The man watched her depart. “Should I help her?”
“As I said, you’re my guest.” Angelika marveled at his thoughtfulness as she led him into her bedroom, but he balked in the doorway. “Come on, you’ll feel so much better.”
He was assessing the room with a crease on his brow. He took in the four-poster bed smothered in fine silks and the jewels strewn on the dresser. He noticed the embroidered chinoiserie dressing screen, the 250-year-old Persian rugs, and the alcove by the window filled with a copper tub and potted ferns. “You’re rich,” he said in an accusing tone.
“Yes.”
“You live alone here, with only your brother? Remind me of your name,” he commanded.
“Angelika Frankenstein. It is Latin for ‘angelic.’ But my name is spelled with a k, not a c. Mama wanted to be creative, but I wish she hadn’t bothered.” She went to her bathroom and found a tin of salts. As she stirred them into the tub, she said, “You are right; I am a wealthy heiress, and an orphan. We lost both our parents very fast, one after the other, when I was thirteen.” She coughed to clear her tight throat. “After that, Victor did his best to raise me, so my faults are his doing. These salts are from Paris. They may sting your stitches but will help you heal.”
“Why do I even have stitches?” He could not resist the steam and came closer, his teeth still chattering. “I really shouldn’t be in here.”
“We’ll tell Mary to clear out the guest room next. Victor has one of Lizzie’s theater costumes lying on the bed. It’s a big brown bear.”
He was too overwhelmed to be interested in that. When he put his foot into the water, he let out a yowl. “It’s too hot, it’s agony, agony,” he repeated grimly, even as he lowered himself downward. He lay back and looked up at the ceiling with genuine suffering in his eyes. They cut to Angelika, now in that same battle-fierce stare she had glimpsed in the morgue.
“If you did this to me, I hate you.”
“Then I suppose you hate me.” She went to the shelf to get a fresh bar of soap and a nailbrush. “That didn’t take long. Perhaps it is my new record.”
Mary had reentered, and this time her hearing had not failed her. “You hate her, eh?” She sloshed a bucket of water onto his face with no regard. “You’d prefer to be dead in the ground, dinner for worms? You’re soaking like a lord in a manor house. One of the richest women in England wants to scrub your fingernails. Get a grip on yourself,” Mary scolded him, and with effort heaved the second bucket onto him. “Count yourself lucky she hasn’t sent you back where you came from.”
Her words had an effect. When Angelika pulled up a stool beside the tub and held up the nailbrush, he gave her his hand with a contrite blink.
“I really was dead?”
“Yes. I found you in the morgue. We think you died yesterday.” She began to scrub his fingernails. “Are you feeling any better, my love?”
He was reeling from this news. “Why do you call me that? Did we know each other before?”
“I call everyone that,” she lied. “’Tis a habit I have.” She gave him back his scrubbed hand, and he held it up for his own inspection. “You are right. You are made up of several men from the neck down.”
He jolted upright and water sloshed out of the tub, soaking Angelika’s trousers. “I knew this wasn’t my cock,” he barked, before sinking deep in the water. Angelika thought she could see the first glow of color in his cheeks. “I can’t remember a thing, but I know that much,” he said to himself.
She lied again. “You were mangled by a cart wheel. I had to improvise.”
He charted his fingers over his body in a way that had Angelika blushing. “And this is the body you have made for me?”
She watched as the pads of his fingertips ran down the stitches around his neck, the shoulder joints, the heavy chest and ridged abdomen. He raised his knees and noticed an old scar the previous owner had. He had astonishment in his eyes when he looked back up at her. “You did this?”
“I did all the pattern making and stitching. It can be complicated with the arteries, and messy, but Victor’s procedure is ultimately what brought you back. He’s a genius.”
“You’re a genius, too,” the man said with admiration. “If what you say is true, and I should be dead in the ground, then I must say thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She could not stop herself; she picked up a sea sponge and began to cleanse his face. “My love, you look so much better already.”