’You’re both fools. You can’t let her go.”
Mac raised his brows. “It’s been three years, and she isn’t exactly racing back to me.”
“You aren’t trying hard enough to get her back,” Ian said, angry. “I never thought you were this bloody stupid.” Mac looked surprised, then thoughtful. “You might have a point.”
Ian returned his attention to Beth. How anyone could find love and throw it away so carelessly was beyond him.
Mac rubbed his forehead. “Speaking of bloody fools, Hart sacked that quack of a doctor. Good thing, too. I was ready to throttle him.”
“Good.”
Mac put his hand on Ian’s shoulder, fingers squeezing. “I’m sorry. This isn’t right. You of all of us deserve to be happy.”
Ian didn’t answer. It had nothing to do with being happy.
It had everything to do with saving Beth.
Mac remained for a while, watching Beth moodily, then drifted away. He was replaced by other visitors throughout the day and into the night: Cameron, Daniel, Katie. Curry, Isabella again. They all asked the same question. “Is there any change?” Ian had to shake his head, and they went away. In the small hours of the morning, when the house was deathly still, the gilt clock on the mantelpiece apologetically chimed twice. Beth sat straight up in bed.
“Ian!”
Her skin was bright red, her eyes glittering, pupils wide.
Ian came to the bed. “I’m here.”
“Ian, I’m going to die.”
Ian wrapped his arms around her, held her close. “I won’t let you.”
She pulled away. “Ian, tell me you forgive me.” She caught Ian’s gaze, and he couldn’t turn away.
Beth’s eyes were hot blue, swimming with tears. He could look at them for hours, mesmerized by the color. He’d read that eyes were the windows to the soul, and Beth’s soul was pure and sweet.
She was safe, but a monster lurked inside Ian, the same one that had lurked inside his father. He could so easily hurt her, forget himself in a rage. He couldn’t let that happen—ever. “There is nothing to forgive, love.”
“For going to Inspector Fellows. For raking it all up again. For killing Mrs. Palmer. She’s dead, isn’t she?” “Yes.”
“But if I hadn’t come back to London, she’d still be alive.”
“And Fellows would still believe me guilty. Or Hart. There’s no forgiveness needed for finding out the truth, my Beth.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice tight with fever. She put her hand on his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.
Ian held her close, his heart thumping. When he lifted her gently to kiss her, he saw that her eyes had closed again and she’d fallen back into her stupor. Ian laid her down on the pillows, tears sliding from his eyes to scatter across her hot skin.
Chapter Twenty-two
Beth swam to wakefulness. She was soaked in sweat and sore all over, but she somehow felt, deep down inside, that the worst was over.And she was so hungry.
She turned her head to see Ian in the chair beside the bed, his head back, his eyes closed. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, his shirt open to his navel. He held her hand firmly in his, but a gentle snore issued from his mouth. Beth squeezed Ian’s hand, ready to tease him for the rumpled sprawl of his big body. Oh, for the energy to climb out of bed and curl up in his lap, letting those strong arms hold her again.
“Ian,” she whispered.
At the small sound, he snapped open his eyes. The golden gaze raked over her, and then he was on the bed, a cup of water sloshing in his hand.
“Drink.”
“I’d love something to eat.”
“Drink the damn water.”
“Yes, husband.”
Beth drank slowly, liking the wetness on her parched tongue. Ian glared at her mouth the entire time. She wondered whether, if she didn’t swallow fast enough for him, he’d hold her nose and dump the liquid down her throat. “Now bread,” Ian said. He broke off a tiny piece and held it to her lips.
Beth took it, unable to stop her smile. “This reminds me of when we were at Kilmorgan. You fed me breakfast.” Ian broke off more bread without answering, watching as she chewed and swallowed.
“I feel better,” she said when she’d eaten several pieces for him. “Though very tired.”Ian felt her forehead and face. “The fever’s broken.”
“Thank heavens—“
She broke off with a squeak when his arms went hard around her. His shirt fell open, the warmth of his bare chest like a blanket.He tried to slant a kiss across her dry lips, but she pulled back. “No, Ian, I must be disgusting. I need a bath.” Ian smoothed her hair from her forehead, his own eyes wet. “You rest first. Sleep.”