Chapter Eight
Icarus stared at Miss Trentham. What was she doing in his bedchamber? Why was she on the floor?
“Are you all right?” she asked.
No, he wasn’t. His body still thought he was drowning. His lungs were laboring, every muscle in his body shuddered violently, and he wanted to vomit. “Why are you on my floor?”
“You had a nightmare. I tried to wake you, and you hit me.” Miss Trentham groped for two objects: a chamberstick and a candle.
“I hit you?”
Miss Trentham touched her cheek. It was pink. “Yes.”
He’d struck her? Cold horror filled his belly. “Are you all right?”
“I believe I’ll live,” Miss Trentham said, with a wry smile. There was a tiny smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.
“You’re bleeding,” Icarus said, even more horrified.
Miss Trentham touched a fingertip to
