Greyson groaned. He shifted, uncomfortable as a heavy weight pressed into his chest, sheets clinging to his skin. All that did however was send his muscles screaming. Spasms began in his lower back, pulsing, spreading their fingers of pain until his flesh jumped and a burning started.

His throat was dry, his mouth seeking any hint of moisture to soothe the tightness.

Hell, was he on fire?

Greyson's side sizzled, but when he inhaled, it wasn't burning flesh or charred smoke that hit his nose. It was day old sweat hidden amongst unwashed skin.

By God, but he smelled horrid.

The next thing he noticed was the beam of sunlight that struck him full in the face, even through his closed eyelids. He turned his head, raising his hand despite the spark of lightning that streamed down along his shoulder.

"Close the blinds, would you?"

The voice came from his right, but Greyson didn't have a chance to place a face with the voice as the curtains fell shut and he breathed a sigh in relief. 

Someone settled next to his shoulders, his body dipping slightly as a hand swept under his head. A gentle voice whispered soothing words as a cup landed at his lips.

"Drink," the voice said, and Greyson was too parched to ignore the command. It was tilted and Greyson gulped the cold water. It soothed his throat and he lifted himself up further, groaning to receive as much as he could.

Greyson growled as the cup was taken out of his reach. "More later," said the voice, the hand setting his head back onto the softness beneath him.

A rustle of fabric and the clink of what sounded like his glass of water placed next to him, Greyson shifted, the sting of pain making him groan.

Where was he? And why did he feel like death?

Greyson opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a familiar face above him, a halo of gleaming gold and brown shadowing his head. It took a moment for Greyson to focus on the hazel rimmed eyes above him, a smirk upon the man's lips.

Thorne.

"Oh, God," Greyson said, "I'm in hell, aren't I?"

Thorne grinned widely at him. "I see you haven't lost your charm, old man."

Greyson groaned, thinking his creator must surely despise him, if this was the first sight to greet him down below. Forget the burning rivers of fire, this was payment enough.

Greyson shifted until the shooting pain blazed through his stomach and he stilled. Much better to cease moving altogether, he decided.

"Do be still, Greyson," a soft touch landed on his brow, the touch cool against his warm skin. "You were stabbed not two days ago."

His eyes opened, and another familiar face hovered next to Thorne's. Her brunette hair was off her face, the shortened locks falling over her forehead and dancing enchantingly along her cheekbones and neck. A a series of pins held the curls in place, and she looked like a sprite come to lead him to temptation.

Lud, but hell was quite vivid, indeed. A woman he could not have and a man that would pester him into eternity.

"So unfair," he mumbled. "You shouldn't be where Thorne is."

Charlie snorted, rolling her eyes at him. "You're not in hell, Greyson. Though, you probably feel like it."

He thought he heard her mumble something about a "quack who knew nothing of medicine," but he couldn't be sure.

Besides, what the bloody hell sense did that make?

Now, he was hallucinating.

But if Charlie was to believed - and Greyson would much rather take to heart the words of his caterpillar rather than Thorne- then that meant...

Greyson looked to Thorne. "How the devil did you get into heaven?"

Thorne grinned, and turning to Charlie, he lowered his voice conspiratorally. "Must be that old feeble mind of his," he whispered, his eyes remaining locked with Greyson, "for him to think they'd ever let his sorry, grumpy arse into heaven when they could have me instead."

Charlie sighed. "Do be serious, Thorne. The man is delusional. It isn't nice to tease him so in his condition," Charlie threw her hand out, palm up, towards Greyson as if to say, "see, look at him!"

Greyson bristled at the gesture, trying to sit up. When the pain made his vision blur, he let loose a string of curses. Nevertheless, his pride made him tamp it down. Although, it did set to rights the fact that Greyson was most assuredly not dead.

"I do beg your pardon, Charlie," he said with as much dignity as he could muster soaked to the skin in dried sweat with a bundle of blankets about his torso. "I am not deluded."

Thorne snorted. "Debatable, old friend."

