The Wedding Affair (Rebel Hearts series Book 1)

by Heather Boyd

  She moved into the room, heart pounding with fear and dread at the state he was in.

  He could not die. Not like this.

  “Sally, get out,” her grandfather growled when he noticed her. “You have no business being in this sickroom. Morgan, take her out and then fetch his friend.”

  Morgan rushed toward her, arms outstretched as if to hold her back without actually touching her.

  “You have to help him,” she begged. “Please do something.”

  Felix sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of her voice, but that was all he managed.

  “My lady, there is nothing we can do but wait,” the butler advised, still trying his best to herd her toward the door. “You must think of your own health first and foremost.”

  “I am.” She had been intimate with Felix last night. His mouth on her body, his hands on her skin. She had noticed his heat but not realized it had been a fever in the making at the time. If his condition were to spread to others, then she would undoubtedly have the same complaint by now. She should be kept apart from everyone else to prevent the spread of infection.

  Sally rolled up her sleeves and avoided Morgan as she scanned the room, looking for a basin of water and a washcloth with which to cool her lover with. “I am staying. We touched yesterday.”

  “Touched?” her aunt queried, one brow raised high.

  The tone of Aunt Pen’s question suggested much, but she ignored it. For too long she had suspected her aunt knew she and Felix had shared a bed anyway. Thankfully she could not possibly know how often it had been or that they had been intimate last night. Sally chose the lesser of her indiscretions to confess. “He grasped my bare hand in the garden, so if he is contagious then it might already be too late for me.”

  “I see.” The duke pierced her with a strange look. “Penelope, you can leave since you undoubtedly wore gloves when you were reintroduced to the captain. Please ensure the good health of the rest of the family. Discreetly, mind. Let us not start a panic. It seems we have no choice but to leave the captain in Sally’s care for now if we want to contain the situation.”

  Aunt Pen rushed from the room; the doctor followed.

  Sally poured water in a basin and soaked a cloth.

  Her grandfather drew close. “Are you sure you will be all right with him?”

  “Yes, but I will need a few things. Ice chips, clean sheets, and a fresh cotton mattress for after the fever breaks. I have some beeswax balm for his cracked lips on my dresser. My maid knows the one. Have them delivered as soon as possible.”

  “The ice was to be set aside for your wedding breakfast. Your mother planned a pair of towering swans for table decoration.”

  “She can fret about the size of the swans later.” Sally stripped away the drenched cravat hanging loosely from Felix’s neck. “He must be cooled as quickly as possible.”

  Her grandfather approached to aid her, but she held her hand palm out to stop him. “Did you touch him?”

  “No. But we have spent many an hour together.”

  “Without knowing what we are dealing with, it is best to limit any further spread.” Her grandfather was not a young man and not robust of health anymore. She could not allow him to place himself in harm’s way. “Best be safe and stay back.”

  Her grandfather appeared amused. “Do you plan to undress him entirely, all by yourself?”

  “It is necessary.” Sally nodded. She had partially undressed him six years before, but the last time he had been standing and very much aware of what she was doing to him. “He cannot stay as he is. I will be as quick as possible and then cover him.”

  “I forget sometimes that you are braver than I give you credit for.” He wavered a moment, then nodded, ceding her the right to decide. “I will leave so you might not be embarrassed. I will send this fellow, this friend of Felix’s, up to the door as soon as Morgan returns and arrange the other things you asked for.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The door shut quietly behind her grandfather, and then Sally took a deep gulping breath, bracing her hands on the bed. She was not brave. She was trembling with fear and equal parts of relief too. Felix had not left her without saying good-bye. He had been moved to protect everyone’s safety. She looked into his face and swore to think better of him from now on and not jump to conclusions. She touched his brow gently and discovered him scorching.

  “Felix? Can you hear me?” she whispered, soothing his skin with her fingertips. “You have to help me undress you. You might be too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

  He mumbled something unintelligible she hoped was agreement. She attacked his clothing, removing his pocket watch and a few coins tucked into his pockets, then rolled him to remove his waistcoat, unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, and then forced his shirt up over his head. He did help a little, but his efforts seemed uncoordinated and just a touch confused at what was going on.

  When his torso was bare, she worked on his lower portions, peeling his breeches down his hips and legs and removing the stockings on his feet. His skin, wherever she touched him, was slick with sweat and burning hot all the way to the soles of his long feet.

  She tossed the sodden bundle aside and raised the sheet up to his waist just as someone knocked loudly on the door. Startled, she took a moment to compose herself before answering. “Come in,” she called.

  Her elder brother’s valet stuck his face and little else through the door. Despite his reluctance to enter the room, she was relieved to see the man. “You can take the captain’s uniform and have it laundered and pressed.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but His Grace suggested it might need to be burned.”

  “Burned?” The idea of Felix without his captain’s uniform shocked her. “I do not know that you need go that far or so soon. Felix, the captain that is, will need it for when he returns to his ship.”

  The valet wavered. “I will have to come back for it if he worsens.”

  Sally swallowed. The idea of Felix in a worse state filled her with utter dread. “Thank you, Rodmell. I do not understand how this could happen. He seemed so healthy last night. So vital.”

