Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Not one minute passes by without me demanding she wake up, whether silently or out loud, as I place my lips on her hand, her face, anywhere, wishing she’d feel the warmth of my mouth and the love in my kiss.
‘Wake up, I beg you,’ I say quietly, my throat thick with emotion. I know with each passing day, hope fades, but I refuse to accept it. What is the point of life, I ask myself, if I do not have someone to share it with? Everything I have achieved for the business will be inconsequential without Taya to marvel at my words, for she, truly is the only opinion that I crave. And her drawings. The world must see her talent.
I feel a hand on my back and turn to see Mama behind me, a beef sandwich on a plate in her hand. ‘I am not hungry, Mama,’ I say, returning my attention to Taya, watching her eyes again, begging for a flicker of movement.
‘My boy, what use are you to her if you are without the energy to look after her when she wakes?’ She sits the plate on the cabinet and gives me another rub of my back, and I silently thank her for her optimism when I am lacking it myself. ‘Please, try, even just a bite.’
I nod, and she leaves and, so utterly exhausted, my eyes dry, my head heavy, I rest my forehead on the mattress and clench Taya’s hand in mine, closing my eyes and giving in to tiredness.
I dream of her. Of our laughter. Our intimacies. Our quarrels. I see her brown scarf covering her face, and her hat low. I see her remove it all to show herself to me. I see her talented hand drawing. He beautiful face smiling. However I resisted her for as long as I did, I will never know. But now I feel as though it was time I did not have to waste.
‘Frank,’ she says, and I hum, acknowledging her. ‘Frank, what are you doing here?’
‘Looking after you,’ I whisper.
‘Oh.’
I smile at her easy acquiescence and settle again. But …
My eyes spring open, and I bolt upright. ‘Taya?’ I ask, seeing her eyes closed, her face peaceful, her body still. And then movement. A flicker of her lids, and, God have mercy on my soul, I take her shoulders, shaking her a little.
‘Ouch, God damn it, man.’
I breathe out heavily, and I cannot deny it, perhaps on a small whimper, as she opens her eyes and scowls at me. I have never been so overjoyed to see her scowl. I love her scowl. I love her mouth. I love every little thing there is to love about Taya Winters. ‘You’re alive.’ I take her in my arms as best I can around her broken arm and hug her to me fiercely. ‘I am never letting you out of my sight ever again. You may never ride a horse, at least not cross-saddle, and if you so much as think about hijacking any more coaches, I will tan your backside with a crop, I swear it.’ I pull away and see her blinking rapidly, and I cannot fathom why she looks so surprised.
‘What happe––’ She stops abruptly and frowns. ‘You kissed Lizzy Fallow.’
What? Of all the things she could remember first, it is that? ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I will drag her here if I have to, and she will tell you the truth of it.’
‘What is the truth of it?’
‘She jumped me, I swear it, Taya. Dived at me like a desperate harlot and caught me by complete surprise. I was about to shove her away and demand to know exactly what she thought she was doing, but then, of course, your presence became apparent, and she scarpered.’
Her lips purse, like she’s unsure if she believes me. Fine. I stand. ‘I will go fetch her this minute.’
‘No!’ She seizes my arm and pulls me down. ‘It is not necessary.’
‘It is not?’
She shakes her head. ‘I was very mad, be sure of that.’ She winces, reaching for her head and feeling it.
‘Leave it,’ I say, pulling her hand back to the bed.
‘That night, I was there for you.’
‘What?’
‘You needed my identity for Fleming, and of course I could not give you that, but I could give him another glimpse of me so as to nurture his interest. At least until I figured out how to get myself out of this mess. When I heard whispers of your story about the highwaymen, I had to stop you, but I knew not how. Then I read your story, and, God, it was so impassioned. And about me, Frank! I wanted to stop you, I wanted to encourage you. Draw for you.’ She hisses as her head lifts off the pillow, and I rush to ease her back down. ‘Why were you on the common so far from London?’