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“Dorian!” called Lucien again, striding up to stand next to him. Patience’s gaze flickered to Luhst and then back to Dorian. “Don’t make me regret I told you.” Then he added, looking at Patience, “I’m sorry.”
Patience nodded gracefully, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. What can I do for you, Your Grace?” she asked Dorian.
Her formal address hit him like a slap.
Around them, the footmen and gardeners resumed their duties, maintaining a deliberate silence. A tense atmosphere enveloped the garden.
“You must stop, Patience,” Dorian growled as low as he could.
Fury had him ready to snap, and he couldn’t take in enough air. Patience was also taking shallow, light breaths, the ovals of her breasts moving fast while her stomach—no doubt tied with a corset—did not. The spring day was warm and sweat glistened on her forehead. He didn’t like that she looked so pale.
“Have you slept at all?” he asked, worry for her well-being suddenly much more important than any anger he felt.
“No,” she said. “Not since you left.”
Goddamn it. He felt his hands clench into fists.
“I’d best be off,” said Lucien, gravel crunching under his feet as he slowly backed away. “I’ll see if Lady Chastity might have a minute for tea. Dorian, behave.”
Dorian didn’t give Lucien another glance as he heard his best friend retreat into the house. He could barely contain himself from yanking the shovel out of Patience’s hands and demanding that she take a rest.
He felt sorry he had left her. Sorry she wasn’t sleeping without him. Truth was, he hadn’t got much sleep without her, either.
“You should get out of the sun,” he said more gruffly than he intended. “And you should stop digging into Oxford. I can’t tell you what you want to know, Patience.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she demanded.
Even her voice sounded weak. He really did not like how fast she breathed. She seemed almost breathless.
“Won’t,” he said.
“You have been secretive,” she said, and for the first time he could hear notes of anger, hear her actually raising her voice. “You have been avoiding me. There’s something about my brother that you’re hiding. You left me no choice.”
“You have a choice. You can stop asking questions and trust me.”
She scoffed. “Trust you? I thought I could, but then you left me alone after the most incredible experience of my life! You made me feel so isolated just when I thought we had connected more deeply than I ever have with anyone!” Her voice faltered, she swayed slightly, and her eyelids drooped. “How can I trust—”
Alarm surged through Dorian like a war horn.
She staggered to the side, her movement unsteady, and her foot caught on the stump of a fallen tree. She began to fall sideways, shockingly silent, not even extending her arms to break her descent.
She was about to hit the ground…
Nothing mattered more than preventing her fall.
He lunged forward and caught her before she could collide with the earth, his knees hitting the soil. She yelped in pain. He cradled her in his arms, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked up at him. Fear for her sent a jolt through him, his body both limp and prickling with adrenaline. Calls of concern rose, and he noticed footmen and gardeners hurrying over to form a circle around them.
Dorian lifted her into his arms and rose. “Go and find Mrs. Knight,” he barked at one of the footmen. “Have her bring water to my bedchamber. Find Popwell and send someone for the physician.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” replied the footman.
“My ankle…” she whispered.
He glanced at her ankle. There was blood trickling down her shoe.
As Dorian carried her into the house, he felt like he was cradling the most precious thing in the entire world and he had almost lost her.
He shoved the raging beast inside him deep down. For her, he’d do anything.
