by Betina Krahn
“Sarah . . . precious . . . love . . . wake up.” He groaned, afraid to hope. “God, please wake her up . . . please.” He called to her, holding her hands and then stroking her face.
* * *
The urgent tenderness of his touch and the emotion of his voice finally penetrated the darkness that engulfed her and she began to struggle toward consciousness. She was aware of discomfort—her chest hurt and her head felt like it was in a vise. It would be so easy to sink back into that comforting darkness, but Arthur was calling her and she was desperate to respond.
She tried to open her eyes but they were so heavy, and when she tried to speak, she began coughing so hard it hurt her entire body. She tried to turn, and someone helped her roll to her side and thumped her on the back. She opened her eyes to the sight of Arthur’s frantic face near hers.
“It . . . hurts . . . to breathe,” she said, surprised by how raspy her voice was. It hurt to talk, too. She reached out to touch him, but her arm fell short. It looked like tears were rolling down his face when he grabbed her hand, kissed it and pressed it against his face. Arthur was crying?
She heard other voices and was given a tube and told to inhale as deeply as she could. It hurt to inhale but she did her best, and moments later she did feel better. When they gave her the tube later, she understood what they were saying, took it between her lips, and breathed in deeply. Oxygen, they said—they were giving her oxygen. It made sense, even though she had no idea how they had worked such a miracle for her.
Another day passed before she was fully alert and able to sit up. She had a million questions.
“Nero and Nellie? Eddie and Harley?” she rasped out. “Fancy and the other horses—oh, the puppies! Where are the puppies?”
“Steig found the puppies and brought them out,” he told her, smiling at her concern for her animals. “Nero got to be a hero—again. He managed to find me and barked until I followed and found you. Eddie and Harley are lodging upstairs while they recover—getting the best treatment of their lives. We only lost a handful of animals—though the main barn is heavily damaged.”
She took a deep breath that made her cough. Arthur plumped her pillows, hoisted her up against them, and then got her a drink of water.
“I’m in your bed?” she asked as she spotted her mother settling a tray on the bedside table. “And Mama allowed it?”
“It was the nearest bed. Plus, you’ve had quite a few visitors; we couldn’t get them all in any other room. And there is this equipment William brought—this oxygen apparatus.”
“You need nourishment.” Elizabeth elbowed Arthur aside to sit on the bed with a bowl of soup. She proceeded to spoon the broth into Sarah, who felt a bit ridiculous being fed like a baby bird.
“Here, give it to me,” she said, taking the bowl and drinking it down.
“Really, Sarah.” Elizabeth was aghast.
“I think I need some real food,” she said hoarsely, looking past her mother to Arthur. “A slab of beef, some potatoes . . . and cake . . . or a trifle . . . Oooh, some raspberry trifle . . .” She practically melted at the thought of it.
The longing in her face convinced Arthur. He laughed.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“You can’t eat such things, your system is too delicate.” Elizabeth glowered at the empty bowl in her hands. “You need something soft and bland to—”
“My system’s about as delicate as a bronc rider’s,” she said, frowning back at her mother. “I just shot a man, rescued horses from a burning stable, and survived nearly being burned alive. I don’t think some pudding and cream and raspberry preserves are going to do me any harm.”
Elizabeth pulled her chin back and blinked.
Arthur laughed even harder and sent Mazie running to the kitchen to tell Cook to find some raspberries and start the cake and pudding fast.
That evening Sarah had fresh raspberry trifle for dinner, which she shared with Little Red and Wild Bill, who came to visit her. Wild Bill brought a picture book with him and climbed up beside her to “read” her a story. It was quite imaginative . . . full of cowboys and big boats and baby dogs . . . also known as puppies, he informed her. Little Red listened as long as he could bear it, then snatched the book to read the “real words,” surprising his mother, his grandmother, and his uncle Arthur.
Sarah laughed until she had a coughing fit, and the children were ushered out so she could have an oxygen treatment.
