He fed her some more broth, massaging her throat while she swallowed.
“Do you remember now? No matter, you can hear me, I’m positive, so I’ll just keep repeating it until you decide to wake up, my sleeping beauty.” But first he kissed her as softly as a butterfly on her dry lips, as if she really were a sleeping princess who could be awakened by a broken-nosed earl who needed a shave. Or as if he would share his very breath with her, the kiss of life.
Kerry talked all night until he was hoarse and after, spooning liquid into her when he could, gently rubbing warmth into her wraithlike limbs.
He told her about the devil’s wager and the angel’s bargain, about his wicked life and her innocence. He spoke of Demby’s lottery and Lucky’s near drowning, of the hidden paintings and hiding the fox up a tree. Begging her to remember, the earl related how she made him see the good in Goldy Flint, and the importance of love in Johnny and Felicia.
When he was finished, he started over, whispering of his great love for her, his desperate need of her. “I am Kerry, the one who loves you…”
* * *
Near dawn, Lucinda’s eyes fluttered open. “Nanny?” she called in a voice that was raspy from disuse. She sipped from a glass held to her lips. “Nanny, I had the strangest dream about—why, you’re not Nanny,” she croaked. “You…you’re Kerry, aren’t you?
With tears streaming down his cheeks, Kerry tried not to hug her delicate body. “Yes, angel, I am Kerry.”
“The one who loves me.” It was a fact, not a question.
He managed a shaky laugh. “More than life itself. And you love me, wife,” he stated just as firmly.
“More than my hope of heaven.” Her brows knit. “But I don’t remember any wedding.”
“You slept through the first one, so we’ll have another as soon as you are strong, darling. At the Abbey with all of our friends.”
“Yes, I would like that.” Her trembling hand was reaching out to touch his beloved face, his only slightly crooked nose. “Ah, I have been waiting a lifetime to do that. But, Kerry, you are not the man in my dreams.”
Kerry’s arms stiffened and his jaw tightened. “I’m not?”
“No, he was a funny old man dressed for a masquerade in scarlet tights.”
The earl relaxed. “Oh, him. I forgot about the second earl. We’ll invite him to the wedding, too, angel.”
“But he only wants to tell you about your treasure,” she insisted drowsily.
“I’m holding the only thing that is precious, dear heart, and I will cherish it forever.” He lowered her back to the pillows, but sat on the bed beside her. “You rest now and we’ll talk later.”
“But you really have to know.”
“I do, I swear. I know all about my treasure, Lucy.”
“Oh, good, then you won’t tear up the east wing until you find that sack of gold.”
An Angel for the Earl Page 20