Page 105 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

The blood loss and exhaustion finally overcame his determination. He felt himself sliding down the door, unable to remain upright any longer. As darkness dotted the edges of his vision, he heard the soft click of the latch.

“Leo?” Beatrice’s voice sounded distant. “My God, Leo!”

Her face swam above him, beautiful and terrified, as he fought to stay conscious.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, before everything went black.

“His color’s improving,” a man’s voice said from somewhere nearby. “The wound was clean, thankfully. Missed anything vital. Rest and proper care should see him recovered within a fortnight.”

Leo struggled toward consciousness, fighting through layers of disorientation. The familiar scent of his bedchamber surrounded him, along with something else.

Lavender and roses.

Beatrice’s scent.

“Thank you, Dr. Morris,” her voice came from beside him. “I’ll see to it personally.”

“I do not doubt that, Your Grace. Send for me if the fever returns.”

Footsteps retreated, followed by the soft click of a closing door.

Leo forced his eyes open, blinking against the sunlight streaming through half-drawn curtains.

Beatrice sat in a chair beside the bed, the dark circles beneath her eyes suggesting she had maintained her vigil through the night. As she turned to him, relief washed across her features.

“He’s awake,” she said to someone behind her. “Please inform the servants, and have some broth prepared.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The valet’s voice carried quiet approval. “I’ll also fetch those additional pillows you requested.”

“Thank you.”

Leo tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his bandaged side.

“Don’t,” Beatrice said quickly, moving to place a hand on his shoulder. “The doctor says you mustn’t strain yourself.”

“Beatrice…” Her name emerged as little more than a whisper from his parched throat.

She reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, helping him drink with gentle efficiency. Her face remained carefully neutral, revealing nothing of her thoughts.

“Leave,” Leo said, his voice stronger now. “Leave us, please.”

“Your Grace, the physician was most insistent?—”

“I won’t exert myself,” he promised. “I just need a moment alone with my wife.”

The man hesitated, glancing at Beatrice, who gave a small nod. “Very well, Your Grace. I’ll return shortly with the tonic.”

As the door closed behind him, Beatrice began to rise. “I should?—”

“Stay.” Leo’s hand caught hers, desperate and clinging. “Please.”

She hesitated, then settled reluctantly on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on their joined hands rather than his face.

“You almost died,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“I know.” Leo tightened his grip on her. “Beatrice, I’ve been a fool. Worse than a fool. I’ve been a coward, just as you said.”

Her eyes rose to his, startled by the raw emotion in his voice.