His stomach knotted. She hadn’t commented on that earlier, only on the fact he’d gone shopping for clothes. But once she was back in full awareness, no longer exhausted and afraid, he couldn’t picture her taking to the role gladly. They’d have to share a cabin and pose as happy newlyweds all the way to Arawaké.

Yes. Once she realised, she was going to kill him.

And he’d deserve it.

Wincing, he shook her shoulder gently. “Vee?”

Her lashes fluttered as she took a long breath—he’d seen her wake enough times to know she was conscious now. His stomach turned again.

“I don’t think I can move.” Her hand inched away from where it had balled up under her chin.

“The bath will help.” He tried an encouraging smile, but gods only knew what the expression looked like with his face so tight. “I can … Your—your clothes … If you need help?”

Rubbing her face, she nodded and pushed herself to a half-sitting position. She groped at the ties of her cloak, but her hands shook too much to grasp them.

“Here.” He knelt and pulled them for her.

Nodding, she closed her eyes.

With every garment, his stomach tightened. When she’d changed in the alley, it had been too dark for him to see much but now …

When he removed the gown, her arms were thin under her chemise, and she barely filled the stays even though they were laced as tightly as they’d go. The layers of petticoats had disguised how much her curves had sunk. Without them, she wasn’t much more than flesh and bone. None of those powerful, lean muscles, none of that glorious, soft fat over her hips and rear.

A week in an iron cage had drained it all away.

There was no doubt, now: if she’d stayed there much longer, she’d have died even without the hangman’s noose.

“Oh, Vee.” He shook his head and pulled off the stockings that were far too loose on her legs. “I’m—I’m so—”

“Please don’t,” she murmured, eyes still shut. “Not right now. I need to focus on getting the hells out of here. Your apologies only remind me of …” Her throat rippled, and she shook her head. “Of how we got here. And if I get too wrapped up in—in hating you, I won’t be able to let you help me.” Jaw knotting, her nostrils flared. “And much as I’m loath to admit it, I can’t do this on my own. So, save it until we’re safe. Then I can threaten to cut out your tongue with your own dagger.”

There it was. She was only this escape away from hating him. He shouldn’t be surprised, but his heart still clenched, painful, too tight. She had every single damn right.