His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  Abigail almost sighed in relief when Mrs. Boart arrived with the doctor. Silently stepping aside, she allowed the short man to enter.

  “This better be an emergency. I was . . . Oh, I see.” The doctor rushed to the bed as the men gave him room.

  Her attention focused on the bed, Abigail paid no attention to any occupants in the room. As the doctor removed the bloodied cloths, her head spun. She had never seen so much blood, and more unnerving was the knowledge it belonged to someone close to her.

  “The bullet is lodged in his chest. I have to remove it,” the doctor informed them. “Hold him down in case he regains consciousness.”

  As the men hurried to do his bidding, the doctor rifled through his medical bag. He cut Lord Merrick’s shirt down the middle then poured a liquid over his bloodied chest. As the doctor produced a knife and forceps from his bag, Abigail’s stomach turned and her body swayed.

  When the knife made contact with Lord Merrick’s chest, his body thrashed as he screamed. Abigail fell to her knees, but was unable to leave or turn her head. The torment in his cry would haunt her forever.

  “Hold him steady!” The doctor began again and soon Lord Merrick fell motionless.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and her body rocked at the force of her sobs. The doctor continued digging for what seemed like hours, but she could not see his progress through her tears. Finally the sound of clinking metal in a dish echoed in the room, accentuated by the doctor’s relieved sigh.

  “Come, my lady,” Mrs. Boart said from above her. “You should not be here.”

  Abigail didn’t budge even as the older woman tried to help her to her feet. How could she leave without knowing of her husband’s fate? How could she sleep knowing Lord Merrick lie here suffering?

  Without the power to fight, Abigail allowed the housekeeper to drag her up and lead her into the bedchamber. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she heard the clinking of glass as Mrs. Boart poured her some water. As Abigail accepted the drink, she prayed it would calm her.

  Since the housekeeper clearly would not let her go back to Lord Merrick’s bedchamber, Abigail decided to listen by the door until the doctor finished as soon as Mrs. Boart left. She would take care of her husband. It was her duty. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a gulp, surprised as the bitter taste touched her tongue. Refusing to be dosed with laudanum, she attempted to lower the glass, but Mrs. Boart stilled her hand.

  “Please drink it, my lady. He needs you strong and well-rested. Let the men see to him tonight.”

  Although desperate to argue, Abigail did as she was told. Mrs. Boart was right. Tonight she would sleep. Tomorrow she would tend to her husband. Regardless of what the housekeeper declared in the morning, she would stay with Lord Merrick until he fully healed.

  Over the past month, he had been kinder to her than she, as his wife, deserved. He’d shown her a level of consideration she’d never expected to receive from a man. With his thoughtfulness, he’d earned her respect. She would stay by his side, she owed him that. Based on the frantic beating of her heart, Abigail doubted she could do anything less. She refused to allow him to die.

  Chapter 9

  Greyson’s eyes opened slowly, although he fought against the urge to wake up. It was dark . . . dark and cold. His body shook violently as it shivered, seeking warmth. Why was he so cold? Reaching out, he fumbled for a blanket, but pain shot through his chest. He tried to take a deep breath, but something squeezed him, limiting his air supply.

  Panic welled up inside of him. What had happened to him? He tugged at the fabric wrapped around his body, but it was secured tightly. Groaning as another stab of pain gripped him, he dropped his arms. His body shivered again and his teeth chattered. He needed to find warmth.

  “My lord?” a groggy voice asked. “Are you awake?”

  The vaguely familiar tone moved away from him as it spoke. A dim light appeared, but his vision remained too clouded with pain to see clearly. Something moved before him. A fire. Red and orange flames danced around the face of an angel. Fire brought heat. Stretching his arm out, he touched the flames, but they didn’t burn him, instead he felt silk gliding through his fingers.

  Suddenly a glass touched his lips, and he realized how parched he was. Gulping down the water, he wanted to sigh from the wondrous pleasure of it sliding down his throat.

  “What can I do for you?” the female whispered.

  His fire was a woman. Although he had never heard of a fire angel before, he welcomed the heat of her. Pulling her down beside him, while careful to keep her from landing on his already too restricted chest, he pressed every inch of him that didn’t hurt against her. She felt wonderful, and she smelled of Heaven.

