A Love Worthy

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

              He spent the night wallowing in despair, finding little solace at the bottom of a whisky bottle.

           He stumbled away from the window, his long limbs heavy with lethargy as he sank onto the floor of his study. The room was dark, as dark as his black heart, he thought bitterly.

            Brief fragments of the previous night rushed forward to plague his befuddled mind. He pressed a hand to his forehead, disgusted by the tremors that wracked his body, how the room spun uncontrollably even while sitting.

            He clenched his eyes shut, struggling to think past the throbbing of his temples and the heavy lump lodged in his throat.

            He had hurt her, he thought despairingly, and here he was, the epitome of Lord Clayton Ashford. He had not struck her, but the pain in her lovely eyes had been as though he had laid a hand to her delicate face.

            A violent growl surfaced deep from within his throat. His sudden remorse overshadowed by a fierce and menacing rage. She had betrayed him! She had given herself to Stefan, his own mercenary and the bastard had taken his woman for his own.

            The moment of his arrival he was stunned to hear of their betrothal, enraged by the rumors of a child and vague signs of grief of his supposed death and all the while, he wasted away in a blackened hell, thinking of naught but the beauty of the woman who had stolen his heart.

            He knew the moment the manor came alive with servants, the scuffling of footsteps outside the halls brought him aware but his thoughts remained cloudy as the pain of his inflicted wounds intensified intolerably, forcing his conscious mind deep into the depths of oblivion, just as his eyes grew heavy with lassitude, the door of the study swung open and wavering voices bellowed, “In here, milord is here!”

            Lucile paced back and forth, casting looks of disbelief and anxiety towards the master bed where her liege laid, unconscious and pale. She thought her eyes betrayed her for all this time, she had believed him dead, but he was alive and very much at death’s door.

            Her eyes strayed from her master to the small shadow sitting alongside the bed. Ginelle’s brown eyes gleamed with tears, a lingering thread of hope glistening in the subtle glint of her eyes as she sat rigidly in her chair, clutching tightly into the material of her skirt.

            Lucile knew something had transpired between her liege and young mistress but Ginelle had refused to say.

            A tall shadow fell in at her side and Lucile peered over at Lieutenant Cummings, his handsome face etched with evident signs of concern. “The doctor will be here shortly.”

            The older woman reached up and gently grasped his shoulder until his russet gaze settled on her. “Take your leave, Lieutenant. I will see to master Dorian.”

            He nodded grimly and started for the door, he paused halfway, his eyes settling on Ginelle. He was at her side, gently touching her elbow to lure her gaze to him. “Come mademoiselle, the doctor will arrive shortly, you mustn’t be here.”