* * *
“Thank God,” Arthur said as she inhaled, exhaled, and fought the urge to cough. “I thought they’d never leave. You realize, this is the first time we’ve been alone for . . . days and days . . . I’ve lost count of how many.”
She smiled. “True. I’ve been hoping we’d have a few moments without an audience.” She handed him the breathing tube and he set it aside and gave her his hand. “I want to thank you for saving my life.”
“It was purely selfish on my part,” he said. “I’m not sure I would have wanted to go on living if something happened to you. I can’t imagine Betancourt without you.”
She smiled and made a soft whistling sound. “That’s a big claim. So you think of me as part of Betancourt?”
“Absolutely.”
“Like the dumbwaiter, the marble floor in the entry hall, or the indoor plumbing?”
“No.” He looked astonished that she would take his words so literally. “What I mean is, everything I see reminds me of you. Everywhere I look I see something you’ve touched or changed or improved in some way.”
“So, you’re saying I’ve been useful?”
“Of course not. I mean, more than useful. You’ve been an inspiration.”
“My life’s goal. Being an inspiration. Be sure to tell Parliament I want white marble for my pedestal.”
He studied her for a moment, seeming at a loss until he caught the twinkle in her eye.
“Vixen. You aren’t the easiest woman in the world to compliment, you know.” He reached for her other hand and sat on the bed beside her.
“You do have a way of talking all round what you really mean.”
“And what do you think I really mean to say?”
“Something a bit more personal.”
He sighed and looked thoughtful for a moment. She was right. “So I guess this is where I tell you that I love you with all my heart.”
“So, tell me that.” Her expectation was clear.
His jaw dropped, but a moment later he collected himself. “Sarah Bumgarten”—this wasn’t so hard, after all—“I love you with my whole heart. With all that I am. With everything in me.”
Those were the exact words she needed to hear. She collected them into her heart, feeling their warmth and sincerity find a home in the love and connection she felt for him. And while he was being so cooperative . . .
“With all of your heart?” she said, smiling, searching his eyes. “I don’t have to share it with, say . . . Daisy?”
* * *
“Daisy? Why on earth would you—” He halted, searching her eyes and seeing in them a vulnerability he didn’t expect. Ah. She wanted to know if he still had feelings for Daisy. He understood that, and he would be totally honest with her. “A part of me will always love Daisy for the part she played in awakening me to life. But if you’re asking if I love her as a woman, a lover, a mate—no. The only woman I want in that way is you, Sarah Bumgarten. You’re extraordinary. So loving. So beautiful, inside as well as out. And animals love you at first sight. Or sniff.”
“Animals?” She looked incredulous. “First sniff?”
“Me included,” he said. “You make my blood pound and my bones ache and my loins . . .” He stopped and reddened. “Well, you get the idea.”
“Indeed I do.” She grinned and patted the bed beside her. “Come and tell me more.”
“In your sickbed?” He feigned being scandalized. It wasn’t like it hadn’t crossed his mind a few hundred times since she awakened.
�
�I know I’m not much to look at right now, but you don’t have to ravish me, just hold me. Consider it therapeutic.”
He looked at her pale face, thanked God Almighty, and smiled. “You’re the most ravish-worthy woman I’ve ever seen, Sarah Bumgarten.”
“I suspect you may need spectacles soon, Arthur Graham,” she said with the start of tears in her eyes. “But I’ll cherish every word you just said until my dying day.”
Someday he would tell her how he had felt as he searched frantically for her through flames and smoke . . . how his heart nearly broke as he carried her limp form out of the stables . . . how his entire world seemed to be dying with her. He had never prayed so hard or so passionately in his life.
For the day and a half that she lay on the cusp of life and death, struggling to breathe, he felt like his own life was suspended with her. He couldn’t eat or sleep or leave her side. And when the oxygen came, he could have sworn he saw wings on Sir William’s shoulders. The lawyer was truly the answer to prayers.
Someday he would tell her all of that. But right now, she only needed this from him . . . to be held and comforted and loved by the man who would adore her forever and keep her in his heart.
