“Good. Let us move along. The time grows late.” He turned to leave and then drew back, studying her, as if really seeing her for the first time all day. “Are you unwell?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I am afraid so. I awoke with a sore throat and headache, and it seems to be getting worse.” No doubt the last thing a man wanted to hear on his wedding night was his wife was ill.
He moved toward her and placed his hand on her forehead. “My God, you are burning up with fever, Arabella.”
She nodded, the slight movement causing her head to pound. “May we move along? I feel as though I need to lie down.”
“Tavers,” Nash shouted as he headed to the entrance hall to seek the butler. “Have my carriage brought around immediately. Lady Clarendon is ill, and I need to get her home as quickly as possible.”
Home. The word sounded as odd to Arabella’s ears as her new tittle did, since this had always been home. Now she belonged to Lord Clarendon, and consequently, home was his townhouse. Her head too muddled to sort it all out, she took a few steps, and called out, “Nash!” She stumbled and he was right beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
She looked up at him. He seemed very far away. “I don’t feel well at all.”
“I know.” He scooped her into his arms and strode down the corridor. “Is my carriage ready?”
“Yes, my lord. The driver was in the process of bringing it around when I sent word for him to hurry.”
Mother followed them, wringing her hands. “Will you be all right, Arabella?”
“She will be fine.” Nash swept through the door Tavers held open and descended the steps.
“My animals!” Arabella barely got the words out.
“They will remain here until you are better. Now I must get you home, into bed, and summon a doctor.”
Arabella rested her very heavy head against Nash’s chest. Her clothes scratched, every part of her body ached, and she still felt as though she might completely embarrass herself by bringing up what little bit of food she’d consumed at the breakfast.
Nash placed her into the carriage and followed her in. She wobbled a bit until he settled beside her then drew her onto his lap.
“This is not proper,” she mumbled into his neck.
“I am your husband. You look as though you will slide to the floor any minute.” He grabbed a blanket from underneath the padded seat and covered her with it. Tapping on the ceiling of the coach, he leaned back as the coach moved forward.
“I am very warm. Perhaps we can remove the blanket?”
“I don’t think so, Arabella. If you have a fever, you are better off covered.”
She hated being told what to do, and if she wasn’t feeling so miserable she would have fought him on the matter. But never had she felt so weak. A lone tear slid from her eye and traveled down her cheek. Within minutes several others joined it until she was having a hard time controlling her sobs.
Her wedding day. She’d only had three days to plan it, she was married to a man she hardly knew, their interaction so far had not been promising, she had never felt so sick in her life, her animals were left behind, and she was to be placed into a bed in a house she’d never even visited.
Nash tilted her chin up. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ll get you home, and Sophia can help you into bed. I’ve already sent word for the doctor to attend you. It will be all right.”
When she continued to cry, mewling like a weak kitten, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Blow your nose.”
Lord, he was even ordering her to blow her nose…like she was a child. She stubbornly just wiped it instead, and closed her eyes.
…
Nash held his new wife, the heat from her fever-riddled body warming him enough that he wished he could strip off all his clothes. What a disaster. From the time the ridiculously named cat, Miss Aphrodite, had slammed into his chest, his life had gone from one mishap to another. And they all centered on the new Lady Clarendon—his countess.
A fine wedding night he would have. The chilling champagne and soft candlelight he’d ordered his valet to prepare would be enjoyed only by him. He sighed and looked out the window. Not that he was such a lecher he could not control himself until his wife recovered, but a man did expect to take pleasure in the idea of bedding his new wife. Especially this one, with her soft curves and lush mouth.
The short ride from the Melrose townhouse to his own didn’t give him much time to feel sorry for himself. As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, his butler Quinn hurried down the steps, still managing to maintain his dignity. “My lord, a Dr. Bennett has arrived and said he’d been summoned. I directed him to the library. Is Lady Clarendon ill?”
“Yes. Has her maid Sophia arrived?”
“About ten minutes ago. I sent her upstairs to my lady’s bedchamber.”
“Thank you.” Nash handed Arabella off to a footman and alighted from the carriage. He was annoyed with the feeling of possessiveness as the tall, handsome footman placed her back into his arms.
“Where am I?” Arabella’s voice was raspy, and her eyes glazed over.
Nash looked down at his bride. “We are home, my dear. Sophia has arrived and awaits you in your bedchamber. As soon as she has you settled, the doctor will attend you.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes, her head tucked against his chest.
He was becoming concerned at the amount of heat radiating from her body, right through her clothes and his. Sophia awaited them outside the bedchamber door, wringing her hands. “Oh my lord, is my lady so sick?”
“Yes, I am afraid she is. Please see her settled in bed and I will have the doctor attend her as soon as you are finished.” He placed her gently on the counterpane. He watched for a few minutes while Sophie removed her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse. Feeling as though he intruded, Nash left the room and headed to the library to speak with the doctor.
“My wife’s maid is preparing her, doctor. She will notify us when she is ready.”
“What seems to be the problem with Lady Clarendon?”
Nash ran his fingers through his hair. “We married just this morning, and—”
“Felicitations, my lord.” The doctor nodded.