  “And this morning too when I laid out his uniform, if a bit out of sorts and short of temper.”

  Most likely her fault. She twisted her fingers in the sheet near his hip, feeling guilty and ashamed that their last words to each other had been angry ones. They had once gotten on together so well. Holding a grudge against him now seemed pointless.

  “The duke said you wished for chips of ice and other things,” Rodmell said as he hefted items through the door. “I have also brought canvas sacks to put the ice into.”

  “Thank you, Rodmell.” Sally nodded. “I did forget to ask for those.”

  “Are you feeling all right, my lady? No fever in yourself, I trust.”

  “I am in excellent health as always,” she assured the man.

  “Good.” The man peeked at the half-naked captain quickly, then averted his eyes. “If there is anything else you need, the duke has bid me remain outside the door until his fever passes. Just call for me.”

  Sally nodded, appreciating the support even if it was simply a lingering presence down the hall that she could depend upon. Her brother’s valet was a member of the staff whom she had learned to depend upon over the years, and she would now too. She did not know what she would do if Felix worsened. If he died… She could not bear to consider that outcome. Rodmell departed with a bob of his head, leaving her alone with her former betrothed.

  Practicality would help her manage and keep her panic at bay.

  Sally marched to the door, grabbed the first heavy pail and small canvas sacks, and hauled them across the room. She dumped enough ice into the washbasin to fill it. Next she stuffed the sack to halfway and laid it atop Hastings’s sweaty head. He flinched. “This will help cool you,” she promised him.

  She placed several sacks of ice about his body, one beneath the sole of
each hot foot under the sheet, another two beside each arm. He hissed when anything touched him at first and then sighed after the shock of the cold lessened. She took a soft cloth and filled that with just enough ice to lay upon his chest without burning his skin. There was also an empty tankard beside the bed, and she filled that with ice before perching at his side on the mattress.

  “Felix?” Sally brushed a piece of ice against his dry lips and watched it melt into his mouth. “You must get better. The Selfridge needs you. You have a ship to command. A war to fight and win. I will not have your death on my conscience. We should not have argued.”

  To that he grumbled her name, but then a shuddering sigh left him and he swallowed down a little of the melted ice. She continued to feed him ice chips, holding them even when he sucked her fingers into his mouth too to get at the moisture.

  When he began to shiver, Sally removed the ice packs and drew the sheet up to his chin. She rubbed his body briskly and promised him he would recover soon. Too soon though he thrashed about enough to dislodge the sheet and, entirely nude, began to sweat once more. Sally patted his skin dry and reapplied the ice packs, offering comfort as the afternoon progressed toward evening. She swept the beeswax salve across his lips, lips that had brought her so much pleasure last night, now twisted with pain and misery. Doubt wormed its way into her heart that recovery might be beyond him. She had never known anyone to fever so fast and not die from it.

  She was terrified as never before. He might die before they made peace. She eased onto the bed and took his hand in hers. A useless action since he likely did not understand what she was doing. She wished she had not told him she hated him, but she could not forgive him for leaving her alone with her desires.

  Desires that had not abated in the intervening years.

  “Lover, come back to me,” she whispered, brushing his unruly hair from his face. “Do not dare leave me again.”

  The door opened suddenly, and caught by surprise, Sally bolted up from the bed.

  A stranger preceded her grandfather into the room, a rough-looking fellow with gaunt cheeks, unruly black hair, and the bluest eyes she had ever beheld. But they were cold eyes. Hard and unfriendly.

  Her grandfather introduced them perfunctorily. “This is the captain’s friend, Gabriel Jennings.”

  She knew him by reputation. A disgraced captain was always much talked about. She nodded to him and wrung her hands. “Can you help him?”

  He squinted down at Felix, and the stench of gin reached her nose. She took a closer look at Felix’s friend as he swayed and realized he was utterly disguised, hardly in a condition to be fit for proper company let alone a sickroom. The man shrugged. “No need to worry.”

  She had hoped for so much more. However, Jennings was here and he had answers Sally needed. “Why do you say that?”

  “He has suffered this before.” Jennings strolled around restlessly; he leaned right over Felix’s face and then shrugged again. “He is not catching.”

  Sally sagged against the bed, resting her hands over Felix’s thighs, and sent up a prayer of thanks. He would live. That was all she needed to hear.

  Jennings stopped beside the duke. “Was that all? You interrupted a pleasant afternoon of drinking, I will have you know.”

  Rutherford’s eyes grew flinty. “Not quite.”

  Jennings heaved a sigh, then strolled away, inspecting the empty decanters on a nearby table. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and turned back to face them. “You know that fellow you sent after me is lucky I was in a good mood today and did not have a sword at hand. What more can I give in the service of my country, Your Grace?”

  “Time. I want to hire your services for the day and tonight.”

  Jennings inspected his fingernails. “It will cost you.”

  “Insolent pup.” Her grandfather barked out a laugh. “Sally, you can leave.”

