Shaking her head, she walked slowly up the stairs, her heart sinking. Lord South had risked his life for hers and he was a very sick man. He would be weeks recovering, if indeed he survived the fever that was bound to result from his ordeal at the surgeon’s hands. What had Moraven meant when he told her to be careful what she promised? She knocked at the door and was asked to enter. Pushing the door open, she took a few steps inside. A man in a pale grey coat and breeches was standing by the bed, bending over his patient. He looked up as Constance entered his expression grave. ‘Mademoiselle Hatherstone I presume? I am Doctor Frances. You speak English?’ ‘I am English, sir, but I speak French if you prefer.’ ‘I too am English, though like you I am proficient in French. Our patient will need nursing for a long time, Miss Hatherstone. Are you unable to undertake this or should I have him removed to a clinic elsewhere?’ ‘Constance…is that you?’ Jonathan’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Please do not leave me. Stay with me, I beg you…’ Her heart caught as she heard the pleading note in his voice. He was so young and despite his bravery and the dangerous game he’d played, a little vulnerable.
