The physician looked grave. “My lord, upon examining Lady St. Vincent with a stethoscope, we detected a rushing noise at the site of the injury, which indicates the forcible ejection of arterial blood. The subclavian artery has been nicked or partially severed. If we try to repair the laceration, there’s a risk of life-threatening complications. Therefore, the safest solution is to tie it off with a double ligature. I will assist Dr. Gibson in the process, which could possibly take as long as two hours. In the meantime—”

“Wait,” Gabriel said warily. “You mean Dr. Gibson will assist you.”

“No, my lord. Dr. Gibson will be performing the surgery. She is versed in the newest and most advanced techniques.”

“I want you to do it.”

“My lord, there are very few surgeons in England who would attempt this operation. I am not one of them. Lady St. Vincent’s damaged artery is deeply placed and partially covered by the clavicle bone. The entire area of operation is perhaps an inch and a half wide. Saving your wife will be a matter of millimeters. Dr. Gibson is a meticulous surgeon. Cool-headed. Her hands are steady, thin, and sensitive—perfect for delicate procedures such as this. Furthermore, she has been trained in modern antiseptic surgery, which makes the ligature of major arteries far less dangerous than in the past.”

“I want a second opinion.”

The physician nodded calmly, but his gaze was piercing. “We’ll make the facilities available to anyone you choose, and assist in any way we can. But you had better fetch him quickly. I know of only a half-dozen cases in the past thirty years with an injury similar to Lady St. Vincent’s that have ever made it to the operating table. She’s minutes away from heart failure.”

Every muscle coiled. Gabriel’s throat closed on a cry of anguish. He couldn’t accept what was happening.

But there was no choice. In a life that had been filled with infinite opportunities, possibilities, and alternatives than most human beings had ever been blessed with . . . there was no choice, now when it mattered most.

“Of the cases that made it to the operating table,” he asked hoarsely, “how many survived?”

Havelock averted his gaze as he replied. “The prognosis for such an injury is unfavorable. But Dr. Gibson will give your wife the best chance of pulling through.”

Which meant none.

Gabriel’s legs weren’t quite steady beneath him. For a moment he thought he might drop to his knees.

“Tell her to go ahead,” he managed to say.

“You consent to have Dr. Gibson perform the surgery?”

“Yes.”

Chapter 21

For the next two hours, Gabriel occupied a corner of the waiting area with his coat draped across his knees. He was silent and withdrawn, only distantly aware that Devon, Kathleen, and Cassandra had come to wait with him and the Winterbornes. Thankfully they seemed to understand that he didn’t want to be approached. The sound of their quiet voices was an irritant, as was Cassandra’s sniffling. He didn’t want emotion around him or he would crumble. Finding Pandora’s necklace in one of his coat pockets, he held the rust-smeared pearls in his hands, rolling them in his fingers. She’d lost so much blood. How long did it take for the human body to produce more?

He stared down at the tiled flooring, the same kind that had been in the examination room, except they’d installed gutters in there. The operating room must have them too. His mind kept returning helplessly to the thought of his wife unconscious on the operating table. A knife had pierced that smooth ivory flesh, and now more knives were being used to repair the damage.

He thought of those moments leading up to the stabbing, the unholy fury he’d felt upon seeing Nola with Pandora. He knew Nola well enough to be certain she’d said something poisonous to his wife. Was that going to be the last memory Pandora had of him? His hand tightened on the necklace until one of the strands broke, sending pearls scattering.

Gabriel sat unmoving while Kathleen and Helen bent to retrieve the pearls, and Cassandra went around the waiting area to pick up the strays.

“My lord,” he heard her say. She was standing in front of him, reaching out her cupped hands. “If you give them to me, I’ll make certain they’re cleaned and restrung.”

Reluctantly he let them slide into her hands. He made the mistake of glancing at her face, and started at the sight of her wet eyes, blue rimmed with black. Dear God, if Pandora died, he was never going to be able to see these people again. He wouldn’t be able to bear looking into those damned Ravenel eyes.

Standing, he left the waiting area and went to the hallway, setting his back against the wall.

In a few minutes, Devon came around the corner and approached him. Gabriel kept his head lowered. This man had entrusted him with Pandora’s safety, and he’d failed utterly. The guilt and shame was overpowering.

A silver flask was thrust into his field of vision. “My butler, in his infinite wisdom, handed this to me as I left the house.”

Gabriel took the flask, uncapped it, and took a swallow of brandy. Its smooth fire seared its way down and thawed his frozen insides a degree or two. “It’s my fault,” he eventually said. “I didn’t watch over her well enough.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Devon said. “No one could watch over Pandora every minute. You can’t keep her under lock and key.”

“If she lives through this, I’ll bloody well have to.” Gabriel broke off, his throat knotting, and he had to take another swallow of brandy before he could speak again. “We haven’t even been married for one blasted month, and she’s on an operating table.”