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"Helena," George murmured. "Look at me, Helena. Open your eyes."

She remained completely still, her eyelids closed and peaceful, her lips parted slightly.

"Stay with me." he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Do not leave me in this darkness, Helena. I beg of you..."

He waited, his heart pounding in his throat, listening intently for any change in her breathing or any slight movement of her hand.

I was a blind, arrogant fool. Live, Helena. You must live. I will give you everything — my name, my title, my heart, my very life — if only you will open your eyes and speak to me again.

Tears stung at his eyes as he supported Helena's limp form on the carriage bench. Jarvis pressed the horses at their best pace, guiding them back to the manor as quickly as he could take them.

"Open the gates!" George shouted.

The doors of the manor flew open. Mr. Gibbs, flanked by several anxious housemaids and footmen, gasped in horror as they saw George's mud-stained, blood-smeared appearance and the unconscious Helena in his arms.

George did not pause, his boots thudding thunderously against the stone as he crossed the entrance. His voice boomed, shattering the quiet shock of his household. "Fetch the doctor! Immediately!"

"At once, Your Grace! Thomas, ride to the village this instant!" Mr. Gibbs shouted. "Bring Doctor Gregory on the fastest horse in the stable!"

George charged up the stairs, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his arms holding Helena and Oliver. He paid no mind to the flurry of panicked servants rushing around him; his entire world was centered solely upon the pale woman resting against his chest, praying with every breath that the light within her had not gone out forever.

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Hold the tallow candle closer, Gibbs, and ensure the copper basin remains steady," Doctor Gregory instructed, his aged hands working with precision as he wiped the final trace of blood from his silver suture needle.

He reached into his satchel, pulling out a small glass vial of witch hazel and a roll of clean, boiled linen bandages. "The gash upon Her Grace's shoulder was clean, although infected by rust, but fortunately it did not penetrate the deeper muscle beds beneath the shoulder girdle."

George stood motionless at the foot of the bed. His eyes were fixed upon Helena's pale face resting against the pillows. His rain-soaked coat had been cast aside, leaving him in his blood-dusted shirt and breeches, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"The bleeding has ceased completely, Your Grace, and I have bound the flesh securely with six neat stitches," Doctor Gregory continued, turning toward the washing stand. "However, Her Grace has suffered a shock compounded by substantial blood loss. Her pulse remains faint, though mercifully steady. She will require absolute quiet, warmth, and careful nursing over the coming days. The bandages must be cleansed and dressed regularly with silver salve to prevent any corruption or fever from taking root in the wound."

George took a slow, heavy step forward as he looked down at Helena. She looks so fragile as though a single breath of wind might steal her away from me forever.

"She needs rest, Your Grace." Doctor Gregory stated gently, drying his wrinkled hands upon a fresh towel as he surveyed George's tormented expression with compassion.

"Then she shall have it." George replied instantly. He pulled an armchair closer to the bedside, his eyes never straying from Helena.

"She will likely wake within several hours." the old physician added, adjusting his spectacles as he gathered his instruments. "The faint is merely nature's remedy to shield her delicate nervous system from the terrible trauma of the assault."

"You are certain?" George demanded, turning his head sharply toward the doctor.

"As certain as my years of tutelage can be." Doctor Gregory answered smoothly, bowing his head. "I have treated many such injuries in my long career, Your Grace."

George looked back at Helena, his brows furrowing as he studied the rise and fall of her chest, thoroughly unconvinced by the doctor's comforting assurances.

"Then you will remain available." George declared firmly. "Gibbs will see you to the east guest chamber downstairs. You shall sleep there tonight, Doctor, and a footman will remain stationed outside your door should Her Grace's condition alter by so much as a single breath."

"As you command, Your Grace," Doctor Gregory responded softly. "I shall be at your immediate call throughout the night."

Within minutes, everyone cleared out from the room. George collapsed heavily into the chair, burying his face in his hands. The stoic mask he wore slipped away. He remained in that bowed posture for several long minutes as he fought back the burning tears that threatened to spill.

Slowly, George lifted his head and reached out his right hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he enveloped Helena's small hand. Her skin was smooth and pale against his, her delicate fingers motionless within his grasp. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to her knuckles.

Night deepened over Cavendish Manor. The rest of the great house lay wrapped in anxious quiet, but George remained vigilant, refusing to loosen his grip upon her hand for even a second. The silence weighed heavily upon him, especially as the maids had just left after cleaning Helena's wound.

"I have been a coward, Helena," George began softly, his voice barely louder than the murmur of the fire. He shifted in his chair, leaning closer so his breath brushed against her cheek. "A foolish, arrogant coward who was ready to run halfway across the world because I was terrified of the very warmth you brought into my cold life. I hope you can hear me in the shadows of your sleep, for I owe you the truth I was too faint-hearted to speak when you were awake."

He paused, his thumb moving in slow circles over her palm, eyes tracking every faint line of her beloved face.