Isabella wiped away tears as she rose from the bed and blindly made her way out.

Mac came in not long later, his face haggard.

“Any change?” he asked.

“No.” Ian didn’t look up from pressing a cloth filled with ice to Beth’s forehead. “Did you come with Isabella?” Mac gave a soft snort. “Hardly. Different trains, different boats, and she changed her hotel as soon as she found out I’d booked in there, too.”

’You’re both fools. You can’t let her go.”

Mac raised his brows. “It’s been three years, and she isn’t exactly racing back to me.”

“You aren’t trying hard enough to get her back,” Ian said, angry. “I never thought you were this bloody stupid.” Mac looked surprised, then thoughtful. “You might have a point.”

Ian returned his attention to Beth. How anyone could find love and throw it away so carelessly was beyond him.

Mac rubbed his forehead. “Speaking of bloody fools, Hart sacked that quack of a doctor. Good thing, too. I was ready to throttle him.”

“Good.”

Mac put his hand on Ian’s shoulder, fingers squeezing.  “I’m sorry. This isn’t right. You of all of us deserve to be happy.”

Ian didn’t answer. It had nothing to do with being happy.

It had everything to do with saving Beth.

Mac remained for a while, watching Beth moodily, then drifted away. He was replaced by other visitors throughout the day and into the night: Cameron, Daniel, Katie. Curry, Isabella again. They all asked the same question. “Is there any change?” Ian had to shake his head, and they went away.  In the small hours of the morning, when the house was deathly still, the gilt clock on the mantelpiece apologetically chimed twice. Beth sat straight up in bed.

“Ian!”

Her skin was bright red, her eyes glittering, pupils wide.

Ian came to the bed. “I’m here.”

“Ian, I’m going to die.”

Ian wrapped his arms around her, held her close. “I won’t let you.”

She pulled away. “Ian, tell me you forgive me.” She caught Ian’s gaze, and he couldn’t turn away.

Beth’s eyes were hot blue, swimming with tears. He could look at them for hours, mesmerized by the color. He’d read that eyes were the windows to the soul, and Beth’s soul was pure and sweet.

She was safe, but a monster lurked inside Ian, the same one that had lurked inside his father. He could so easily hurt her, forget himself in a rage. He couldn’t let that happen—ever.  “There is nothing to forgive, love.”

“For going to Inspector Fellows. For raking it all up again. For killing Mrs. Palmer. She’s dead, isn’t she?” “Yes.”

“But if I hadn’t come back to London, she’d still be alive.”

“And Fellows would still believe me guilty. Or Hart.  There’s no forgiveness needed for finding out the truth, my Beth.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice tight with fever. She put her hand on his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.

Ian held her close, his heart thumping. When he lifted her gently to kiss her, he saw that her eyes had closed again and she’d fallen back into her stupor. Ian laid her down on the pillows, tears sliding from his eyes to scatter across her hot skin.

Chapter Twenty-two

Beth swam to wakefulness. She was soaked in sweat and sore all over, but she somehow felt, deep down inside, that the worst was over.

And she was so hungry.

She turned her head to see Ian in the chair beside the bed, his head back, his eyes closed. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, his shirt open to his navel. He held her hand firmly in his, but a gentle snore issued from his mouth.  Beth squeezed Ian’s hand, ready to tease him for the rumpled sprawl of his big body. Oh, for the energy to climb out of bed and curl up in his lap, letting those strong arms hold her again.

“Ian,” she whispered.

At the small sound, he snapped open his eyes. The golden gaze raked over her, and then he was on the bed, a cup of water sloshing in his hand.

“Drink.”

“I’d love something to eat.”

“Drink the damn water.”

“Yes, husband.”

Beth drank slowly, liking the wetness on her parched tongue. Ian glared at her mouth the entire time. She wondered whether, if she didn’t swallow fast enough for him, he’d hold her nose and dump the liquid down her throat.  “Now bread,” Ian said. He broke off a tiny piece and held it to her lips.

Beth took it, unable to stop her smile. “This reminds me of when we were at Kilmorgan. You fed me breakfast.” Ian broke off more bread without answering, watching as she chewed and swallowed.

“I feel better,” she said when she’d eaten several pieces for him. “Though very tired.”

Ian felt her forehead and face. “The fever’s broken.”

