Though it seemed like hours to him, it was only minutes later when she stirred again. He was sitting on the bed beside her. This time her eyes focused long enough for understanding to come into them.

“You’re not hurt?” Her voice was weak and wavery.

“No, no.”

“Russ …”

Involuntarily his fingers tightened on hers. “He’s been taken care of. You’re not to worry.”

But she’d turned her head, seen the machine, realized the rest of it. “Not the hospital.” At the panic in her voice he brought her hand to his lips.

“Just for a little while, ma belle. Just until you’re well.”

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You won’t go?”

“No.”

“Alex, you won’t lie to me?”

“No.” He pressed kisses to her wrist, comforting himself with the feel of her pulse.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Now he put a hand to her face and bent closer. “No, you’re not going to die. Dr. Franco says you’re”—he remembered Eve’s own phrase—“healthy as a horse.”

“I don’t think he put it that way.”

“That’s what he meant.”

She smiled, but he saw the quick wince.

“You have pain.”

“It feels like—I don’t know. My back, under the shoulder.”

Where the bullet had been. It had lodged there instead of in his heart. He kissed her cheek and rose. “I’ll call the nurse.”

“Alex, don’t leave.”

“Just to call the nurse. I promise.” But he found Franco coming down the hall. “She’s awake. She’s having some pain.”

“All of it can’t be avoided, Your Highness. Let me examine her, then we can give her something.” He signaled to a nurse.

“She’s afraid to be here.”

“I understand she has a phobia about hospitals. I’m afraid we can’t have her moved just yet.”

“Then I’ll stay with her.”

“I can’t permit that, Your Highness.”

Even without sleep, with fatigue and worry dragging at him, Alexander was royal. “I beg your pardon?”

“I can’t permit you to remain twenty-four hours a day. I will, however, permit you to take shifts with Miss Hamilton’s sister or anyone else who gives her comfort. Now I must examine my patient.”

Alexander watched him walk into Eve’s room, then he sank down on a chair outside the door. God, he needed to be alone for just a few minutes, to find some dark, quiet room where he could finally let go of the rage, the pain, the fear.

She’d spoken to him. She’d looked at him. Her fingers had moved in his. He had that now. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes for the first time in more than twenty-four hours.

He opened them again the moment Franco stepped into the hall.