He did precisely what she suggested and climbed up into the big bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. She felt soft and curvy yet somehow strong in his arms. She was all that was good and passionate and caring in humanity, and he wanted to be joined to her fully, completely. But in the back of his mind he heard her telling him clearly that she wanted to be anyone but a duchess.
He kissed her on the top of the head, listened gratefully to the whispery mews her breathing made against his chest, and postponed that tricky bit of negotiation as he gradually joined her in sleep.
* * *
“It’s awfully quiet in there,” Elizabeth said to the group gathered with her outside the doors to the ducal bedchamber. Red and Ashton, Daisy and Reynard also had their ears to the crack between the doors, listening. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, leaving them alone like this.”
“Mama!” Daisy stage whispered. “She’s sick. And they have to work it out between themselves.”
“I don’t know how,” Ash said. “Artie can be damned indecisive.”
“Heh.” Red gave a salacious laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ indecisive about the way that boy’s been watchin’ Sarah.”
“Watching and doing are entirely different things,” Reynard said, straightening from the door knob as if he’d been pricked. “You realize, I have been accused for years of listening at keyholes, but this is the first time I have ever actually done it. And there’s nothing to hear.”
“We should give them more time,” Daisy said. “She could be napping, or she might have needed a breathing treatment.”
Elizabeth scowled with determination. “All right, we’ll give him more time. But if he hasn’t settled it by tomorrow morning, he’ll answer to me.”
“These Graham boys.” Red shook his head as he grabbed Reynard’s sleeve and headed downstairs, leaving Elizabeth, Daisy, and Ashton to monitor the door. “Practically had to pound Ash to a pulp to get him to the altar with one o’ my girls. God knows what it’ll take to make Artie knuckle under.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Late the next morning, a contingent headed by Elizabeth and Red forged into the duke’s chambers on a mission they all agreed—however reluctantly—was necessary. Daisy, Ashton, and Reynard accompanied the family elders and behind them Sir William provided moral support.
Sarah was sitting up in bed, freshly bathed and clothed in a frilly bed jacket. Dolly had slipped into the room earlier to help her prepare for the day and had even brushed her hair and put it up for her. Beside her, Arthur was still drowsing, luxuriating in the fresh air streaming in the open windows and the fact that Sarah was feeling much better and was . . . in his bed. It was something of a rude awakening to have the doors thrown open and have the entire family invade his personal bedchamber.
“What the devil is this?” He sat up, raking his fingers through his hair.
“We’ve come to have a word, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said in her most imperious tone.
He looked from her to Red’s serious expression, then at Ashton’s and Daisy’s faces. Reynard wasn’t wearing his usual sardonic half smile and—good Lord—Sir William looked like he was attending an execution.
“What’s going on?” Sarah said, her breath coming faster, her wheezing louder. “Mama? Daisy?”
“Shush, Sarah.” Elizabeth waved her response away. “This is between Arthur and us.”
“What is?” Arthur said, feeling awkward suddenly at being in his own bed . . . with Sarah. He rolled to the side of the bed, straightened his breeches, and tucked in his shirt. His feet were bare but he was not about to go searching for boots or shoes just now. He drew a bracing breath and strode around the end of the bed to face them. “What do you want?”
“To put things right,” Red said, glancing meaningfully toward Sarah. “Seems you’ve put our girl in somethin’ of a pickle.”
“You have it wrong, there, Red,” Arthur said irritably. “There was nothing between us last night.”
“Exactly,” Red said with narrowed eyes.
He turned to look at Sarah and found her just as shocked as he was.
“I mean nothing happened between us,” he declared.
“That’s not true,” Daisy said, frowning at him.
“And if it is, it’s a pity,” Ash put in with a superior sniff. “We Grahams have a reputation to maintain.”
“As do we Bumgartens.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, glaring at Ash.
“All of which is not getting us to the point.” Reynard stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s simply this, old man. We’ve seen the way you and our dear little sister look at each other and defend each other and obviously care for each other. And we think it’s about time you did something about it.”
