by Meara Platt
He merely grunted.
She cast him a hesitant smile. “No doubt your mind is distracted by important matters, but you ought to at least taste it before it gets cold.”
He frowned at her.
She sighed. “I really must thank you for coming to my rescue again the other day. You were quite chivalrous in your defense of me.”
Hell.
He wanted to strip her out of her clothes and spend the afternoon making hot, wild love to her. His cousin’s betrothed. Not a damn thing chivalrous about that. “Stew’s good, you say?”
She nodded. “Delicious.”
He dug in, acutely aware of her worshipful expression as she watched him. He was not her dashing knight in armor. He was a scoundrel who wanted her to sit naked on his lap while he…
Hell again.
He shoveled down the last of the stew and rose hastily from his chair so that it scraped noisily against the floor.
Frances rose along with him, her movements elegant and graceful. “I’ll bring the bowls down to Mrs. Pringle and then finish my inventory of your supplies. Or do you have something better for me to do? I could help you with those hospital reports.” She motioned to the pile of official-looking papers pushed to the side of his desk.
He cleared his throat. “No, I’ll take care of those. I think we can close up early today. It’s been rather a slow day and doesn’t sound like anyone’s in the waiting room.”
“An extra hour to rest—that would be heavenly.” She sighed softly. “Lady Campbell’s party is this evening and Charles is insisting that I attend with him. Meredith has already agreed to accompany him in my place, but he won’t allow it. He likes Meredith well enough. Indeed, they get along extremely well. But she isn’t his betrothed.”
Robbie purposely avoided Lady Campbell’s parties. She had an affinity for opera singers, and those high, shrieking tones were simply too much for him to endure after a long, hard day. “Don’t stay out too late. These quiet hours rarely last. They’re usually made up for by a horde of patients requiring urgent attention the very next day.”
She picked up his bowl and set it atop hers. “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, I think I hear the back door. So much for a quiet day.” She frowned. “Sounds like quite a fuss down there. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Odd, why the back door? Summon me if it’s something more serious than a teething child.”
“I will.” She balanced the bowls in the crook of her arm and hurried out of his office. Within two minutes, Mrs. Pringle was shrieking up the stairs, calling for him to come down at once. His heart shot into his throat. Frances!
Had something happened to her? Damn, he should have been the one to go down and investigate.
He took the stairs three at a time and bounded into the waiting room. It was empty save a hysterical mother and Frances holding the woman’s child in her arms, a boy who appeared dazed and unmoving. One look at the lad and the blue tinge to his flesh and Robbie knew it was trouble. “Mrs. Pringle, put on your gloves and lock the back door! This clinic is closed until further notice.”
“Your Grace,” Frances said uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”
He turned to the woman with weepy, red eyes and stringy brown hair and began to ask her a barrage of questions. “Madam, what’s your name?”
“Mrs. Fuller. I’m a widow, Yer Grace.” She turned to the boy nestled in Frances’ arms. “That’s Gordie, my only child.”
“Take him back. Frances, go upstairs and don’t touch anything on the way up or once you’ve reached my office. Wait in there for me. Do you understand? You’re not to touch anything. Not the stair rail, not a single door latch.” He tried to sound calm but it was difficult with his heart pounding a hole through his chest. “And don’t sit down. Just stand in the middle of the room until I get up there. Don’t move. Don’t sit. Don’t touch anything,” he repeated, knowing he was scaring the wits out of her.
She stood unmoving, looking like a frozen deer.
“Go! Do exactly as I’ve instructed. I’ll join you in a moment.” He watched her shake her head as though to regain her senses and then leave the room to climb the stairs. Once he was confident that she’d followed his orders, he resumed his interrogation of the woman. “Where do you reside, Mrs. Fuller?”
“Rossmere Drive, sire. Near the Shambles.” She now clutched her boy tightly in her arms. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with him. He has no fever. Shouldn’t he be burning up with it? What can I do?”
