Tempting the Bride by Sherry Thomas

know that,” said Millie. “What else does Helena talk about in this book?”
    “Advertising, the entirety of the production process, and all the various means of cost and profit sharing.”
    Venetia dabbed at her eyes again. “She is very good at her profession, isn’t she?”
    “Helena has always been good at everything she does,” said Fitz, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.
    They were speaking of her in present tense—of course they were. But to Hastings’s ears their words seemed to carry every characteristic of a eulogy. He felt like a hollow shell, nothing inside but fear.
    “I’m sorry,” said Millie. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your reading, Hastings. By all means, continue.”
    He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead. “She should have awakened.”
    “It wasn’t just Miss Redmayne who said her life is not in immediate danger,” Venetia reminded him, even though anxiety tinged her own voice. “Fitz’s physician, Lexington’s, and your own—they’ve all said the same thing.”
    He knew what they’d said—words that meant nothing to the fear inside.
    “There is someone very well spoken of in Paris for this kind of trauma,” Lexington said quietly. “Shall I cable him?”
    Hastings turned gratefully in Lexington’s direction. “Iwould be most obliged, sir. I’d like to know that we are doing everything possible for her.”
    Chances were the Parisian fellow would not be of any more help than the London doctors. But sending for him would give the illusion of action and alleviate the futility of waiting.
    “I will compose a telegram,” said Lexington. “May I have use of pen and paper, Lord Fitzhugh?”
    “Call me Fitz. I’ll show you to my study. And, Venetia, why don’t you come down with us? You haven’t eaten anything all day—that can’t be good for the baby. Millie, you, too.”
    “I’ll stay here,” said Hastings. “I’m still full from my tea.”
    Fitz clasped a hand over Hastings’s shoulder. “We’ll be back soon.”
    The room emptied, except for the nurse. “Would you care for a bit of supper, Nurse Jennings?” Hastings asked.
    “Oh, no, thank you, your lordship, I had a plentiful tea,” replied Nurse Jennings. She had a deep, scratchy voice. “But…if your lordship don’t mind, I could do with a few minutes of fresh air.”
    “I don’t mind at all.”
    “I won’t be but five minutes.”
    When Nurse Jennings had gone, his gaze returned to Helena. “I think Nurse Jennings was hurting for a cigarette.”
    She remained as silent and still as Sleeping Beauty, caught in a cursed slumber.
    “Wake up, Helena.
Wake up
.”
    Not a muscle moved in her face.
    He fought back sudden tears and looked down at thebook in his hands. “I’ve—I’ve lost my place. What do you want to hear? The section on advertisements to be placed in the books? The use and abuse of reviews? Trade prices and discounts?”
    It didn’t matter, of course. She already knew everything—they were her words, her expertise. He only thought—idiotic of him—that she would hate the smothering silence as much as he did.
    He took hold of her hand. “Come, wake up. Tell me to keep my hand to myself. Tell me to get out of your room. Tell me to—”
    This time he could no longer hold back his tears. And with them came words that he’d never been able to say to her his entire life. “I love you, Helena. I have always loved you. Wake up and let me prove it to you.”
    T wenty-four hours later, she was still unconscious.
    The bruises on her face had turned purple and green. The swelling had gone down, but her cheeks and firmly closed eyes were beginning to look sunken—they’d not been able to feed her much, not even water.
    She’d always been slender, but there had been an energetic strength to her—a presence that was greater than her size. Now, for the first time since he’d met her, she looked frail, as if she might float away without the bedcover keeping her in