“Floor is hard.”
“Then put your head in my lap.” She moved so she was sitting in front of him. He obligingly shifted so his head rested in her lap.
A slight smile tilted his mouth. “Nice. Must do this again.” Then he closed his eyes.
“I pray you will not.” Her voice was sharp with worry. What if he was dying? A sick dread gripped her. She could not bear it if he was gone. A future without him would be a hopeless swirling void. She bent over him and closed her own eyes and whispered a silent prayer.
“Chloe.”
Her eyes flew open. Justin was at her side. “What happened?” he asked quickly.
“Eliot admitted him and then he fainted. His head is so very hot—he must have a fever.”
“Has he awakened at all?”
“A few moments ago. He spoke, but did not make much sense.”
“The fever, undoubtedly. I’ve sent for Dr Crowley, but for now we must get him upstairs.” He signalled to Eliot and the young, burly footman who hovered nearby.
Chloe stood aside as the three men lifted and then carried him up the stairs. She trailed them, feeling completely helpless. Belle met them at the top of the stairs. “Mrs Keith is preparing the blue bedchamber. How is he?” Her face looked as sick as Chloe felt.
“He is alive. He has a fever,” Justin said as they moved past her.
Belle saw Chloe. “Oh, my poor dear!” She hurried forward and caught Chloe in an embrace. They held each other for a moment and then Belle released her. “You must go to him. I must tell Lady Farrows and then I will join you as soon as I can.”
They had just laid him on the bed when Chloe entered the room. His eyes were open but unfocused. She stood in the doorway, not certain what to do as Justin’s valet set to work removing his muddy boots and stockings. Justin and one of the footmen had already helped him out of his outer coat and were now stripping him of his waistcoat and stock.
Justin looked up. “You should leave. We need to remove his clothing and put him into a dry nightshirt.”
“I would like to help.”
His face was not unkind. “For now you should go. He would not like to have you see him like this.”
She backed away, knowing he was right, but wanting something to do, anything to rid herself of this utterly helpless feeling. She felt even more helpless as the servants bustled in and out, and then Lady Farrows, after giving her a brief embrace, joined the others behind the closed door. Dr Crowley arrived just before her mother and Arthur returned from their excursion to the village.
Lady Ralston flew at her. “I have just heard! My love! How worried you must be!”
Chloe was enveloped in a smothering embrace. “Mama, please…” She would lose all patience if her mother suddenly had hysterics.
Her mother pulled away. “My dear, you must come and lay down.”
“No, I must stay and hear what Dr Crowley says.”
“But you are so pale! I fear you are about to become ill as well.”
“I am fine.”
“Chloe… Arthur, you must reason with her.”
Arthur spoke. “She will undoubtedly be more distressed if forced to rest before she knows the diagnosis.” He took Lady Ralston’s arm. “Come, Aunt. You should change before you catch a chill as well.”
This unexpected support apparently stunned Lady Ralston as much as it did Chloe. Her mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. “I…I suppose you are right.”
“Good.” Arthur glanced at Chloe. “I, of course, join you in hoping that Lord Salcombe will soon be fully recovered.”
“Thank you.” She was too taken aback to say any more before he led Lady Ralston away.
Then the door opened and Justin stepped out, followed by the physician.
Her heart slammed to her throat as Justin came over and touched her arm. “He has the influenza, but his lungs are severely affected.” He paused. “There is some indication he has developed pneumonia as well.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “What can be done?”
“I have bled him and then administered a dose of laudanum to help him rest more easily. Cool compresses to help lower his fever. In these cases I have found a cool bath to be helpful.” Dr Crowley paused. “And prayers.”
“Yes.” She caught Justin’s arm as soon as the doctor had left. “I want to see him.”
“It would be best if you waited.”
“No. I will not sit by and do nothing. I cannot bear to do nothing. I can help nurse him.”
“My dear…” Justin began.
“She needs to do this,” Belle said quietly from the doorway. “She will go quite mad if she doesn’t. I know I would.”