“Do you live in a house? Alone with your boy?”
She nodded. “M’husband left us with a bit o’ money. It’s just me and Gordie. What’s wrong with ’im? Will he die?”
Robbie ran a hand through his hair, unable to stem his agitation, although it could have been worse. Just her and the boy in a house… with cholera. Mrs. Pringle would have to get a team from the hospital down here to scrub down the back door and every place in the clinic this woman had walked or touched, and do the same with Mrs. Fuller’s house. She and her son would be placed in the hospital quarantine. But Frances. She’d held the boy!
Within minutes the pair were safely transported next door to the hospital and the invaluable Mrs. Pringle had returned with the scrub teams. He sent one team off to the woman’s house and instructed the other on scrubbing down the clinic.
He rushed upstairs to Frances. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
He pumped water into the ewer beside his private sink and grabbed a bar of lye soap. “You heard me. Take everything off or I’ll do it for you.”
She put a hand over her heart and her eyes widened in obvious alarm. “Robbie! Have you gone mad? Of course you have. I’m not one of your patients.”
“Yes, you are. As of this moment. Now do exactly as I say. Damn it, Frances. The boy you held in your arms has cholera. Do you think I’d make such a lunatic request if it weren’t a matter of life and death? Your life.”
“I didn’t know.” Her eyes began to tear, those beautiful sparkling eyes of hers now dulled with fear. This was all his fault. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a whisper, apparently shouldering all the responsibility for this disaster. “I should have asked you for permission before touching the boy. You’ve warned me all week long never to touch anyone unless you told me it was safe to do so, but his mother was about to drop him, and all I could think about was keeping that boy from being injured. He looked so frail.”
“Hush, Frances. This isn’t your fault.” How could she blame herself? “It’s mine. All my bloody fault for not putting a stop to this stupid dare immediately.” He sighed. “Your hands are shaking. Can you manage your buttons?”
“No,” she said with a sob.
“I’ll help you. Is that all right?” He held up the ewer of water. “Once you’re out of your clothes, I’ll scrub you down. You won’t die, Frances. I know how to cure you, assuming you develop any symptoms at all. Often, a healthy person won’t. It’s the very young and the old who are most at risk. But you came in contact with him. You held him flat against your body and he spit up on your gown. It must be burned.”
“May I keep my camisole and stockings? He didn’t touch those.” Tears trailed down her cheeks, but she seemed to be calmer for the moment, her fears abating as he spoke. He wasn’t going to lie to her, there was no need. She deserved an explanation and was smart enough to make decisions on her own. There were none to make at the moment. She needed to get out of her clothes and be scrubbed down. That was not to be negotiated.
“No. Camisole, stockings. Boots. We need to get rid of everything.”
Her cheeks flamed as brightly as the flames glowing in the hearth. “Then I’ll be naked in front of you.”
“Would you rather be dead?”
She remained silent. He understood what she was thinking, for if word of this ever got out, she’d be ruined. Her reputation would be in tatters. “Don’t you dare tell me you’d rather die than be gossiped about.” Now angr
y, he dumped the water over her head and began to lather lye soap all over her clothed body.
She shrieked.
He grabbed her hands when she started to draw them up to her face and lathered them. “Don’t put them to your face.”
“Water’s dripping in my eyes.”
“Then close them.” He turned her around and began to undo her buttons, his intention to remove her gown and toss it into the fire although it would take longer to burn now that it was soaking wet. Once he had it undone, he slipped it off her and unceremoniously plucked her wet body off the ground so that he could kick the gown out from under her feet.
She shrieked again.
He grabbed more water and tossed it over her head, giving her a thorough soaking. Hair, hands again, body clad only in camisole and stockings. He had to take them off her, but his body was already a hot mess and he wasn’t certain he could manage scrubbing down a naked Frances without doing something supremely foolish, such as offering to marry her.
