The Price of Winning: London Calling Book Four (27 page)

He knew he should be loading her into an ambulance, sending her off to the same hospital where they’d taken Sebastian. Professionals should be seeing to her, making sure she hadn’t fainted because of anything more serious than shock at seeing him. They could tend to her injuries, administer ice and pain medication or whatever else she needed.

And he would do that. As soon as he could bear to allow someone to take her out of his arms.

He sat with her cradled in his lap, lightly touching her face and hair, careful not to come near any of her contusions. She was slender as a pin, more than before.
 

Long minutes ticked by where he absorbed every molecule of change in her, memorizing each detail to be catalogued and compared with a thousand others from a lifetime ago. And all the while, she breathed slowly in his arms, her heart beating a steady rhythm against him as if she were only sleeping.

His age-old anger fell away, leaving him with nothing else to hold onto except for the woman in his arms. He could so easily have lost her today, before they ever had a chance to talk things through.

Finally, she twitched in his arms, her eyelids beginning to flutter.
 

John held his breath, motionless except for a tiny tic he could feel beneath his left eye.
 

Angeline stirred, becoming restless.

John kept his hands on her, anchoring her against him in case she panicked and tried to roll away. The sounds of traffic and sirens faded into the background. His focus tunneled to the only thing that mattered to him.

The only person, besides Devvie, who ever had.

Angeline’s eyes drifted open. Their warm amber depths stole his breath away, right along with the small smile that tilted her lips, crooked for the tightness pulling at one side where they’d split.
 

Something long suppressed moved inside him, rattling the bars of its cage.
 

“John,” she breathed. And then she touched him, cupping his jaw with her delicate, long fingers.
 

He’d lived this moment a thousand times in his dreams. And each time he’d pushed her away, the pain and grief of her desertion pulling them apart.
 

But not this time.
 

His world had tilted on its axis today, knowing he could have lost her in the most final way possible.

So with the wisdom of a man who knew a second chance when he saw one, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss as gentle as the breeze swirling around them.
 

It was both promise and pledge.

***

Madeleine raced through the London hospital where Sebastian had been admitted over twenty-four hours before. Punching the elevator, she impatiently consulted her watch for what seemed like the thousandth time since finding out what happened.
 

She swore they stopped on every single floor before reaching her destination. Apologizing profusely, she pushed her way through the people at the front of the car to be free.

As soon as she cleared the doors, she started running down the hallway, her eyes darting left and right, scanning room numbers.

“Miss!” A nurse called out, standing behind a long desk in the unit’s nursing station. Her fists were propped on her hips.

Madeleine knew when she was being confronted with a will as great as her own. She skidded to a stop, propping her elbows on the counter while she caught her breath. She smiled sweetly.

“May I help you?” The nurse was clearly fighting a smile. Madeleine was sure the other woman had seen every kind of charm offense on the books. Briefly, Madeleine wished for Dominic’s talent. “Who are you here to visit?”

“Sebastian Payne.”
 

The nurse’s eyes shot up from the clipboard she was holding. “Name?”

“Madeleine Price.”

The nurse set the clipboard down. “Ah, so you’re Madeleine.” She nodded, seemingly satisfied about something.

“Yes,” Madeleine exclaimed. Dominic had shared he was stable, but no other details. “Is he asking for me?”

The other woman came out from behind the desk, motioning for Madeleine to follow her. But rather than taking her to Sebastian, they entered a small but private consultation area. There was a round table with four chairs around it. A computer sat on a cart in the corner, probably there to go over test results, Madeleine presumed.

The woman pulled out one of the chairs, motioning Madeleine into it. Then she crossed to the opposite side, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the hospital floor tiles.
 

By this time Madeleine was beginning to panic. She’d sat in too many hospitals with rooms just like this one. Whether it was America or Britain, this seemed to be the universal stage where medical personnel delivered bad news.

Madeleine rubbed her palms down the front of her trousers. A little desperately, she asked, “May I see Sebastian?”
 

The nurse nodded. “Yes.” As Madeleine moved to stand again, the woman held up her hand, palm outward. “But first I want to prepare you.”
 

Madeleine felt flushed. She rubbed the back of her neck, pulling at her collar to allow air to cool her overheated flesh. “Okay.” She pressed her lips together, bracing herself. “Tell me how he is.”

The nurse folded her hands on the tabletop and leaned forward. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. Payne arrived via ambulance after a traumatic assault in his home. He’d been stabbed with a letter opener, the tip penetrating his torso between the seventh and eighth rib space. Unfortunately, he suffered a punctured lung but thankfully no other organ damage.”

Madeleine dabbed at the sweat beading her forehead with the back of her forearm. “It’s hard for me to hear that and feel thankful.” She swallowed, making an odd noise in her throat.

The nurse nodded slowly. “I understand. But I can assure you he’s expected to make a full recovery.” She smiled, a tiny movement of her lips. “When Mr. Payne arrived, he was somewhat lucid even though he was in acute distress with the injury to his lung. He repeatedly called for you, despite being unable to breathe adequately.”
 

Madeleine’s hand jerked on the table. She kept swallowing, fearful she might vomit.
 

“He was taken to surgery where a chest tube was inserted.” The nurse dropped her eyes. “He has not regained consciousness since that time. Subsequent tests have revealed a fairly significant concussion. You should know, aside from the obvious injury, he was involved in a violent altercation.” She reached across the table to pat Madeleine’s hand. “It’s difficult for people to sit with loved ones who are unresponsive. Before taking you to him, I want to reiterate the fact that Mr. Payne is expected to make a full recovery.”

Speaking was beyond Madeleine. So she bobbed her head up and down, expressing understanding.
 

