knew she had any great number of things to be agonizing over. Her life had fragmented in one catastrophic explosion, and she lay in the crater with the damage yet to be entirely assessed.
And yet, even though the pain in her shoulder became increasingly insistent, she allowed herself the sweet gift of this unguarded moment to listen to a voice she’d never expected to hear again.
Titus Conleith.
His manner was everything she remembered, both aloof and kind. But there was a gruffness to his tone that she didn’t recognize, as if fatigue had paved his throat with gravel and pitch.
After finishing with his patient, his shadow drew closer, and Nora couldn’t say why she feigned sleep before he approached.
Perhaps she wasn’t ready to learn what he thought of her after all these years.
He paused at her bedside for a moment too long, and she simply listened to the breath he drew into his lungs and exhaled over her.
They were once again sharing the same air. She could hardly believe it.
In response, her breaths became shorter, less constant, catching as he reached down and pulled the bedclothes away from her shoulders.
Strange, that this should be happening again. That he’d brought her back from the edge of death a second time.
Had he bathed her as he had when they were younger? Did he care to?
She clenched her jaw against the pain as he ever so gently checked beneath the clean bandage that the astonishingly strong nurse had applied a few hours ago.
Her eyes cracked open of their own accord, hungry for the sight of him.
Nora had always known he’d make an even more handsome man than he’d been a lad, but she’d never guessed he’d grow even taller than he’d been at seventeen. His wide jaw and sharp chin were buttressed by a perfectly starched collar. The cream of his shirt made brilliant by a bronze vest that looked exquisitely tailored to his deep chest and long torso.
In contrast, he wore no jacket, his tie was charmingly askew, and his cheeks wanted shaving. His shadow beard was tinted more russet than dark, advertising his Irish roots.
He didn’t notice her assessment of him as his gaze inspected her wound with absorbed thoroughness.
Evidently gratified by what he found, he replaced the bandage and, with utmost care, tugged the hospital gown back into place. Lingering, he pulled the bedclothes to cover her and smoothed the edge over her good arm with a large palm, as if unable to abide a wrinkle.
It was the first time anyone had touched her with deference in as long as she could remember.
“Titus.” His name escaped as a rasp from a throat dry with disuse and tight with emotion.
He straightened, yanking his hand away as if she’d burned him.
Their gazes met for a moment so fraught with intensity, it would have struck her down had she not already been prone. Every word ever said and unsaid between them overflowed the filmy white chamber with a tension so thick she could have plucked entire expletives out of thin air.
In the space of a blink, all expression evaporated from his face, and a shutter made of iron slammed down behind his eyes.
“Doctor Conleith,” he corrected with careful dispassion.
With those two words, he drew the boundaries between the continents separating them, and erected fortifications that would have protected against an entire fleet of Viking invaders.
It was what she deserved, but it still devastated her.
Don’t hate me. Please.
She opened her mouth, unable to truly believe they had a moment alone.
“Higgins, it seems Lady Woodhaven is awake,” he clipped, effectively cutting her off.
“Is she now?” The sturdy nurse appeared at the head of her bed as if quite by magic, and leaned over to press a hand to her brow before taking a lantern from the side of her bed to shine in her eyes. Both doctor and nurse bent to check in each eye with an almost comical thoroughness.
For what, Nora couldn’t begin to guess.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Lady Woodhaven.” Nurse Higgins gave an endearing, gap-toothed smile that took years from her square features as she lifted Nora’s head to allow her a few sips of cool water. “Looks like you’re going to pull through.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Nora?” The wall of sheets was batted aside as if they barred the gates to a keep. Mercy, of all people, charged in like a battering ram beribboned in sapphire silk.
“Nora, thank God.” She made her way to the bedside, clutching at the headboard