Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(93)

In the silence that followed, Dr. Gibson glanced at Dragon’s bandaged arm and said, “Has that cut been seen to?” She continued without waiting for an answer. “Come with me and I’ll take a look at it.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need—”

“I’ll disinfect and bandage it properly. You may require stitches.”

Dragon followed her reluctantly.

Ransom’s gaze lingered on the doctor for a few extra seconds as she strode away, the divided skirt swishing around her hips and legs. He returned his attention to Gabriel. “My lord, I hesitate to ask at such a time. But at your earliest convenience, I’d like to see the materials that Lady St. Vincent brought back from the print works.”

“Of course. Dragon will help you with anything you need.” Gabriel gave him a hard glance. “I want someone to pay for what was done to my wife.”





Chapter 22




“She’s still disoriented from the anesthesia,” Dr. Gibson cautioned as she brought Gabriel to Pandora’s private room. “I’ve given her another dose of morphine, not only for the pain but also to ease the nausea from the chloroform. Therefore, don’t be alarmed by anything she says. She probably won’t pay close attention to you, and she may jump to a different topic in the middle of a sentence, or say something confusing.”

“So far you’ve described an average conversation with Pandora.”

The doctor smiled. “There’s a bowl of ice chips beside the bed—try to coax her to take some. You’ve washed your hands with the carbolic soap? Good. We want to keep her environment as aseptic as possible.”

Gabriel walked into the small underfurnished room. The gas lighting had been turned off, leaving only the quiet glow of a glass spirit lamp on a table beside the bed.

Pandora looked very small on the bed. Her motionless body was arranged with her limbs perfectly straight, arms by her sides. She never slept that way. At night she was always curled up, or sprawling, or hugging the pillow, or kicking the blankets off one leg while keeping the other covered. Her complexion was unnaturally pale, like a porcelain bisque cameo.

Gabriel sat on the bedside chair and carefully took her hand. Her fingers were light and loose, as if he were holding a little bundle of wood spills.

“I’ll leave you to spend a few minutes alone with her,” Dr. Gibson said from the doorway. “Then, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll let the family members see her briefly, so we can send them all home. If you wish, you can sleep tonight in a spare bedroom at the Winterbornes’ residence—”

“No, I’ll stay here.”

“We’ll bring in a moveable cot, then.”

Curling Pandora’s fingers around his, Gabriel pressed the backs of them to his cheek and held them there. Her familiar scent had been obliterated by a blank, sterile too-clean smell. The surface of her lips was rough and chapped. But her skin had lost the frightening chill, and her breathing was steady, and he was steeped in the relief of being able to sit there and touch her. He settled his free hand lightly on her head, his thumb stroking the silky verge of her hairline.

The crescents of her lashes fluttered, and she stirred. Slowly her face turned toward him. He looked into the midnight blue of her eyes, and was pierced with a tenderness so acute that it made him want to weep.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered. He reached for a chip of ice from the bowl and fed it to her. Pandora held it in her mouth, letting the liquid absorb into the dry inner tissues of her cheeks. “You’ll be all better soon,” he said. “Are you in pain, love?”

Pandora shook her head slightly, her gaze locking on his. A furrow of puzzled concern gathered on her forehead. “Mrs. Black . . .” she croaked.

His heart twisted in his chest like a scullery rag being wrung out. “Whatever she told you, Pandora, it wasn’t true.”

“I know.” She parted her lips, and he fished in the bowl for another ice chip. Sucking on the bit of ice, she waited until it had dissolved. “She said I bore you.”

Gabriel looked at her blankly. Of all the lunatic notions Nola could have come up with. . . . Burying his head in his arm, he gasped with amusement, his shoulders shaking. “I have not been bored,” he eventually managed to say, looking at her. “Not for one second since I first met you. In truth, love, after this I wouldn’t mind a few days of boredom.”

Pandora smiled slightly.

Unable to resist the temptation, Gabriel leaned forward and pressed a fleeting, dry kiss against her mouth. He glanced at the empty doorway first, of course, suspecting that if Dr. Gibson had seen him, she would have had his lips sterilized.

For the next two days, Pandora slept heavily, waking only for brief intervals and exhibiting little interest in her surroundings. Even though Dr. Gibson assured Gabriel the symptoms were common for a patient after undergoing anesthesia, it was unnerving to see his energetic young wife reduced to this condition.

Pandora showed glimmers of her usual liveliness only twice. The first time was when her cousin West came to sit by her bedside, having traveled by train from Hampshire. She had been delighted to see him and spent ten minutes trying to convince him that the lyrics to the song “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” included the phrases “gently down the string” and “life’s a butter dream.”