There was a throbbing at the side of her skull and a tendril of blackness before her eyes as though there were a giant hand pulling her downward into nothingness. As her consciousness drained away, she felt strong arms pushing beneath her as she was lifted up from the ground.
Even in her dazed state, as she tried to reconcile the images before her eyes with reality, she could tell that Lord Bolton was holding her. He cradled her protectively, and it felt as though they were returning to the manor at an impossible pace.
The steady rhythm of her heartbeat drowned out every other noise, and as she felt the blackness closing in, she was happy in the knowledge that his arms would keep her safe.
“Nicholas…” she whispered, and then everything faded to nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nicholas paced the length of the drawing room. He flexed his hands at his sides, clenching them into fists and unclenching them repeatedly.
Each time he turned to the windows; he felt a jolt of fury at what Clarissa must have witnessed. Henry now stood before him, his expression as grave as Nicholas had ever seen.
“You will wear a hole in the carpet, Bolton. Please, you must sit.” Henry attempted, but Nicholas was too agitated to be still.
His mind was a flurry of panicked images, each worse than the last. He could not get the images of Lady Wilde and himself out of his head. He kept seeing them together, as Miss Crompton might have done, from the aspect of the window. He imagined her shock, her despair—his betrayal.
He thought of the sleigh ride and the turbulence of his mind as he had tried to think how he would convince her that what she had seen was not the reality.
Then he had heard it—a deafening crack as the sleigh Miss Crompton was riding in hit a big stone. Coupled with the ice over the snow, the sleigh had skidded violently. He had turned in his seat as his aunt sat bolt upright. The blanket had fallen from her knees, and she had been half-standing before he had realized the impact of what had happened.
He had turned at the heart-stopping moment when Miss Crompton had been thrown from her seat. It had taken only a second for her to land, but it felt like an eternity. Nicholas had leaped from his sleigh before it had even stopped. His aunt and sister had called after him in alarm, but all he could think of was getting to Clarissa.
As he thundered through the snow, the depth of it slowinghis movements, he prayed that she was safe, that she was not injured. As he reached her, he had been ready to confess his love right there in the snow, telling her she was the dearest thing in the world to him. But she was delirious, with a wound on her head and blood on her cheek. His heart had all but stopped in that moment.
He had carried her to the house, and she had not regained consciousness.
Lord and Lady Crompton were seated at the settee behind him, both rigid and tense. Lady Crompton was pale, her mouth puckered with pain as they waited for news.
The physician was with Clarissa now. Nicholas wanted to insist on staying with her, but he knew it would have been highly inappropriate. The room was heavy with tension. His aunt was seated near Lady Crompton, her face resolute and firm as always, but there was a bright quality to her eyes that he was not used to seeing.
“Please, Nicholas,” Henry implored quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You must be seated; you will drive yourself mad with this.”
Suddenly, there was a cry from behind them, and Nicholas spun round only to see Lady Crompton fall sideways from her chair in a faint. Emily, Eleanor, and Rosemary rushed to her side.
“Nicholas, the smelling salts. Quickly! They are in the draw by the curtain.”
His aunt’s voice brooked no argument, and Nicholas went to the place, returning with the small vial and handing it to her. He watched helplessly as Lady Crompton slowly recovered herself and was helped to an armchair.
His aunt was a pillar of strength, speaking to her soothingly. Emily and Rosemary were in tears, and Nicholas felt he had no power over anything anymore. He longed to know that Clarissawas safe. He could barely breathe at the thought that she was mortally wounded. To have her reject him for his conduct was one thing; to have her gone from him forever was unthinkable.
Suddenly, the door opened, and the room seemed to freeze as the physician entered. He was a tall man with wiry white hair and spectacles balanced on his nose. His large grey eyes were watery and tired, but his expression seemed kind.
He walked into the centre of the room as Emily, Rosemary, and his aunt stood back. Lady Crompton had recovered enough to turn to face him.
“Miss Crompton has suffered minor injuries, and the cold has done her no good.” Lady Crompton clutched at her throat, paling again, and Emily clasped her hand, squeezing it between her fingers. “But she will recover. She needs rest, but her injuries are not severe.”
The entire room seemed to let out a collective sigh, and Nicholas felt Henry’s hand on his shoulder as he patted it reassuringly. Nicholas breathed a long breath, emptying his lungs as relief flooded him.
He turned and found himself face to face with Lord Crompton. The older man offered his hand.
“Thank you for what you did for Clarissa,” he said earnestly. “She would not have been back in the manor and so warm and well cared for without your diligence, my lord.”
Nicholas shook his hand but kept hold of it, watching Lord Crompton’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise.
“May I have a private audience with you, sir? It will not take long.”
Lord Crompton’s frown did not ease, but he nodded. “Of course.”
