Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 47

Warmth. Soothing softness in a dark cocoon of safety. Rivers of gentle heat poured over her skin. Pinpricks of sudden coolness disturbed the embrace of that dark heat. Points of pressure smoothed away the sting of those cold spots. A continuous rumble of noise in the distance tickled her senses. She wanted to slide back into the darkness, but something in those sounds disturbed her, upset her. Blinding white light seared her face, her eyes, bringing with it a sense of body again.

What happened? The voice in her mind spoke; it was familiar, but no name emerged from the gloom of her terrible lethargy. The deep sounds that had been teasing her ears paused. She fought to speak with the maker of the words...yes. Someone had been speaking to her. She now fought to create words of her own.

"Help..."

She hoped the other person could understand her plea. Something warm and firm drifted over her mouth, then her eyelids, enticing her to respond. Icy coolness trickled between her lips, a liquid filling her mouth, easing a discomfort she hadn't realized she'd been suffering.

"Drink up. Good girl." The words had meaning now. An action, an offering of praise. For some reason she felt like smiling at that, but the effort required was too great.

"Please open your eyes. Just allow me one more glimpse of heaven." The words brought equal amounts of warmth and pain to her.

Must try. Another struggle, less effort to speak. Her eyes cracked open, revealing a blurry world. As she batted against her heavy lashes, things finally settled into focus.

A crowd of men were ringed around her bed. A grim elderly man was studying her every move. A young footman stood by a wall to her right. Wariness was etched in his handsome face, as was a strange intensity. A tall ash-blond-haired man rested one shoulder against the left bedpost of her bed. He was elegantly attired, and his bright blue gaze was mesmerizing, but even he could not hold her attention when pitted against the man who crouched by her side of the bed. This man meant something more. Much more.

Something clenched tight in her chest as she studied his strong patrician features, the cultured appearance of a gentleman mixed with the casualness of a man who could have anything he wanted just by raising a brow. He was so beautiful it hurt. But she dared not look away, especially when she noticed something in him was flawed, or rather missing.

There was a strange vacantness in the brown depths of his eyes. A flash of pain lanced through her as she looked into them, like the wooded forests of an ancient land. A memory? She knew the man who held her hand so fiercely now was vastly different from the owner of those cinnamon brown eyes in that single memory.

"Anne, sweetheart, how are you feeling?" The sightless man spoke, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrated with concern. His face bore such a look of pain that she wondered if he should not be abed instead of she.

"Who are you?" She should know the answer. It was scratching at the back of her mind. Her question sent the room into a state of silent chaos built on shuffling steps, heavy sighs and furtive glances.

The elderly man approached her again. "I feared this might happen."

The rest of the men waited silently as he asked a series of questions she vaguely knew the answers to. What year was it? What country was she in? Those came naturally, but who she was and who the men around her were did not rise to the surface.

"Well, I must say, I am amazed at how well you are handling your condition," the elderly doctor said. "Most women in your place would be terrified, I would think."

"I see no point in that," said Anne. "Simply tell me what I must do to become better."