  Keeping his angel close, he fell back asleep.

  Abigail peered down her nose at the ridiculous little man. Her husband’s fever had not subsided in over a week, and his periods of wakefulness lessened with each passing day. He never came back to her fully, but each time she saw his grey eyes, hope filled her. Now her hope was dying, and so was Lord Merrick.

  The doctor sighed. “My lady, I understand your concern, but there is nothing more I can do. If he is strong, he will survive. If not—”

  “I don’t want to hear that. Surely there is something you can do.”

  “The bullet cracked his ribs, and I can’t say for sure what other damage it caused. We are lucky the bullet missed anything major. You should be grateful he has lasted this long.”

  “How can you—?”

  “Well, if it isn’t Doctor Jones again,” Lord Jonathan interjected, entering the drawing room. “I hate to interrupt, but I believe Holland is hoping you will give him an update on Lord Merrick’s condition.”

  “Yes, at once. I’m sure he will understand.” The doctor shot her a smug look, telling her exactly how little he thought of her.

  Keeping her fists clenched at her sides, she simply glared at the man, waiting for him to leave. Doctor Jones had not only been inattentive, but he also suffered from laziness. She found she didn’t care for his medical advice or his bedside manner.

  “How is our patient doing today?” Lord Jonathan inquired. “I would have asked Doctor Jones, but I get the impression you don’t agree with his assessment.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Her cheeks heated.

  Lord Jonathan had come every day to check on Lord Merrick, and each time, she’d managed to keep her opinions to herself. As she’d soon discovered, she remained the only one who didn’t agree with Doctor Jones’ ministrations.

  “I’m not. If Greyson is receiving less than stellar care, I wish to know about it. I also enjoy seeing a woman speak her mind.” He winked at her.

  She looked down, uncomfortable by the attention. “Well, I can’t say anything for sure against the level of care, as I have no knowledge to compare it to, however Lord Merrick’s condition is worsening.”

  Lord Jonathan’s normally cheerful eyes turned emotionless, but he kept his strained smile in place. She could see the pain in his eyes and realized his happy demeanor was a mask to hide his true self from the world. She could relate to that.

  He offered his arm. “Shall we go check on him while you tell me how Holland intends to rectify the situation with the doctor based on your concerns?”

  “Holland, like the rest of the staff, is greatly concerned over his master. They hold on to Doctor Jones’ words as if the man is infallible. Since I’m not a doctor, my opinion is quickly disregarded.”

  “I shall not treat you thusly. I have always had a weakness for beautiful women.”

  Smiling at him, she shook her head. It was impossible to resist his charm. She only hoped he would agree with her, because something needed to be done for her husband. Something the doctor could not do.

  As they entered the dark bedchamber, the stench of sickness assaulted her nostrils as usual. Doctor Jones had insisted they keep the curtains drawn and the door closed in order to prevent Lord Merrick from getting a chill
. However, as he did every day, Lord Jonathan threw open the curtains and cracked a window. The fresh air immediately poured into the stifling room.

  “Why are these constantly being closed? When Greyson awakens, is he supposed to believe it is night?”

  “It’s the doctor’s orders, which are quickly obeyed.” Her voice came out bitter, but she didn’t care.

  Lord Jonathan shook his head then approached the bed. As he lightly touched his friend’s face with the back of his hand, he winced. Concerned, she came up beside him. Lord Merrick’s breathing was shallow, but he remained alive.

  “What are your recommendations? When a fever took my mother, the room resembled this. She wasted away as the doctors watched, but I can’t allow that to happen to him.”

  Encouraged by having someone willing to help, Abigail straightened her shoulders and slid the sheets down to expose her husband’s dirty attire.

  “I understand the importance of the bandage, but I don’t understand why it or his clothes can’t be changed. From the violent swings in temperature, he is filthy. I would have changed him myself, but I can’t lift him.”

  “Then I shall help you.”

  Immediately, Lord Jonathan began removing her husband’s shirt. Thrilled to be doing something, and to have help, she climbed on the bed and assisted him. Together, they carefully began unraveling the bandage. She was glad Lord Merrick didn’t wake during the painstaking process.