Justin looked down at her. “There is the risk of becoming ill yourself. You are not long recovered from your own illness.”
“I am quite recovered. It does not matter at any rate for this is what I want to do. What I will do.” She walked past him and Belle into the room.
Brandt lay very still on the bed, his chest rising and falling beneath the quilt. The darkness of the stubble around his mouth only emphasised his terrible pallor. She knelt beside him and took his hand. “Brandt, it is Chloe.” Her voice thickened with unshed tears and she could not say any more. She hardly noticed when Lady Farrows quietly departed and left her holding his hand in silence.
—
The small sound awakened Chloe from the light sleep into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes, disorientated at first, and then remembered; she was in the dimly lit bedchamber, sitting next to the bed in which Brandt had tossed and turned in feverish delirium for the past four days.
She left the chair and moved to the side of the bed. He slept, one bare arm flung over the quilt covering his chest. She watched him for a moment. His breathing seemed less laboured, nor did he seem quite as restless. She felt his forehead. It no longer felt so hot. Perhaps Lady Farrows had been right in declaring the medicine Dr Crowley had prescribed only contributed to his delirium. She had refused to allow Mrs Keith to give him the last two doses, despite the older woman’s great objections. Hope flickered in her.
Where was Mrs Keith? Unable to sleep, Chloe had come to his bedchamber what seemed like hours ago. Mrs Keith, who sat with him, was clearly exhausted, so Chloe had sent her away, promising she would stay with Brandt. Mrs Keith had protested but then said if Chloe did not mind staying she needed to fetch fresh cloths. So Chloe had sat in the wing chair next to the bed, her eyes on Brandt’s face, praying his fever would break. She had thought the housekeeper would be gone for only a short while, but the candle on the table by the bed had burnt almost completely. Not that she minded that. She would have sat with him every hour of his illness if they had allowed her. She would return to her chair and stay with him until morning.
Before she could move, his eyes opened. “An angel,” he murmured.
He had said a number of nonsensical things in the past few days.
“I am Chloe.”
“Then I am in heaven after all.”
“You are at Falconcliff.”
“No.”
So he was still delirious. “You must rest.”
His hand caught her arm and his grip was surprisingly strong. “Water, please.”
“You must let go of my arm then.” The hope began to grow. He had not asked for water before. She moved to the bed table and poured him a glass and then returned to the bedside. “I can help you.” She sat next to him and lifted the glass to his lips. He sipped slowly, but soon finished it. “Do you want more?”
“Later.”
“I must tell Mrs Keith that you are awake.” She started to rise, only to find her arm again in his grip.
“Later,” he said. “Stay with me.”
She sank slowly down on the bed next to him. “Do you know who I am?”
“An angel, and I am in paradise.” His eyes were fixed on her face, but she had no idea if he was truly seeing her.
“No, you are at Falconcliff.”
&n
bsp; “Allow me my delusions.” His other hand had come up and caught her other arm. He began to draw her slowly down on his chest. “Will you kiss me, my angel?”
“You are not well.”
“Perhaps not.” His expression changed and she saw the desire, but even more the longing and vulnerability. “I need you,” he said simply.
She bent down and kissed him. He lay still under her soft kiss, allowing her to explore his mouth. She touched his face, his hair, his eyelids wanting to feel him, wanting to reassure herself he was alive.
He drew her down to his chest and she found his mouth again. He did not move for a moment and then he groaned. His arms pinned her to him and somehow she was underneath him and he was kissing her with a hot passionate need that swept her away with its force. Her own hands tangled in his hair and she returned his kiss, the horrible worries and fears of the past few days driving her own passion. She wanted to be part of him, to press into him, to reassure herself he was alive, to become part of him. He opened her dressing gown and his hand cupped her breast through the thin linen of her nightrail.
She gasped when he circled the sensitive nipple with a gentle finger. Her stomach contracted and her body arched in an effort to press closer to him. The voluminous folds of the dressing gown suddenly seemed in her way and when he pushed it away she did not object.