Greyson scowled, but it was lost as Charlie turned at that moment, her arm shooting out until her small fist met Thorne's shoulder.

"Ow," Thorne said, glancing at Charlie as if she had lost her mind. "What was that for?"

"He's invalid -"

Greyson sat up yet again. "I am bloody not - " He cried out once more - Damnit, would he never learn to not bloody move? - and then he loose a growl for another reason entirely. "Goddamnit, woman! What the devil was that for?" His hand came up to where Charlie had leaned over and flicked his forehead with her finger.

"You were just stabbed, you fool!" Pushing lightly against his shoulder, she urged him back before her hands went to her hips. "Lie down or I will tie you there."

Thorne chortled.

"And you!" Charlie said, turning her fury to Thorne. She had one finger pointed to the doorway of Greyson's room. "Out!"

His friend looked mildly affronted, and Greyson thought that if he had to suffer the indignities of being scolded by Charlie as well as the jabbing pain of his wound, then at least he had lived long enough to see this. Thorne wasn't one who received the ire of many people, and rarely, women. He made a point of keeping it light, the charming rogue that delighted and entertained.

Greyson looked to his lady and smiled. She was not entertained.

"I am trying to be helpful," Thorne said.

Charlie's fist clenched and she stepped towards Thorne. A chuckle fell from his lips as whatever Thorne saw in Charlie's eyes had him holding up his hands in surrender, backing out the door. "No need for violence, my lady. I'm going."

Charlie kept her gaze trained on his person until Thorne's blonde head disappeared from view.

And then she turned.

Greyson found himself swallowing, the sound loud in his ears. He wondered if anyone would hear the sound of his panic below stairs and come to his rescue.

"I'm invalid," Greyson said, discarding his pride in hopes that he could defuse her ire. Surely she wouldn't hurt an invalid after all.

Would she?

So when Charlie settled herself on Greyson's bed, he was prepared for her anger. For her to lash into him for his foolhardy rescue. For being injured when she had been in the midst of delivering a particularly valid kick to her attacker's groin.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the one reaction she had.

Her eyes teared up, and Greyson was gutted. Straight through, worse than what any bloody knife could ever do to him. Charlie's lower lip trembled, and she visibly straightened, sucking her lip between her teeth and biting down. She sniffed, and Greyson cursed his prone position.

He wanted to go to her. Needed to.

"Charlie..." His voice was soft. Pleading. A silent request.

She must have understood, for she looked to him, grasping his hand that had been clasped over his stomach. She traced his fingers, her own sliding from his knuckles to his fingertips and back. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell."

Charlie nodded. "You should feel better in a matter of days, or so I've been told. A more competent doctor was called, thank the heavens, and it'll be tender -"

"I'm sorry."

Charlie's words broke off and her eyes finally went from their clasped hand to his eyes. Hers were dilated, the indigo iris wide. "For what?"

"For being stabbed."

A chuckle broke from Charlie, but it was without humor. It sounded half hysterical, as if at any moment she would burst into tears, and Greyson panicked at the thought. Bloody hell, but seeing her so vulnerable, he almost wished the man had bloody finished him off.

Her lips lost their humorless grin as she watched their fingers. She twisted their palms together, comparing the size of their hands, before intertwining them together once more.

"I am the one who should be apologizing. If I had followed your demands for a guest room -"

Greyson coughed a laugh. "My request."

"Whatever you call it," Charlie said, shrugging.

Stubborn, he thought wryly, his head shaking in bemusement.

"If I had listened to your reasonings and hadn't been so damned stubborn you wouldn't have gotten injured. You wouldn't have been lying for the past two days with a fever. You had us all worried," the words were pulled from Charlie harshly and her eyes came up for one brilliant second before falling away.

She whispered, "You had me worried, Greyson."

Greyson swallowed at the declaration.

She had been worried for him. Those tears she fought back so valiantly were for him. Her harsh words and the way she had scolded him so succinctly - he smiled at the thought - were for him. The moments of her sweetness, her softness.

For him as well.

