The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(67)

Then a wondrous thing happened.

Princess Georgina knelt beside the shattered stag and wept, and as she did, her golden tears fell upon the beast. Where they lay, they formed a bond, soldering together the tin until the stag was whole again, made of both tin and gold. The princess smiled and held the strange animal to her breast, and there the stag nuzzled his head. She lifted him up, and she and the young king turned with their dubious prize.

But Harry could see over her shoulder that the ogre did not like this outcome. All the love he’d borne the tin stag had now turned to hatred of the princess who had stolen it away. He wanted to shout to the young king, Be careful! Watch the princess’s back! The ogre means her harm and will not rest until he has his revenge! But however much he tried, he could not speak.

You never can in dreams.

GEORGE CRADLED HARRY’S HEAD in her lap and tried not to sob at the terrible marks on his face. His lips and eyes were swollen black. Fresh blood was smeared from a cut across an eyebrow and another beneath an ear. His hair was stringy and dirty, and she very much feared that part of the dirt was actually dried blood.

“The sooner we’re out of here, the better,” Oscar muttered. He slammed the carriage door behind him.

“Indeed.” Tony rapped sharply on the ceiling, signaling the driver.

The carriage pulled away from Granville House. George didn’t need to look back to know that its owner stared malevolently after them. She braced her body to cushion the bumps from Harry as he lay on the seat beside her.

Oscar studied him. “I’ve never seen a man beaten so badly,” he whispered. The words and live hung in the air unspoken.

“Animals.” Tony looked away.

“He’ll live,” George said.

“Lord Granville didn’t think so; otherwise he’d never have let us take him. As it was, I rather had to throw my title around.” Tony’s lips pressed together. “You need to prepare yourself.”

“How?” George almost smiled. “How do I prepare myself for his death? I can’t, so I won’t. I’ll believe in his recovery instead.”

“Oh, my dear,” Tony said, and sighed, but he made no further remark.

It seemed like forever before they eventually drew up in front of Woldsly. Oscar tumbled out, and Tony followed more sedately. George could hear them organizing footmen and finding a door to lay Harry on. She looked down. Harry hadn’t moved an inch since he’d been laid on her lap. His eyes were so swollen, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to open them even if he was awake. She placed her palm against his neck and felt his pulse, slow but strong.

The men came back and took over. They wrestled Harry out of the carriage and onto the door they’d found. Four men carried him up the steps and into Woldsly. Then they had to take him up more steps, sweating and cursing despite George’s presence. Finally, they placed Harry on a bed in a little room in between Tony’s and her own, a compromise. The room was hardly big enough to hold a bed, chest of drawers, bedside table, and chair. It was really meant to be a dressing room. But it was near her own, and that was all that mattered. All the men, even her brothers, trooped out, leaving the room suddenly quiet. Harry hadn’t so much as twitched during the entire process.

George sat down wearily next to him on the bed. She laid her hand at his neck again, feeling for that heartbeat and closed her eyes.

Behind her, the door opened.

“Dear Lord, what they’ve done to that bonny man.” Tiggle stood beside her with a basin of hot water. The lady’s maid met George’s eyes, then squared her shoulders. “Let’s make him comfortable, anyway, shall we, my lady?”

SIX DAYS LATER, HARRY OPENED his eyes.

George was sitting by his bed in the dim little room as she had every day and almost every night since he’d been laid there. She didn’t let her hopes get away from her when she saw his eyelids flicker. He’d opened his eyes briefly before and hadn’t seemed to recognize her or even to be fully awake.

But this time his emerald eyes settled on her and stayed. “My lady.” His voice was a whispered croak.

Oh, sweet Lord, thank you. She could have sung hallelujahs. She could have danced a reel around the room all by herself. She could have fallen upon her knees and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.

But she merely lifted a cup to his lips. “Are you thirsty?”

He nodded without ever taking his eyes from hers. When he had swallowed, he whispered, “Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.” George replaced the cup on the bedside table. “They’re tears of joy.”

He watched her a few minutes longer; then his eyes closed again, and he fell asleep.

She put her hand to his neck as she had innumerable times over the last terrible week. She’d done it so often that it had become habit. The blood beneath his skin beat strong and steady. Harry murmured at her touch and shifted.

George sighed and rose. She spent an hour in a luxurious, slow bath and took a nap that somehow lasted until nightfall. When she woke, she dressed in a yellow dimity gown with lace at the elbows and requested that her supper be brought to Harry’s room.

He was awake when she entered his room, and she felt her heart skip. Such a small thing, seeing his eyes alert, but it made all the difference in her world.

Someone had helped him to sit up. “How’s Will?”