There was nothing between them except the thin cotton of her nightrail. His hand stroked her bared leg, moving in sensuous circles upwards until he was stroking the silky soft skin between her thighs. She stiffened at the unfamiliar touch, but then his mouth was on hers and his fingers were inside her, stroking, caressing the most private part of her being.
Waves of tension radiated from where his fingers continued their seductive ministrations. Her legs closed around his hand and she pressed against him, begging for relief from the hot heavy wanting. And then his leg was between her thighs, gently parting them. He removed his hand and she felt the unfamiliar firm, fleshy tip at her opening. He hesitated. “Chloe?”
“Yes. Please,” she whispered. Her legs seemed to part of their own accord in invitation.
He slowly entered her and then paused and touched her face with his hand. “My sweet angel,” he murmured and then thrust deeper into her. She bit her lip, startled by the dull pain, and then he was moving in measured, rhythmic strokes inside her. She closed her eyes, and clung to him as his thrusts deepened and quickened. She was a part of him, her own body swept away by his passion as the tension built in her. With a final thrust, his seed spilled into her.
He hovered over her for a moment before withdrawing. He cupped her face, still lying half on her. “If this is a dream, I pray I will never awaken. You have taken me to paradise.” He kissed her again. And then coughed.
Her eyes jerked opened. The candle had burnt completely, but in the faint moonlight she saw his eyes were glazed. His hair was damp and his forehead wet with per- spiration. His hand felt hot against her face and his body heat burned through her nightrail. “You are feverish,” she whispered. Oh, heavens! What had she done to him.
“Yes, my lovely angel,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, his arm draped over her. She tried to move and he stirred, his eyes opening. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered before his eyes shut again, and she saw he had fallen asleep.
She managed to remove his arm and sat up, her dreamlike state rapidly disappearing. I have been seduced. No, that was not quite true. If anything she had seduced him, gone to him, wanting to assure herself he was alive, wanting to keep the fears away, and when he had said he needed her, his face vulnerable, she had given herself to him. Somehow, in that peculiar state she had been in, it had seemed only right to surrender to the final, natural conclusion.
She had no idea if he would even remember what had happened. He seemed to think she was an angel. Perhaps he would consider it a dream.
She had no idea whether that would be for the best or not. She rose from the bed on shaky legs and retrieved her dressing gown, which had become tangled under them. The dark stain in its folds seemed to jump out at her; clear evidence that it had not been a dream.
She clutched it to her chest for a moment and took a breath. She could not think about this—she must check on Brandt, for what if she had sent him into a relapse? He was breathing better, but when he coughed again, she jumped. She brushed her hand across his head. He was hot, but not quite as hot as he had been in days past. She straightened the covers around him and prayed she had not harmed him. She looked down at his face, the strong contours of his cheeks, the way his lashes closed over his eyes. He looked both strong and vulnerable and she wanted nothing more than to lie with him again.
She spun around when the door opened. Mrs Keith bustled in, her face contrite under her ruffled nightcap. “I am so sorry, Lady Chloe. I meant only to put my feet up for a bit and I fell asleep. I do not know what the Duchess will say as I was not to let you sit with him at night when you so much need your own sleep.”
“There is no need to tell the Duchess, or anyone else. I would not want to be scolded for leaving my bed.” Which had just been long enough for her to seduce Brandt in the midst of his fever.
Mrs Keith looked relieved. “Then that is all right.” She moved to Brandt’s side. “How is our patient?” She touched his forehead. A little frown crossed her forehead, which only deepened when he coughed. “His fever has gone up a trifle.”
Chloe felt guilty and sick all at once. “Is it very bad?”
Mrs Keith glanced at Chloe’s face. “Oh, my dear, ‘tis nothing to fret yourself over. Now, you must go to bed—it is nearly dawn. I have no doubt a spoon of Dr Crowley’s potent will bring the fever down straight away.”
“Are you certain?” Chloe asked. “I thought perhaps he seemed a little better without it.”
