methods for retaining her attention.

Ella knocked on the door, opening it when a small voice told her to enter. Smells from that first, terrifying night in the townhouse smacked her in the face. The stench had followed the duke to Sutton Park. Biting and acidic, the odors burned her nose as she trod further into the dark room.

Oliver sat on the side of the bed, his arms braced at his sides, as if he’d been trying to lift himself to standing.

He wore a red satin robe over his dressing gown, but the sash had been tied hastily and was threatening to come apart at any moment.

As before, the light was kept to a minimum.

Only one small oil lamp was lit near his bed, and it highlighted the anguish in his face.

“Do you need help, Your Grace?” Ella asked, maintaining her distance.

The duke’s laughter alarmed her more than the smells.

“No, no,” he rasped. His arms were like sticks underneath his clothes, and his cheeks had sunken even further into his face.

The duchess had said that he was eating, but Ella concluded his meals had been far from ample.

His black hair had grown since she last saw him, though was still not long enough to cover the terrible scar on the side of his head.

Lord Oliver’s gaze climbed to her, his expression so very bitter. “I tried to open the door myself and, well…” He lifted his arms helplessly, letting them fall back to his side with a desultory thud . “You see how well that went.”

“It’s fine,” Ella replied, regretting the pity she heard in her voice. She tried again. “The doctors said that you’re healing better than they ever could have believed.”

The duke adjusted himself, sliding back onto the mattress.

Even that minor action was a trial. When he managed to lean himself against the tufted headboard, he released an exhausted breath.

“I’m a duke, don’t you know,” he explained.

“And dukes always heal faster and better than the common man. Or, at least, that’s what the doctors want to believe. ”

The grief that swarmed Ella surprised her; it hit her so much harder this time around. Seeing him close to death had been terrible, but hearing him speak in such a dismal, pathetic way was almost intolerable.

For long seconds, she stood in the middle of the large room, not knowing what to say. This man was used to everyone catering to him, giving him everything he wanted, filling his ear with promises and overestimations. And it hadn’t been enough.

Sonia popped into her mind. The way the child had no compunction in telling the world what it needed to hear—or, at least, telling the world what she thought it should hear. And wasn’t this household better for it?

Ella built up her courage. “It wouldn’t hurt you, Your Grace, if you remembered that you’re just a man. Healing takes time. Perhaps give it the leniency and respect it deserves, and it will do the same to you.”

Her stomach clenched as Oliver’s bushy black eyebrows pulled low. She tensed, waiting for him to throw her out of the room, but the edict didn’t come. Instead, he brought his hand to his temple as if warding off an incoming headache.

“Sit down,” he commanded.

Ella took the seat next to the bed. She did it at once, but also in a leisurely fashion that hopefully signaled ordering her about would not be tolerated. She held the book up, showing him the cover.

Oliver glanced at it from the corner of his eye and immediately sneered. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Anything but that!”

“It’s The Odyssey ,” Ella said. “A classic story of man overcoming brutal obstacles. I thought you might enjoy it.”

He crossed his arms with the impertinence of a child. “I have enough obstacles to face, thank you very much. I don’t need to hear about that silly man’s as well.”

Dumbly, Ella let the book fall into her lap. Poor Homer. She’d expected more for him in this great house. “I can go look for another.”

“Don’t bother,” Oliver grumbled. “Next time, just bring the racing papers. I’m behind on everything.”

“All right,” Ella replied quietly. She stared down at her lap, running her fingers over the book’s smooth leather cover. After a couple more awkward, silent minutes, she got up from the chair and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Oliver called out.

Ella turned to find him clutching his head again. His face was thunder as he caught her concern. “It hurts when I talk,” he explained stiffly. “It also hurts when I walk and breathe. The only rest I get is from my sleep.”

“Then let me go so you can get to it.”

Ella attempted to leave again, but another “Wait!” kept her from getting far.

Sweat broke out along the duke’s brow, and his fingers trembled against his head.

Ella noticed the pitcher of water by the bed and filled the crystal goblet next to it.

Sitting on the edge of his mattress, she held it out, waiting until he was ready to accept it.

When the duke took it from her, she felt a fleeting sense of accomplishment.

“Thank you,” Oliver said, returning the glass.

Ella kept it in her lap, tapping her nails against the deep cuts in its side.

But she didn’t leave this time. She stayed right next to him.

The man’s features were haunted, his eyes ringed with dark hollows and infinite regret.

Ella sensed a need in him, something that only she could provide: empathy.

Oliver laid his head back against the bed, blinking repeatedly at the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobbed alarmingly along his thin neck, like it might pop out. “I asked you here because I wanted to apologize,” he said slowly. “I know you’ve tried to come before and I wouldn’t let you—”

“It’s fine.”

Those emerald eyes shifted to her. “No. Everyone tells me that I have you to thank, but”—he hissed through his teeth, and Ella wondered if he was holding back tears—“I don’t… know you.”

Ella’s stomach dropped. Shame, unlike anything she’d ever encountered, flooded her.

Even though she’d agreed to wait to tell the duke the truth, her conscience clawed at her from the inside, begging to be set free.

She had to tell him the truth. Now. Jack would have to understand. She would make him.

“Your Grace—” She paused, waiting for her voice to catch up with her newfound courage. “There’s a reason why you think that—”

“Stop, stop,” Oliver said, waving a hand between them. “You have to let me get this out while I can.”

“But—”

Another impatient wave, which morphed into a pointed finger. “Not until I’m done,” he warned.

Ella leaned back, squeezing the glass so tight that she worried it might break.

Oliver sighed wearily, that little exchange having eaten up so much of his energy.

“I’m having difficulty remembering. Some things…

little shards of time that happened over the past year.

The doctors say they’re coming back, but not fast enough for me.

” He gestured for another drink. Ella gave him the glass, quietly taking it back when he finished.

“If you ask me the name of the servant who used to start the fires in my nursery when I was a child, I could tell you. Martha. But I can’t remember the morning of the drive.

Hell, I can’t even remember the names of the horses that I drove—”

“Caesar and Mark Antony.” She’d heard him scream them often enough on those Mondays.

For the first time, Oliver regarded Ella as if she were something more than a nuisance. “It would have come to me sooner or later.”

Ella nodded. “Of course.”

“But you… you’re not coming to me. And the more you don’t come to me, the more I realize that I might always be this way.

” Oliver shook his head. “No, please don’t talk.

Don’t tell me that it’s all going to work out.

I have enough doctors doing that. I just wanted you to know.

And that I won’t shut you out any longer.

I need you to help me to get better. Can you do that? ”

Ella felt something graze her hand. Numb beyond measure, she realized that the duke had taken it, squeezing with what little power he had.

“ Will you do that?”

Ella had never felt so hollow. So less than . And it was all her fault. She could blame her mother for starting this facade, and Lady Amelia for encouraging it, but this was all her doing.

Ella was on a horse, and that horse had bolted.

Now she was in danger of drowning in the lake.

And as she said yes to the duke and told him that she would do everything in her capacity to help him regain his health, she wondered if there would ever be a day when she believed that she was worth saving.

*

The following morning, Ella cornered Jack in the foyer before he could fly out the door. “We need to talk,” she whispered, unsure of who might be nearby.

Jack’s smile fell. “Can it wait?” he asked, wincing. “Sinclair sent me a note last night saying I needed to come to the office first thing. Can we talk after dinner?”