“Thank heavens—“

She broke off with a squeak when his arms went hard around her. His shirt fell open, the warmth of his bare chest like a blanket.

He tried to slant a kiss across her dry lips, but she pulled back. “No, Ian, I must be disgusting. I need a bath.” Ian smoothed her hair from her forehead, his own eyes wet. “You rest first. Sleep.”

“You, too.”

“I was asleep,” he argued.

“I mean proper sleep, in a bed. Have a maid come and change the sheets, and you can sleep in here with me.” She brushed a tear from his cheek, treasuring the rare sign of his emotion. “I want you to.”

“I’ll change the sheets,” he said. “I’ve been doing it.” “The upstairs maids will not be happy if you take over their job. They’ll consider it not your place. Very snobbish are upstairs maids.”

He shook his head. “I never understand anything you say.”

“Then I must truly be better.”

Ian snatched folded linens from a cupboard. In silence he began stripping the sheets from one side of the bed. Beth tried to help, but gave up as soon as she realized she could not even pull up one corner.

Ian deftly unmade one part of the bed and tucked new sheets over it. Then he gently lifted her and laid her on the clean sheets before he repeated his actions with the other side.

“You are quite practiced at this,” she observed as he tucked quilts around her. “Perhaps you could open a school of instruction for upstairs maids.”

“Books.”

She waited, but he only tossed the wadded-up bedding in the hall and closed the door again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Books on how to care for the sick.”

“You read them, did you?”

“I read everything.” He pulled off his boots and stretched out beside her, his warmth so welcome.

Beth’s thoughts went to when she’d wakened in the night, when Ian had looked straight down into her eyes. His golden gaze had been so anguished, so filled with pain. Now his gaze was evasive again, not letting her catch it.  “It’s not fair that you look at me only when I’m extremely ill,” Beth said. “Now that I am fully awake and feeling better, you turn away.”

“Because when I look at you, I forget everything. I lose all track of what I’m saying or doing. I can see only your eyes.” He laid his head on her pillow and rested his hand on her chest. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Her heart beat faster. “And then you flatter me so that I’ll feel awful that I chided you.”

“I’ve never flattered you.”

Beth traced his cheek. “You do know that you are the finest man in the world, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. His breath was hot on her skin. She was tired, but not so tired that she couldn’t feel an agreeable tightening in the space between her legs.

More memories of the church came back to her, the awful pain and Mrs. Palmer’s desperation, overlaid with the scents of her old life. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Mrs. Palmer, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“She loved him so much, poor woman.”

“She was a murderess and nearly killed you.” “Well, I’m not exactly happy about that. She didn’t kill Sally, you know. Lily did.”

Ian’s gaze flickered. “Don’t talk. You’re too weak.” “I’m right, Ian Mackenzie. Sally threw Lily over and was going to keep all the blackmail money for herself. Lily must have been furious. You said she was hanging about outside the bedroom. While you were off in the parlor, and after Hart left the room, she nipped in, quarreled with Sally, and stabbed her. No wonder Lily agreed to go to that house in Covent Garden and not come out.”

Ian leaned over her. “Right now, I don’t give a damn who killed Sally.”

Beth looked hurt. “But I solved the mystery. Tell Inspector Fellows.”

“Inspector Fellows can rot in hell.”

“Ian.”

“He thinks he’s a bloody good detective. He can find out for himself. You rest.”

“But I feel better.”

Ian glared at her, his eyes still not meeting hers. “I don’t care.”

Beth obediently settled back into the pillows, but she couldn’t resist tracing his cheek. His jaw was dark and sandpaper rough, showing he hadn’t shaved in a while.  “How did you find me at the church?” Beth asked. “How did you know?”

“Fellows found someone who heard Mrs. Palmer tell a cabbie to take them to Bethnal Green. Hart knew Mrs.  Palmer’s sister lived there. When you weren’t at her house, I decided you’d try to get away from Mrs. Palmer and back to the church that had been your husband’s.” He looked away. “I knew you’d been happy there.”

“How did you even know where it was?”

“I’ve explored all parts of London. I remembered.” Beth leaned into his chest, loving the clean scent of his lawn shirt. “Bless you and your memory, Ian. I’ll never stand amazed at it again.”

“Does it amaze you?”

“Yes, but I’ve been viewing it rather like a circus trick. Dear heavens, like you’re a trained monkey.”