Mrs Keith moved to the bedside table and picked up the bottle. “Now, I have no doubt Lady Farrows meant well, for after all he is her great-nephew, but his fever is up again and he is coughing so ‘tis best to heed Dr Crowley.” She looked back at Chloe. “You must go to bed. I promise you I will take the best care of him. He will not want to find you ill when he awakens.”
“No.” There seemed to be nothing else she could do. Her head was reeling and she felt again that she was in some sort of dream.
She was too tired and she must go to her room. Chloe backed away from Mrs Keith and towards the door, not wanting the older woman to see the faint stain on her nightrail. There was no one in the hall as she made her way to her bedchamber. The faint rays of dawn were already creeping across the sky as she climbed into bed.
An enormous fatigue overpowered her almost the moment she hit the pillow, but the last thing she thought of was being in Brandt’s arms.
Chapter Twelve
His head hurt and his throat was parched but for the first time in an eternity, the heat that had consumed him was gone. As was the sense of floating in a dream where voices and faces drifted in and out of his consciousness. Except for last night. That dream had been so vivid, so real he had no idea if it had been a dream at all.
He shifted and slowly opened his eyes, half-hoping, half-dreading that she would be there but there was no soft, slender body nor any sign at all in the smooth covers that anyone else had shared the bed with him. He prayed he had only seduced Chloe in his dreams after all.
“Brandt?”
His aunt appeared by his bed. For a moment he had no idea why she would be there and then he recalled the ball. The tunnel. And the licence.
Relief flooded her lined face. “Oh, my dear boy! Thank God! You are awake. Do you know me?”
“Aunt,” he managed to croak. “Water, please.”
“Oh, yes.” She bustled over to the night stand and then returned with a glass that she held to his lips. He had a vague memory of Chloe doing the same thing, but perhaps that had only been a dream as well.
“You do not know how we have worried about you!” To his astonishment, he saw her eyes were filled with te
ars. “There were times when we did not know if you would live!”
“But I did.” He wanted to close his eyes again, but he needed to know about Chloe. “Lady Chloe? Is she here?”
“Yes, the poor lamb. She has been at your bedside every day, and sometimes at night, nearly ill with worry.”
Had she been with him last night? “Must see her.”
“Of course. But first I must tell the Duchess you are finally awake.”
“No, Chloe.”
“I will send her to you as soon as possible. You must rest for now.”
He watched her leave and then tried to sit up, but he was as weak as a newborn. He finally fell back against the pillows. He needed to see Chloe as soon as possible, reassure himself that nothing had happened between them.
Or find out if it had.
He willed himself to stay awake, but dozed off anyway. He jerked awake when the door softly opened, but it was Belle who entered. She moved to his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak. Beg pardon for the inconvenience.”
A little smile touched her mouth. “We are only grateful you managed to make it to Falconcliff in time to inconvenience us. I’ve sent for Justin. He should be here shortly.”
“Chloe. Need to see her.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “She is resting now. She has not eaten or slept much in the past few days and Dr Crowley felt it best that she stay in bed. He gave her a draught, but I promise that she will see you as soon as she is able. Do not worry, she is not ill, only tired.”
He bit back a curse. “Should have taken better care of her.”
“Yes, but she insisted she could not stand by and do nothing. She wanted to stay with you.”
He recalled his aunt’s words. Day and night. “Last night? Was she here?”
A puzzled expression crossed her face. “I do not think so. Mrs Keith was with you and then your aunt.”
“I see.” So she hadn’t been there but he still felt uneasy.
“You must rest. I will sit with you until Justin arrives.”
He nodded.
—
Chloe awoke, her head heavy. She forced her eyes open, disorientated to see the evening shadows on the wall. Why was she in bed at this time? Then she remembered the draught Dr Crowley had administered. She had awoken in the late morning. Dr Crowley had just seen Brandt and Belle had insisted he see her as well. He had proclaimed her fatigued, had prescribed a draught and told Belle she must stay in bed the rest of the day.
The Viscount's Bride Page 21