In truth, she didn’t understand anything except for her need to be close to Sebastian.

The nurse led her to his room. He was in a private suite, but rather than finding luxury, Madeleine found him surrounded by machines and monitors, connected by various tubes and wires.

His big body was naked from the waist up except for a thin sheet. On his right side, a large square of gauze was loosely taped over his skin. Higher up, closer to his armpit, a chest tube was loosely sutured in place.

He was unnaturally still. An oxygen mask was fitted over his face, but she could see that his normal, healthy color was absent.
 

There was one chair in the room, so she pulled it up as close as possible to the head of the bed. Careful not to bother his IV or drain sites, she took his limp fingers in hers. She nodded at the nurse who’d helped her. “Thank you.” Then she turned back to Sebastian, willing him to be healthy and whole once more.

She recalled the days she’d lain in a hospital bed in Chicago, Sebastian the only visitor at her side. She’d barely been aware of him at first, but later she’d known he was there for hours every day, patiently telling stories about celebrities, then England, his family, and his life as a child.

He hadn’t realized it, but she’d heard every word, absorbing them on a subconscious level.

Her eyes ran over his beloved face.
 

He was covered with injuries. Large, livid bruises were more obvious against his pallor. Despite his alarming appearance, Madeleine knew with a bone-deep sense of surety that he would come back to her.

Her breath eased, and she relaxed into her chair. She was right where she was supposed to be.
 

With one finger she pushed a stray lock of hair back from his face. Dropping her head, she pressed a kiss on the back of the hand she held in hers.

And then she started to talk, telling him all the stories she wanted him to hear.

***

Sebastian was in the hospital for well over a week. For the first three of those days, he lapsed in and out of consciousness, barely aware of anything except the melodious sound of Madeleine’s voice drifting through the pain.
 

When he finally and fully woke up, she’d been there at his side.
 

That moment still played in his mind. He’d watched as a broad smile spread across her face, and her emerald green eyes lit up from an inner flame. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with her, he’d have fallen right then.
 

He’d wanted to leave the hospital immediately, despite having developed a low-grade fever. She’d argued, pressing her palm against his chest to ensure he stayed prone.

Ultimately, she’d won and he’d stayed for another seven days. From his room, she’d taken care of organizing repairs to his estate. She’d held his hand, brought water to his lips, and sponged his face when the fever finally broke.

After his release, she’d alternated somewhere between ward nurse and drill sergeant. And Sebastian was ready to take back some control.

A movement at his side brought him back to the present. He scratched his chin, looking around the walled garden of his estate and its most recent addition.
 

“I don’t know,” he drew the words out, side-eyeing Angeline.
 

She stood beside him in a wide stance, her fists planted on her hips and elbows held wide. Angeline continued surveying the result of her efforts with a pleased expression. Finally, she granted her approval with a crisp nod. “It’s perfect.” She patted him on the back.

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “A picnic table?” He glanced at her. “In a formal English garden?”

“You really are stuck on this, aren’t you?” Angeline rolled her eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t think this works?” She waved a hand to encompass the entire spread they’d laid out.

The offending piece of backyard barbecue furniture was covered in a simple swath of natural linen. Red napkins provided a pop of color, along with the bunch of wild roses she’d arranged in the center. Creamy pillar candles were situated inside fat blown glass hurricanes crowded along one side of the table. Crimson seat cushions littered the opposing bench to offer relief from the hard wood surface.
 

Wicker baskets and artisan pottery held various dishes of food. Bone china and crystal tumblers provided a formal contrast to the more casual elements and setting.
 

Overall, he supposed it was an eclectic triumph. It was warm, inviting, yet unabashedly conventional and romantic.

“Okay,” he relented. “It’s perfect.”

His shoulders relaxed. For the first time in weeks, he would focus on something other than his Russian attacker.
 

Since Petrov hadn’t been found, Sebastian made sure his parents stayed out of London. They’d visited him in the hospital, but combined with Dominic’s persuasion, they’d agreed to fly back to the Payne chateau in southern France, where security had been radically beefed up. There, surrounded by their acres of vines, they would be safe.
 

With his parents back in France, he was pretty sure Angeline had installed herself as an official surrogate mother. As a man in his thirties, he should have found it insulting rather than amusing.
 

But he needed all the help he could get.
 

He looked at Angeline, who was beaming at him. “You’re going to ask, aren’t you?”

He blew out a breath then looked at her directly. “I’m going to ask.”
 

Angeline clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Relax. She loves you, Bas.” She checked her watch then picked up her purse, slinging it over one shoulder. “She’ll be here soon, so I’ll leave you to it.” She went up on her toes to buss his cheek. “Good luck.”

She walked out of the garden, jaunty.
 

The weather was still warm for early autumn. He looked up, and the skies seemed to be cooperating for once. Not a cloud in sight.

Sebastian unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, pulling at the fabric. His injuries were mostly healed, his exercise tolerance improved.

His estate had already been repaired into a newer, more muscular version of itself. He doubted anyone could get inside the perimeter short of driving a tank through the walls. Maybe not even then.

The only thing he hadn’t been able to completely rebuild was his relationship with Madeleine.
 

Oh, she loved him, of that there was no question.
 

She’d sat beside him in that hospital room, day after day, spinning tales about her life. At one point she’d even sung her entire song set from
Annie
.
 

Sebastian laughed, dropping down on the picnic bench.
 

And since, she’d been attentive and adoring, despite the fact she’d moved out from the estate. He’d argued, but she’d been determined to live in a place of her own. Her only concession had been accepting a security detail. In light of Petrov’s escape, it was the only solution that allowed him to sleep.

To her credit, she had no desire for him to worry. But that didn’t stop her bid for independence.