“Thank you. It came to my attention at the wedding breakfast that my wife was not herself. When she assured me it was no more than bridal nerves, I dismissed it. Then when we were about to leave her mother’s home, she said she did not feel well. When I touched her forehead, she was quite hot. She then mentioned a sore throat and headache had been troubling her for most of the day.”
“Hmm. Well as soon as I am able, we’ll take a look at her. Was she complaining of a stomach upset?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. I also noticed she ate practically nothing at the breakfast.”
Nash moved to the sideboard and poured a drink. “Would you care for a drink while we wait?”
“No, thank you.” The doctor wandered the room, looking at the various titles on the bookshelves as Nash stared out the window, sipping on his drink. After about ten minutes of the two men lost in their own thoughts, Sophia entered the room.
“My lord, my lady is ready for the doctor now.”
“Thank you.” Nash headed to the door. “This way, doctor.”
Arabella looked so small in the huge bed. His stomach tightened at her paleness of face and the way she picked at the covers, seeming to be unclear as to where she was. “Arabella?” He sat alongside her and took her hand, his heart thumping at the heat that came from her flesh. “The doctor will examine you now. I will wait outside.”
She tugged on his hand. “No. I’m frightened. Stay here. Please.”
“Certainly.” He moved off the bed, and the doctor moved forward. The man was swift and efficient in his examination. Nash stayed back from the bed, watching Arabella thrash around, calling for her mother.
He was growing more alarmed by the minute. “Sophia, please send word to Lady Melrose to come immediat
ely.”
“Yes, my lord. I will go myself.” The maid hurried from the room, glancing back at Arabella.
“Thank you.”
Nash walked in a circle as the doctor made noises that only increased his unease. Finally, the man stood and approached Nash. “My lord, I believe your wife suffers from the grippe. Or, influenza.”
“Influenza?” Nash reared back, focusing on the one word. He’d had two friends at Eton who had died from influenza, as well as his grandmother and several cousins.
“Yes. I am afraid that is what it is. I recommend leeches to rid the body of excess blood. That might help bring down her fever, as well.”
“No. No leeches.”
The doctor raised his chin. “That is the only accepted method of treatment for influenza.”
“Well, you won’t be treating this patient with leeches. They used that on my grandmother, and it did not help. In fact, my father was convinced it hastened her death, since she grew so weak after the procedures.”
The doctor picked up his bag. “I must tell you, my lord, there is also the chance your wife suffers from nerves, combined with a common cold. We have found young and nervous ladies tend to suffer more with colds than gentlemen do. After all, they are of a weaker nature, so that is understandable.”
Grateful that Arabella was too sick to hear the doctor’s comments, he took him by the elbow. “I will see you out, doctor. Besides leeches, what else do you recommend for colds?” He opened the bedchamber door and escorted him out.
“Keep the room warm. Drafts are very dangerous. You might want to have her maid fix a poultice for her chest if she begins to cough a great deal. Chamomile tea is good, if you can get her to drink it.” They descended the stairs. “You might use some cold cloths to bathe her body, if the fever rises.”
The front door opened and Lady Melrose rushed in. “How is Arabella?”
“This is Dr. Bennett. He has just examined her and declares she has a cold.” Nash glared at the doctor, warning him not to dispute him. The last thing he needed was a hysterical Lady Melrose on his hands. “Arabella was calling for you. Her bedchamber is on the second floor, the third door on the right.”
Lady Melrose swept past him and hurried up the stairs.
Nash visited the kitchen and instructed Cook to fix chamomile tea and a poultice.
“Oh my lord. The poor dear, only just married and now sick.” The woman shook her head. “I will also fix some broth. When my little ones had fevers, it seemed to soothe them.”
He headed back upstairs to find Lady Melrose sitting on a chair next to Arabella.
“She is so warm, my lord.” The woman held her daughter’s hand and pushed the hair back from her forehead.
“Cook is sending up chamomile tea that the doctor suggested, as well as some broth. I will have Sophia fetch cool water and some cloths if you want to bathe her.”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to Arabella.
Once Sophia arrived with the water and cloths, Nash excused himself, not wanting to watch Lady Melrose strip his new bride and wipe her down. He did not want to feel lust for the poor girl, but considering what he had planned for tonight, his mind continued to wander in that direction.
He ate his wedding night dinner alone in the dining room, since both Lady Melrose and his mother had requested trays. He certainly did not do justice to the wonderful meal Cook had prepared for the newlyweds. After eating, he wandered to the library for a brandy and time with the book he had started but certainly hadn’t planned on reading this night.
Shortly after ten o’clock he entered Arabella’s bedchamber. Lady Melrose sat slumped in the chair, her eyes closed, and her head nodding. Nash touched her gently on her shoulder. “My lady, I believe you should retire for the night.”
Her head came up quickly, she looked around, and then rubbed her eyes. “No, I cannot leave Arabella. She might need something in the night.”
“My wife is my responsibility now, madam. I intend to stay here to see her through the night.”
Lady Melrose’s brows rose. “I am not sure that is proper.”
He managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “We are married. You will find one of the maids outside the door. She will direct you to the room we have prepared for you and assist you in any way you need her.” He reached out and took her hand, escorting her to the door. “All will be well. You need your sleep.”
Glancing back at her daughter, Lady Melrose reluctantly left the room. Nash immediately undid his cravat and removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots. He rolled up his sleeves and drew the chair closer to the bed. Resting his arm on his knees, he watched his new wife. Arabella was in a fitful sleep, tossing and turning. He felt her forehead, and she remained very hot.
He rang for Sophia and had her bring more water and clean cloths. He also shooed her to her bed, promising to fetch her during the night if he needed anything.
Once he turned the bedcovers down, he groaned at the sight of the night rail that displayed the brown nipples of Arabella’s generous breasts, as well as the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. Calling on all his resources as a gentleman, he slid the bottom of the gown up, keeping the area from the top of her legs to her neck covered, and slowly wiped her warm flesh with the cool cloth.
The chore finally done, he placed the bowl of water and cloths on the dresser. He blew out the candles and settled into the chair, planning on a long, uncomfortable wedding night.
Chapter Seven
Arabella groaned and rolled to one side. She was so hot, and her body hurt so much. What was wrong with her? She opened her eyes and for an instant panicked at the complete darkness. As her eyes adjusted, a lone figure slumped in a chair came into view. Nash.
Her husband.
She thought she remembered her mother sitting in that chair. It must have been delirium due to the fever. Here she was lying in bed in no more than a nightgown, and he sat not two feet from her. If she wasn’t so sick, it would disturb her. Instead, she shifted once more, turning her back to him, and fell into a deep slumber.
She was so cold, her body racking with chills. No matter how many clothes she put on, she was still shaking. She stood in her nightclothes at the top of a hill with the wind whipping her, freezing her skin. Snow gathered at her feet, chilling her further. Was there nowhere she could go to get warm? She cried out.
“Arabella!” A gentle shake brought her out of the disturbing dream.
“Nash?”
In the darkness, he leaned over her. “You were thrashing about and moaning.”
“I’m so c-c-c-cold.”
Nash lit a candle by the bedside. He was partially undressed, his hair wild from where he must have been running his fingers through it. “Your fever must be going up again. I’ll get you more blankets.”
“Th-th-thank you.”
Nash piled two more blankets on her, but she still shook. He watched her for a few minutes, then said, “The best thing I can do to warm you up is climb into the bed with you.”
“Yes. I’m really c-c-c-old.”
Her eyes grew wide as he yanked his shirt from his breeches and pulled it off over his head. Golden, muscled flesh, covered with a scattering of dark brown hair down the center of his chest, disappearing into the top of his breeches. If she weren’t sick, she was sure any chill would have disappeared.
He lifted the covers and joined her. “Come here.” He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. She settled her head on his shoulder and laid her arm around his middle, relishing the warmth from his body. He’d been correct, he was much warmer than all the blankets he’d covered her with.
“Is that better?” He looked down at her, the darker flecks in his blue eyes illuminated by the candlelight.
“Yes, much better. I don’t understand how I can be so hot one moment and so cold right after that.”
“It’s how your body handles a fever. When my grandmother and cousins were so sick with influenza, I read as muc
h as I could about fevers.”
“Influenza. Is that what I have?”
He hesitated, which raised her fears a bit. “No. The doctor said it could be, but it could also be a common cold. He mentioned nerves, and considering how the last week has gone, there is a good chance this is merely a cold brought on by nerves.”
“I’m not troubled by nerves.”
Grinning down at her, he said, “This has been quite a different week for you than I imagine you’ve been used to.”
“Yes. But it has been for you, as well.”
“Indeed. Hopefully, I won’t catch your illness. But then, I am not a nervous young lady.”
Despite the pounding in her head and pain in her throat, she rallied enough to take umbrage at his remark. “I am not a nervous young lady, either.”
He cupped her cheek and smiled at her in a way that made her stomach do somersaults. Somehow, she was sure it had nothing to do with her illness, either. “I think it is best if you try to return to sleep. You need as much rest as you can to heal yourself.”
“Yes, I am tired.” She settled against him, then asked, “Was my mother here earlier?”
“She sat with you all evening. I sent her to bed and took over your care. Now go to sleep, wife.”
“Perhaps I will.” Sick or no, she was reluctant to use the moniker husband.
…
Nash would probably sleep but naught this night. He’d been uncomfortable in the chair, true, but now that he lay next to his warm, soft wife, discomfort had turned into torture. At least her shaking had ceased. She had seemed coherent just now when they spoke. He remembered his grandmother delirious for most of the time she suffered from influenza, which encouraged him to think perhaps Arabella suffered from no more than a cold.
He ran his fingers up and down her arm. Glancing down at her, he caught a slight smile on her face. She was truly a lovely woman. It annoyed him that her mother had been so unsure of her daughter’s appeal she had foisted old men on her. Arabella could have easily attracted a young, handsome, wealthy, and titled gentleman. Well, it turned out she had—except for the wealthy part. Certainly not to her mother’s credit, but her bumbling ineptitude, instead.
Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords & Ladies in Love) Page 7