Her camisole, stockings, and boots would stay on for now, he decided. They hadn’t been in direct contact with the boy so keeping them on her posed less of a threat. She continued to shriek as he worked the lather up and down her body… did a finer example of womanhood ever exist?
He ran the bar of soap across her chest, careful to apply the soap and not his eager hands to her perfectly shaped breasts and the hard, pink tips that were straining through the sheer, wet fabric. She screamed, this time straight into his ear. Did she think he had any interest in touching her that way? Not like this. Never like this. “Frances, if you die, I vow I’ll resurrect you and then kill you myself.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” She shrieked again when he poured more water over her head to rinse away the lather.
He removed his jacket and placed it over the back of a nearby chair. “I’ll turn around. Take off the last of your clothes and bundle yourself in my jacket until I can send my driver to Vi’s home to pick up fresh clothes for you.”
He turned away to face his desk and silently prayed that Frances would not take the opportunity to crack the ewer over his head while his back was turned. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
She didn’t make a sound. Hadn’t moved.
He growled softly. “Take everything off and toss it into the fire.” Fortunately, he’d kept it going throughout the day to chase away the chill, so his office was quite comfortable. “Lass, must I do the job for you?”
“No!”
“Then do it now. Put on my jacket for modesty. I’ll burn it afterward, as well.”
She was now crying in earnest, but he heard the soft rush of fabric slipping off her shoulders and the thud of her boots as she kicked them off. Finally, he heard the squish of her stockings as she tossed them onto the sizzling fire.
She’d tossed her boots in too, he could tell by the acrid scent of burning leather. “Done,” she said, sniffling and gulping air as she continued to cry.
His back was still to her. “May I turn around?”
“Not yet. I’m still naked. Where’s your jacket? Oh, over here.” He heard her padding to the chair to fetch it and heard the barely audible whoosh of fabric as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the garment around her slender body. He’d been a hot mess earlier, but now his every bodily organ was pulsing and pounding, and his heartbeat hadn’t merely spiked but was on a rampage, clawing through his chest and up his throat.
“I’m covered. You may look now.”
Robbie turned and was about to take a step toward her when he heard a commotion downstairs and then hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. In the next moment, the door he’d shut to allow for privacy while Frances undressed flew open and Charlie stood in the doorway with his mouth agape and eyes blazing. “Robbie, you bastard! What have you done to Frances?”
“Out!” he roared, ignoring Frances’ renewed shrieks.
Charlie started toward him with fists raised.
“Don’t touch anything, Charlie! She touched a boy with cholera! Keep away from her. Keep away from me, too. I haven’t scrubbed down yet.” He repeated the caution, shouting over Frances, who was still sobbing and looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to look, even though she was dripping wet and bundled only in his jacket that fell to her knees.
Her legs were spectacular. Had Charlie noticed?
Hell. He wanted to slam his fist into his own cousin for looking and expected his cousin was debating whether to do the same thing to him. Frances was betrothed to Charlie, after all. “Don’t go near the waiting room either. It’s contaminated. Is the front door open? Is that how you happened to walk in?”
“Cholera?” Charlie nodded numbly.
“Charlie, answer me!”
“Yes, it was open. I marched in. I didn’t touch anything, just tore straight up here when I heard Frances screaming.”
“I wasn’t hurting her. I was saving her life. You understand that, don’t you?”
Robbie stared at his cousin, his mind already working on how to protect Frances once Charlie told her family about this incident.
To his surprise, Frances took it upon herself to come to his defense. “It’s all my fault, Charles. I picked up an infected child after His Grace repeatedly warned me not to touch anyone without his approval. He was trying to save my life. Nothing more. And, um… now that you’re here, might I ask a favor of you?” She continued immediately, giving Charlie no time to respond. “His Grace’s driver was going to stop at Vi’s, but perhaps I could impose on you to do it. I need a change of clothes… um, a change of everything. Boots, stockings, underclothes.” She blushed again profusely. “Gown. A warm, woolen one please. I’m quite cold.”
