The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,113

deceit that she hadn’t foreseen: breaking Con’s heart.

The carriage stopped. Lord Bart helped her down and escorted her to the door. Merritt House suddenly seemed imposing.

Before they stepped inside, he paused. “Don’t let my brother die for nothing.”

She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Will he…?”

Lord Bart shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s in a very, very bad way.”

They entered the house. The walk from the front door to Con’s bedchamber seemed to take years. Her conscience warred the entire way. Did she tell him the truth and unburden herself, or let him die believing in her?

By the time they reached his bedchamber, she was in shambles. She hadn’t had enough time to absorb the idea of living without him. She ran to his bedside and fell against the edge of the mattress. Her hand smoothed the white bandages across his forehead. His eyes were almost covered, but he could see enough to blink up at her. “Elizabeth?”

“Yes, yes, love, I’m here.” She clasped his hand but loosened her grip when he winced.

“Everything hurts.”

Her laugh was a forced attempt to cheer him, for surely drowning him in tears wouldn’t help. “You look like hell.”

“Really?” he drawled. “Because Bart told me I finally look like a man.”

This time, her laugh was real, even if it hitched. She looked over her shoulder at the imposing figure lurking in the doorway. “His bedside manner leaves something to be desired, I’ve found,” she said.

Lord Bart grunted and slipped from the room.

She looked back to the man she loved with all of her heart. She gently traced the purple bruises swelling his cheeks. His nose was red and puffy, and his words mumbled through his split lips. His nightdress fell open at his collar, falling far enough down his chest to reveal thick bandages around his ribs. Still, he didn’t look to have any life-threatening injuries. She felt some relief at that. Perhaps she should tell him now, before any more time passed—

“I can’t move,” he said. “Three broken ribs. The rest are bruised. My arms and legs are stiff as boards and I’ve got a good-sized wound in my left side. Not to mention what they did to my head—”

“Wound?” She searched his left side but of course could see nothing through the sheets and gown covering him.

He grinned at her rakishly. “You didn’t think they did all of this without having me at a disadvantage? Got me with a knife.”

Her face went cold as her blood drained from it. “You were stabbed?”

He nodded, seeming rather pleased. “Unfortunately, I have a slight fever now. One can only hope infection won’t finish me off.” He chuckled as if this didn’t concern him in the least.

“This is no laughing matter!” she cried, no longer able to make light of the circumstances.

His expression turned to mock seriousness. “I should say not. But at least it will make for a dramatic wedding.”

How could he think of marrying her at a time like this? He needed to concentrate on getting well, or there would be no wedding.

“You’re not going to abandon me now, are you?” he asked in a playfully hurt voice. “I think I’m rather dashing.” He raised a hand to strike a dapper pose but only managed to lift it a few inches off of the coverlet before grimacing. Uncertainty passed through his eyes. Panic welled in her. He knew he was in a bad way, and was trying to keep up appearances. This jovial Constantine was all an act.

What if he died?

She couldn’t speak for the knot in her throat. If he were dying, then she would do as Lord Bart asked. Leave him no reason to doubt her in his last hours.

She couldn’t lose him. Not when he meant everything to her.

“I know you’d wanted to marry out of doors, in a private corner of the park,” he said, “but do you think you could accept a cozy wedding here?”

She found her voice. It wasn’t as strong as she wanted it to be, but it carried enough not to belie her tumultuous emotions. “At Merritt House?”

He slanted her a devastating grin. “In my room.”

She wanted to shake him until he looked as scared as she felt. Nevertheless, the fact that he wanted to marry her from his sickbed didn’t bode well for his personal outlook. He didn’t foresee himself being up and about in two days, on the date they’d planned for the clergyman and Lord and Lady Trestin to gather for a simple