“Will he really be all right?”
“He’ll be sore for weeks. Go with your sister. It’s better this way.”
What would be better?Hewouldn’t be better. He tried to tell her to stay, but the best he could do was clench his fingers into fists.
A soft kiss pressed his cheek, and then the roses were gone.
“Where is she?”Gerard muttered, rubbing his newly shaved jaw.
“Who?” Lowell fussed with cleaning off his razors.
Gerard tried to rip off his valet’s arm, but his grip wasn’t strong yet. Lowell easily yanked away.
“The beekeeper?” The valet shrugged. “With her sister at Calder, last I heard, preparing for her nuptials.”
Gerard ground his teeth. He’d recovered enough to resist being shipped off to the wilds of Wystan, but it had taken a week before he had the strength to sit up and breathe normally. Aweek. She could be married already.
“Mortimer is still alive then?”
Lowell tucked away his instruments. “Mighty sick, last I heard. Your friends swore to the coppers that he was the one who shot you, so they locked him behind bars. The American hired lawyers to bail him out. They’re still arguing over whether he’s a peer and entitled to privileges.”
“He’s no more than the younger son of a viscount. Can’t they read? I want him transported.” But that was fury speaking. Mortimer had not been the one to shoot him. The cad had been flat on his back, covered in bees at the time.
Iona was marrying wealth, as she’d wanted.
He should take his reward and order the roof repaired at Wystan so he didn’t have to worry about throwing out the ladies just yet. Transporting the library would be hell anyway. He didn’t think saving the orchard would save the castle in the long run, but maybe he’d find a wealthy heiress to marry. Then he could live in London, hoping Iona was safe under Wystan’s new roof.
He’d be dead by now if Iona hadn’t taken down Mortimer. She’d saved his life withbees.
The soldier philosopher in his head said nothing, and Gerard realized the medallion wasn’t in his pocket.
“Where’s my lucky piece?” he demanded.
“Wasn’t so lucky now, was it?” Lowell said complacently. “It’s in a drawer with all your other bits and pieces.
He should probably leave it there, but what if he no longer heard voices? His head still occasionally throbbed when he didn’t rest enough. Was there any point in going to Italy if he couldn’t hear the voices?
Did he actually feeldisappointmentthat he might not have a gift for seeing the past? His head must still be muddled.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I? Find out when the wedding is scheduled and where it will be held. If Mortimer is still alive, he’ll find a way to drain her coffers just the way he’s done White’s. His thieving cronies will be sure that he does.”
“The problem isn’t yours,” Lowell reminded him. “Your friends are still hobbling about after that last fracas. You can’t ask them to do more.”
He’d already had visits from Zane and Blair and knew they were recovering and enjoying the coddling of their wives, despite their protests otherwise.
Gerard didn’t want to be coddled. But he didn’t want a woman as passionate and courageous as Iona to marry a milksop either.
He wanted her forhis.
That realization had him breaking out in a cold sweat.
Iona finished repairingthe hackle covering a Calder hive and wiped a straying hair from her face. Her hair was starting to grow out. Perhaps she should have it trimmed off again. It was so much easier not dealing with the heavy length—and it wasn’t as if her fiancée cared if she wore snakes on her head.
A golden leaf fluttered past. It would snow soon. She needed to leave before then. Arthur could stay and petition the queen all he liked. She wanted to return to the comfort of Wystan and lick her wounds.
And use Arthur’s wealth to improve lives, she reminded herself sternly. He’d agreed to her settlement, poor fool.
Isobel raced down the hillside, waving a letter, her dark skirts fluttering in the breeze. Iona had no curiosity about its contents. Everyone in her world was safe and accounted for. Even Gerard was reported to be up and about.