It struck his chest, jolted through him, and Greyson was shocked by an undeniable truth. Hell, he cared far more for Charlie - for Charlotte - than he had believed.

Damned if he wasn't falling for her altogether.

The thought should have sent him snorting in derision.

Falling in love? Him? The idea of it so preposterous. So out of the realms of possibility.

And yet, as he watched Charlie, her eyes trained on their interlocked hands, Greyson couldn't claim it as anything else. This feeling of...rightness with her settled by his side, with her in his rooms.

With her playing with his goddamned fingers so gently, her brows furrowed so adorably, that he wanted to say "to hell with the consequences" and make her his.

The wound in his side was the least of his obstacles, however. What would Charlie say? What would she think of Greyson's thoughts now?

Was it even possible - after all that had happened - that she could learn to feel the same?

Charlie's fingers tightened on his hand and Greyson glanced up. "What were thinking anyway, coming to the stables, alone, and taking on a man with a knife?"

Greyson cringed as the last word resounded through the room. "For the record, Charlotte, I had no idea the man had a knife -"

Charlie made a noncommittal sound in her throat, "Oh, that makes it much better. Thank you."

Greyson heard her sarcasm in her throat, the way it tried to shield her underlying concern, and Greyson tried his damndest to keep his smile from breaking out. Something told him that his amusement would not be well received.

But her anger for him...

Her concern on his behalf...

It made Greyson willing to take it all on again, just for this moment.

Hell, he thought, he would.

Greyson's eyes studied her face, and he was astounded anew at the lady's fortitude. She appeared so delicate now. Her nose was slim, the tip curving upwards just the slightest touch. The curves of her ears were soft, leading to her heart-shaped face. The full lips, the lower slightly more plump than the top. That irresistible dimple in her chin.

"You know, it took all of Thorne's strength to drag your sorry hide back into your rooms," Charlie said, her reprimand ruining his attempt at hiding his amusement for Greyson laughed aloud.

His side chose that moment to reawaken its own scolding, and Greyson fell back with a groan.

"Hell," Greyson said, pulling down the covers. A thick band of bandages were wrapped about his torso, looking grim and stark against his skin. "Did you say I was out for days?"

Charlie glanced away from his chest, her eyes roaming around the room with renewed interest. "Yes, a day and a half you had the fever. I helped with the others."

Greyson's gaze narrowed, finally taking in the sallow color of her skin and the dark circles below her eyes. "How long have you been watching over me, Charlotte?"

The soft question brought her gaze back to his. She shrugged, "No longer than anyone else." Her eyes dropped as she picked at the skirt of her gown.

That was when he noticed something else. Beneath the sheet about his waist, his chest was bare and only a pair of small clothes covered his lower half. He glanced at Charlie, finding her gaze teetering between the bandage upon his chest and the breadth of his body.

And Charlie. At some point, she had rid herself of her stable hand's garb and was currently dressed in...

Greyson narrowed his eyes. Was that his sister's gown?

It was at once a shock to his system, and in the other, it wasn't at all - for Greyson had always known her gender. Had always been distinctly aware of it. Now, more so than ever.

The bodice of the gown was low, and Greyson couldn't stop his eyes from tracing down the delicate embroidery to the mounds of her breasts. Even with the lace fichu tucked enticingly in the center of her chest, the dress hugged Charlie's curves to perfection.

Perhaps this was what Charlie saw in those strawberry tarts she liked so much.

Softness. The aroma of warmed skin. But which filling would Charlie taste like if he closed the distance between them.

Sweet like berries?

Or tart like lemon?

Charlie's fingers flicked his forehead again.

Tart, he decided. She was most definitely tart.

Greyson sighed. The lady needed to work on her bedside manner.

"It was a good thing we were here to take care of you too. That family doctor of yours came in here as if he knew what the blazes he was doing!" She huffed, indignant. "That quack."

Greyson frowned. "Doc Roberts?"

"Ha!" Charlie's eyes came to his, embers of blazing indigo flames. "Doctor. If it wasn't for us, you wouldn't have healed nearly so fast. Did you know what the man had the audacity to say?"