Arthur knew he might be considered a bit thick in romantic matters, but a wholesale intervention by both families and legal representation was completely beyond the pale.
“What happens or doesn’t between Sarah and me is none of your business,” he declared, jamming his fists on his waist.
“Mama . . . Uncle Red . . . this is . . . humiliating,” Sarah said, pulling the covers higher.
“It certainly is,” Daisy said, stepping forward. “So end it, Arthur. Don’t you have something to say to Sarah? Something of great importance?”
“I’ve already said it.” He threw his arms up in frustration.
“You proposed?” Daisy said, her face lighting.
Sarah groaned and hid her face in the sheet. “You’re all going to pay for this. I swear it.”
“I declared undying love for her, to her. And . . . though it might have been the lingering effects of the oxygen, making her giddy . . . she seemed to take it well.”
Ash stared at his brother. “And?”
“And what?”
“Did you or did you not propose marriage?”
“That is, I repeat, none of your business.”
“You’re missing the point, old boy.” Reynard gestured between himself and the others. “We are making Sarah’s happiness . . . and yours . . . our business. God knows how long it will take you two to get around to it, left to your own devices. And Ash and Daisy will have to head back to New York in a couple of months.”
Daisy smiled and patted her stomach. “Number three on the way.”
“Really?” Elizabeth broke into a squeal of delight that was quickly damped as she remembered the business at hand. “We simply want you to . . . do the right thing.”
“And what if I ask her and she says no? What then?”
“What makes you think she’ll say no?” Red asked, looking confused.
“Only the fact that she’s stated in no uncertain terms that she does not want to be a duchess. And every time someone has called her that, she has corrected them.”
“Not entirely true,” came a deep voice from near the door. Everyone turned to find Steig and Grycel leaning against the door frame, listening. Steig stepped forward with a gray puppy in his arms, petting the creature as he said, “I called her duchess jus’ the other day, and she smiled.”
“An’ I called her duchess just this mornin’ as I helped her bathe, and she smiled at me, too,” Dolly said, stepping to the edge of the group.
“Good God,” Arthur said in disbelief. “Anyone else want to comment? There must be a goatherd or goose girl somewhere on Betancourt whose opinion hasn’t been heard!”
At the back they heard a giggle. It was Mazie.
“Arghhh!” Whatever pride he had left was writhing. He would have asked her ten times already to be his duchess . . . if he weren’t so . . . what? Afraid she would say no? He had faced imprisonment, the threat of beheading, wild beasts, and crazed pirates with more confidence. She had already told him she loved him in a dozen different ways. What good would waiting do?
“Fine!” He stalked around the bed to where she was sitting with her eyes squeezed shut and her face aflame. He pried her hands off the coverlet and said her name softly. She opened one eye and then the other, and he saw in them a strange mixture of humiliation and hope. He pulled her around so that her bare feet dangled off the bed, and he knelt in front of her.
“This is not how I would have done it. I’d have gotten you flowers for your hair and champagne and a ring for your finger. I’d have taken you out into the butterfly garden at night and pointed out navigational stars and constellations to you. I’d have told you how lovely you are and how you make my life complete in ways I could never imagine. I’d have kissed you tenderly and held you against my heart.”
“There’s still time for all of that,” she said in a whisper that drew her family and the household staff forward to catch her response. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, there is one place I do want you to go. With me.” He swallowed hard. “To Betany’s church, to say vows before God and the rest of the county.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he pressed his fingers against it. “Wait. Before you answer . . . I know you don’t want to be a duchess. It’s a lot of responsibility and a lot of constraints and I’m not the richest duke in the realm . . . so you wouldn’t exactly live in the lap of luxury. Hell, I barely have one shirt to my name. But, I love you so much it hurts, and I promise to respect you and care for you always. I pray that’s enough. Marry me, Sarah. And everything I have, everything I am will be yours for the rest of my days.”