Haunted: A Spellbound Regency Novel by Lucy Leroux

Author:Lucy Leroux [Leroux, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781942336686
Publisher: Candy Cap Publishing
Published: 2022-09-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

Helena took a deep breath as her brother focused his eyes on her, recognition in their depths.

She wanted to weep again but didn’t release the tears. Such feminine demonstrations had always frustrated Tomas, though he’d never been unkind about them. If she had hurt herself or was feeling sad, he would wrap his big arms around her, rubbing her back until the little storms passed.

But he was the one who had been hurt now. Her tears would not speed his recovery, so she wouldn’t indulge in them, no matter how relieved she was to see him awake and breathing freely.

“Helena.”

Sitting on the bed, she took his hand, squeezing it tight. “I am here. Are you in pain?”

“Cazzo, my head is aching,” he said, switching over to Italian. Tomas reached up to touch the back of his head.

“You were struck by something heavy. The fire was an attempt to burn you up and destroy the evidence. Someone tried to murder you.”

His scowl was immediate. “Murder me? And what fire?”

“The cottage burned to the foundation. The fire began in the library. Lucien said it was arson. He saved you.”

She told him how he had been found with the poker in his hand. “You should know that the entire village believes you to be culpable. They think you started a fire in the library fireplace with the flue closed, and it got out of control, escaping the confines of the hearth.”

His nose scrunched up the way it used to when their mother served fennel-laced vegetables for dinner. “Are they stupid? Why in the hell would I start a fire in this heat?”

Her lips parted as she searched for the right words. “I told them you would not, but very few seemed to believe me. No one would be that daft. I think they prefer to think that foreigners are half-mad. More than one has mentioned that Italy is a much warmer clime than England.”

“It’s not the bloody surface of the sun,” Tomas scoffed, rising up. But he fell back on the bed, wincing. His normally tan skin was pale and sweaty, and he swallowed as if his gorge was rising. A blow to the head could result in severe nausea.

“Don’t move,” Helena ordered, pressing a hand to his chest. “You are not allowed to leave this bed for at least a week—at the very least. Not until I’m satisfied that your skull is healed and sound and everything has mended to my satisfaction.”

He must have been in considerable pain, because Tomas didn’t argue with her. “Was I struck with the poker?”

There were a few other possible weapons in the library with enough heft to strike him down, but it had been the poker in his hand that was the most likely suspect.

“We believe so, but Lucien didn’t have a chance to examine it very thoroughly—the ceiling was a bare minute from collapsing. He got you out, but it was a very close thing,” she explained, adding how the village men had helped haul him to safety.

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