Greyson shook his head mutely, wondering where the conversation had gone.

"He said we should leave the room - your mother and sister and I. And do you know why he said this?"

Greyson opened and closed his mouth. He hadn't the faintest.

"Our weak constitutions might distract him!"

Greyson's brow shot up at the disdain in Charlie's voice. The man had made a lasting impression, it seemed.

"Then he frightened your poor, dear mother with talk of infection, fever and bullet wounds!"

"Bullet wounds?"

Greyson did his best to understand her ravings, but he lost her somewhere between quacks and bullets.

"As if it wasn't bad enough that you had been stabbed," she finished.

Charlie's swallow was loud enough that Greyson's head came up. "If you bloody get injured again, my lord, and put me through such a blasted thing again, I will be the one to finish you off!"

Charlie swiped at the angry tears that dotted her cheeks. It was a frustrated motion, as if she were upset with herself for allowing them to fall.

"Charlotte."

Her hands fisted and she looked away from him, as if she had said too much.

Of its own accord, his hand captured her chin, tilting her face back to his.

His eye followed a wayward tear that rolled down her cheek, and he wiped the moisture away with his thumb. Greyson didn't know why, but he found his hand coming up to his mouth. He kept their eyes locked, watched Charlie's eyes become a deep blue with a shot of plum, as he sucked his thumb into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the tip to capture the drop of liquid upon it.

Charlie gasped at the action, her nostrils flaring, as her eyes trained onto his lips.

Something had changed between them. As if the past few days had torn away the last wall of resistance between them. As if it had reminded them both how short their time was, and how much of it had been wasted needlessly.

Her chest began a rapid rhythm, her breasts pressing against the bodice of her dress and tightening the material about them. Her eyes widened as Greyson shifted closer.

Charlie lifted from her seat, her fist pressing next to his hip as her other landed on his cheek. Her knee came up and Greyson's body rolled into her slightly.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Greyson was lost. He was diving towards her mouth, his body greedy for a taste of her.

"Ah, I thought I heard voices up here," the voice broke off in the doorway, and Greyson froze, his eyes darting over Charlie's head to see none other but his mother standing there, wide-eyed, a hand on her heart. And by god, was she blushing?

"Oh, I do beg your pardon -"

Charlie yelped, her hand snapping back as if by a pulley. She stumbled back so quickly, that her legs became twisted in her long skirts. Her knee slipped off the bed and she went down, slipping to the floor and landing on her arse. Her legs akimbo. "Well, shite."

The epithet left her lips and Greyson couldn't contain his laughter. She scowled at him from beside the bed as she shuffled about, pushing her dress this way and that, cursing the "bloody hindrance" of her skirts as her feet pushed her up. She came to a stand, her fists clenched on her hips.

"Should I come back at a better time?" His mother asked, her eyes darting between the two of them.

Charlie lost her ire then, her face flaming like a ripe tomato.

Charlie's gaze darted to Greyson before turning back to his mother. This continued until even Greyson became worried the lady would be dizzy from the abrupt motions. "N...no, of course not," Charlie said, a hand coming up to her hair. "We were just...I mean, I was simply seeing..."

Greyson chuckled, deciding to take pity on Charlie. "She was checking to see if I still had a fever, Mother."

Lady Marianne nodded. "If that's what you gents are calling it these days."

If it were possible, Charlie's face went even more crimson. And then one hand was fiddling with her skirts, the other playing with a loose curl that had come out from its pins. "Yes, well, I should see about my midday meal, shall I? And send up for some broth for the...earl or...or something. Yes, I will do that."

And then in a flurry of green, she was gone.

Which left Greyson, alone, with his mother. By the looks on her face, he wouldn't like the conversation that followed. She walked to the side of the bed, taking the seat that Charlie had - with so much poise, Greyson thought wryly - vacated.

"Now," his mother began, sweeping Greyson's hair from his forehead. "Would you like to inform me what the devil is going on here?"