“Did you come by carriage?” Robbie asked.
Charlie nodded.
“And do you have a blanket in there?”
“Yes.”
“Fetch it for Frances. You heard her, she’s cold. And then go directly to Vi’s and bring back her clothes.” Lord, that sounded dreadful.
Charlie frowned. “What about tonight’s musicale at Lady Campbell’s? Must I go with your sister again?”
Robbie stepped forward, silently counting to ten in order to stem his anger. “This is what concerns you? A damn entertainment and the inconvenience it poses to you? No, Frances will not be going anywhere for the rest of the week.”
“But Lord Malcolm’s dinner party is—”
“Frances will be dining on rice, salt, and boiled water until further notice. Get out now, Charlie, or I’ll toss you down the stairs myself. Forget about stopping at Vi’s. I’ll have my driver do it as originally planned.” He started to turn away and then remembered. “But don’t leave without giving me your blanket.”
“Come and get it yourself. I’m not walking back in here again. Nor will I call upon Frances again.” He turned to her, still frowning. “You know where to find me. Call on me whenever you’re ready to forget this ridiculous wager and resume a sensible life.”
Robbie followed his cousin to his waiting carriage. “Don’t be so harsh on Frances. She’s—”
“I don’t blame her. I blame you for encouraging her foolish notions. She ought to have conceded days ago. See where your insistence on playing fair has gotten her? I’m not going to say a word of this to her family. Not to anyone. But you’d better take care of her and make certain she doesn’t spread this filthy disease to her friends and family.” He climbed in his carriage and tossed down his blanket. “I don’t want it back. Burn it, for all I care.”
Robbie returned to his office and wordlessly tucked the blanket around Frances, who was still tearful and now slumped in the chair. He picked it up with her in it and set it before the warming fire.
So much for their quiet afternoon. What was he to do with her now? He couldn’t allow her to return to Lady Brazelton’s home. Nor could he take her to his estate for fear of irreparable damage to her reputation, what little of it was left intact. He certainly could not take her to t
he hospital. The trustees would be made aware of her situation and immediately spread word of their victory throughout town. He expected that several of the more decent trustees would express concern over her health, but most would believe that she got what she deserved.
“Robbie,” she said quietly. “I need to know the truth. Will I die?”
“No!” God, no. He’d never forgive himself if that were to happen. He could tell himself a thousand times that she ought to have known better than to touch the lad, but in his heart, he knew this was entirely his fault. He should have been the one to investigate the commotion. He’d failed to protect Frances. “There’s a small bedchamber next door to this office.” He motioned to a connecting door and then crossed the room to open it up and show her. “Small, but comfortable. Sometimes I use it when the weather’s bad or I’m too exhausted to make my way home after a particularly late evening. I think you had better stay in there for the rest of the week.”
“Will I be left alone once the clinic closes?”
“No. I’ll stay with you.” He groaned. “This gets worse and worse, doesn’t it? I’d ask Mrs. Pringle to remain with you, but she has a husband and children who need her attention. I can’t ask Vi.”
“No, of course not. In truth, I wouldn’t want to put anyone else at risk. Not even you.” She wiped a stray tear off her cheek. “I’ve never been alone before.”
He returned to her side and knelt beside her. “You won’t be. I meant it when I said that I’ll be staying with you. I can have a cot set up in this office for myself so I’ll be close enough to hear you if you’re in distress. It’s a hell of a muddle, isn’t it? But think of yourself as my patient from now on. I’m not going to lose you, Frances. You’ll get through this. Hopefully, without a touch of sickness. We’ll know for certain in nine days.”
She nodded. “Ah, the magical nine days.”
“Choose any books you wish from my office library. I’ll ask Vi for some of her scandalous novels, too. It won’t be so bad. My bed’s quite comfortable.”
Holy hell.
