He had to remind himself that this was necessary to ensure her safety. To save her life and get her home as he’d promised her. A promise he had every intention of keeping.
He forced himself to return her smile and then carried the tray over to place it in front of her.
“Breakfast in bed?” she asked in mock surprise. “You know, I could get used to such royal treatment.”
She was radiant. Happy. Smiling. And her eyes were free of the shadows that had lingered there for so long. They were bright. Shining. And hopeful.
“I want you to eat and drink it all,” he said with mock severity, trying to adopt her playful mood.
He knew she’d eventually ask questions. She’d want to know what the plan was. She’d want to know every single detail because she would worry about him. So he wanted her to eat and drink before they got into things better left not discussed.
She glanced down at the plate and sighed, picking up her fork.
“Uh-uh,” he said with a frown he meant to amuse her.
He gestured toward the antibiotic pills on the tray. “Those first, and drink plenty of juice. Then you can eat.”
She rolled her eyes but complied with his request, washing down the pills with several gulps of the juice. Half the contents were gone. Good, but not enough.
He let her eat a few bites of her food, courtesy of Mojo, who was a wizard in the kitchen. He’d made crepes, whatever the hell those were. They looked too damn fancy for Hancock. There were beignets, which Hancock did know and liked. Who didn’t like beignets with strong black New Orleans coffee?
And there were fluffy scrambled eggs and breakfast ham along with bacon.
“What did he do, slaughter a pig?” she asked, laughter in her eyes.
He gestured toward the juice. “It’s fresh squeezed. Mojo will be offended if any is left.”
She nearly choked as she swallowed the food in her mouth. “Mojo cooked this?”
Hancock smiled at her reaction. “He’s a man of many hidden talents.”
“Obviously,” Honor murmured as she drained the juice.
She cut into one of the crepes and took a dainty bite, but she frowned and then quickly tried to cover it up. Hancock pretended not to notice, his heart already sinking.
She toyed with the eggs a moment, speared a forkful and lifted it toward her mouth, but then slipped her free hand over her stomach and let the fork drop with a loud clatter.
“Hancock, I feel sick. I haven’t eaten hardly anything. But I feel . . .”
She swayed, her face paling as she pressed her palm harder into her stomach. He saw her throat working as if she were trying not to vomit. He immediately reached forward to rub her back in an effort to soothe her and hopefully settle her stomach.
She flinched and then looked up at him with so much horror and hurt in her eyes that it was like a knife to the heart.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a stricken voice. “What did you do to me?”
He cupped her face firmly when she resisted, and he pulled her into a gentle kiss, pouring out all the emotion he’d never allowed himself to feel until her.
He tasted her hot tears. Felt her keen sense of betrayal as if it had been done to him, and it only made him hate himself more for what he knew he had to do.
Kissing her again, he whispered against her lips, “Trust me, Honor. Don’t fight it. Just go to sleep now. Just go to sleep.”
“Am I dying?” she asked in a choked voice, tears silently streaking down her cheeks. “Kiss me,” she whispered, eyes bright with those heart-wrenching tears. “Kiss me one last time before I go. Pretend this once, for me.”
It broke his heart that she thought he’d pretended passion with her. That he’d used her, manipulated her emotions and tricked her into trusting him. Believing in him.
But he gave her what she wanted—what he wanted, savoring the sweetness of her mouth one last time before they had to go. Then he drew away, gazing intently into her eyes so she would know he was sincere.
“No, baby,” he said tenderly, stroking a hand through her silky hair. “Just trust me. Just this once. Trust me. Death doesn’t come to the innocent this day.”
But her eyes had already closed and had he not had his hand against her head, stroking her hair, she would have listed to the side, already unconscious. He swore violently, tears burning his own eyelids. She’d slipped under not only thinking she was breathing her last breath, but that he had been the one to poison her. His final betrayal when she’d offered him her trust time and time again, only for him to break it over and over.
So much regret surged through his body, heart, mind and soul. For a moment he simply gathered her in his arms and held on, burying his face in her soft neck. He inhaled deeply, wanting to savor this one moment in time when there were no impossible barriers between them to breach.
He grieved silently, holding the woman who’d forever changed the course of his fate—his destiny—the very direction of his entire future. And then he once more reached for and embraced the familiar, icy chill of indifference. He made the transition from a man with humanity, a soul, to an emotionless killer. A machine programmed to carry out the mission at all cost. Or die trying.
Without a word, he bent and carefully gathered her in his arms before rising with her. He strode to the door and into the hall where his men waited, having shed any remaining vestiges of his deep connection to Honor, refusing to contemplate that he could very well be taking her to her death.