  She glanced at Felix’s flushed face. She could not leave him. “But Felix…”

  “No argument. If the captain is soon to be on the mend, you have no business remaining. Jennings will stay, and Rodmell can take care of them both very well indeed.” He came closer, grasped her arm lightly, and turned her toward the door—away from her lover. “Do you want Lady Ellicott to discover you here? I do not think she would agree that your intended sacrifice in caring for the captain is a harmless activity for an unmarried woman. She is already looking for you.”

  He opened the door and pushed her out so hard she stumbled over her own feet.

  Rodmell darted inside, carrying yet more ice chips. He glanced back once, shrugged, and then kicked the door shut with his foot. She straightened her gown and let out a huff, scowling at her treatment.

  What was she to do with herself now? She would still worry for Felix until he had recovered his feet. But that begged the question: if she had been so ready to put her life at risk to care for Felix, could it really be over for them?

  If he died, she would never have an answer. But if he lived, she had some hard decisions to make, and soon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Felix smoothed his cravat into place, embarrassed and ashamed to have worried so many people unnecessarily. He was seated at the duke’s dining table for breakfast again, still pestered by questions, but at least he could answer them now with better clarity. “I do not know what it is, in truth. I was afflicted some years ago with a fever-like malady after shore leave in the West Indies. It comes and goes on its own schedule. This time was the worst it has ever been in a long time.”

  “You scared us all to death,” the duke grumbled, stabbing into his steak with more enthusiasm and even less finesse than a midshipman in the heat of his first battle. “And at my age I do not appreciate the experience.”

  Jennings pulled a face. “We had our close calls with fevers a time or two on board the Essex. Not much can be done but bury your dead when they do not recover.”

  Jennings and the duke made an odd pair of breakfast companions. They rubbed each other wrong Felix could tell, and yet the duke did not have Jennings removed and Jennings did not seem inclined to leave.

  “I should not have been here,” he agreed, weary but well once more. He would undoubtedly lose his command, but there was nothing to be done about that. He had fought hard to manage the illness without detection until now, and he could not very well deny a report of incompetence made by a respected and influential duke. Rutherford was sure to tell his son, Felix’s admiral, all about the situation upon his eventual return to Newberry Park. “I will pack and leave immediately.”

  “About time,” Jennings exclaimed, throwing down his napkin and standing.

  “You can go whenever you want, Jennings. However, I am not finished with Felix, and he must stay.” The duke scowled. “What is it with you men in the service? You have not the least bit of patience for the way things must be done.”

  “But my health is a black mark against me. Am I not unfit for command?”

  The duke studied him until his skin prickled with alarm. “By your account, and that of Jennings too, your health is no different than it has been for the past few years when you have captained your ship with outstanding zeal for His Majesty.”

  Felix was completely confused. “You do not think this illness affects my ability to command? I was insensible for two days.”

  The duke patted his napkin to his lips. “What do you normally do on board when the fever comes?”

  “Weather the storm. Have the officers dunk me over the side in the bosun’s chair on occasion. I pretend I need to bathe or deliberately lose a bet.”

  “Yes,” the duke said then pursed his lips a moment. “I recall Laurence mentioning such a lark in one of his first letters under your command. I thought it highly foolish of you at the time and sure to lead to unrest, but my grandson says the crew respects you all the more. Next time we will toss you into the sea, although I hate to think how Sally will complain about the treatment.”

  “Time for me to depart befo
re this gets overly dramatic,” Jennings asserted suddenly, collecting his hat from a side table. “I will see you at the village, Hastings, when you are able to escape this lot.”

  Felix waited until Jennings was gone before he faced the duke. “Why would Sally care?”

  The duke sipped his coffee and then added more sugar. “What do you remember of the past few days?”

  “Speaking with you, here, with Lady Penelope taking notes. Maitland’s valet and Captain Jennings arguing in the adjoining room about the length of his hair as it was being cut. I first thought I dreamed that altercation. My memories during my illness are often jumbled about.”

  “Jennings had the look of a scoundrel about him on his arrival,” the duke remarked indignantly.

  He had indeed. “Then waking up alone this morning as Rodmell laid out my uniform.”

  The duke grunted. “There are some things that should be remembered. Think about the time you have lost again, Captain. Harder.”

  He had dreamed of Sally, but he could not imagine her bent over his sickbed. Not after he had told her to never come near him again after arguing. Her cool fingers had slipped over his skin in the dream, enthralling him as she stripped off his clothes. She had begged him not to leave her in his dreams.

  Her family should not have allowed it, and yet they had been there too.

  He glanced at the duke sharply, fearing he remembered not a dream but Sally actually at his bedside. Her cold fingers had slipped between his lips with ice in the dream, and she had told him not to die. Damn, but she was a confusing wench. Had she been in his room and the duke knew about it? “I hope I have not caused problems.”

  “Eat.” Rutherford pointed to Felix’s plate with his knife. “I have no more questions for you today, but I do have a favor to ask if you are well enough for a short journey.”

  “Anything. I am entirely myself again.”

  “Good.” The duke drained his coffee. “My granddaughter acts as my emissary about the estate. I would like you to accompany her on a visit she must make today, but only if you feel up to it.”