  When the ends parted, Abigail gasped at the sight. The bullet wound had been stitched closed, but the skin around it had puckered up and burned bright red. She had no doubt the infection and fever arose from this. If Lord Jonathan had not agreed to help her, they never would have known.

  “This can’t be good.” Lord Jonathan sighed. “Hurry, we can remove his trousers then you can bathe him while I go acquire some willow bark to ease the inflammation. Just be sure to keep him warm after he is clean.”

  Abigail swallowed. The idea of removing her husband’s trousers and rubbing a cloth over his body made her uncomfortable. Attempting to keep her reaction to herself, she nodded. When Lord Jonathan began unfastening Lord Merrick’s trousers, her eyes remained fixed upon his fingers. Shaking her head to clear it, she grabbed a sheet and tossed it over her husband’s lap before Lord Jonathan could expose him.

  He didn’t comment as he continued his task. As he held Lord Merrick up, she slid the trousers off while being careful not to touch his skin. Once he lay completely unclothed, she drew the coverlet back up to his neck.

  “Thank you,” she whispered without making eye contact.

  “Don’t worry. He will be all right.” He lightly touched her shoulder. “I’ll speak with Holland for you. I have known him for far too long, so he will listen to me. You can’t do this alone.”

  As soon as he left, she went to the water basin and collected the bathing supplies. She refused to allow her discomfort to delay her and risk giving her husband a chill. Despite her concerns, she would take care of him.

  Beginning with the easier part, she stroked the wet cloth across his face. She had done this many times over the past week, and she never tired of the chore. Not only did she enjoy the contact with him, but she could always imagine doing it as he watched her with his intense eyes.

  Slipping the sheet down to his waist, she cringed at the sight of the infection. Taking care to apply as little pressure as possible, she gently rubbed the cloth over him. Although he teetered on the brink of death, she could not contain her fascination of seeing his naked body.

  A dusting of hair covered his muscles, trailing down underneath the sheets. He was perfect, and she could not resist the urge to run her fingers across his chest. She marveled at the texture and wished she had received an opportunity before he lay here dying.

  A voice in the back of her mind reminded her she would have had her chance if she had allowed him into her bedchamber that night. She could have prevented this as he would have been safe with her. Swallowing the painful recap of her mistake, she lifted her hands off him. She could not forgive herself, so dwelling on where the blame belonged would not serve her now.

  After cleansing his upper body, she poured brandy over the wound, hoping the alcohol would help lessen the infection. He gasped, bringing her attention to his face, but his eyes remained closed. She wondered if she had imagined the sound. At this point, she would give anything to have him wake up.

  Turning back to her task, she bundled his upper body. As she stood back, she tried to work up enough courage to complete the next part. She felt as though she were taking advantage of his unconscious state. Biting her lower lip, she reached for the sheet covering his lower body.

  She kept her eyes averted from the one place she was most curious about and started on his feet. Working her way upward, she took her time with each of his powerful legs. Although she told herself her attention stemmed from her desire to be thorough, she enjoyed touching him and learning his body.

  Moving her attention to his most private area, she was surprised to see it sticking straight up. As she rubbed the cloth over him, he grew even larger. Her mouth fell open, and she quickly stepped away, but could not remove her eyes. Curious, she edged forward and timidly brushed her fingers along his length.

  Lord Merrick groaned.

  Drawing back, she saw that his lips parted and his steely grey eyes rested upon her. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she hastily used the sheet to cover him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, another wave of warmth washing over her. “I just wanted to bathe you and . . . I’m so sorry.”

  He moved his mouth, but no sound escaped. Snapping out of her embarrassment, she grabbed a glass of water and held his head as he drained the cup.

  “More?” she asked. At his nod, she refilled the cup and assisted him again.

  “Cold,” he rasped, barely audible.

  “Of course.” She ran to his dressing room and quickly located two more blankets to wrap around him. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

  “Need . . . need fire angel.”

  Her heart sank. He spoke nonsense. A clear sign his condition had worsened. Tears stung her eyes. Unable to help herself, she gently wrapped her arms around her husband and buried her face in his neck. She could not let him die. He had become too important to her.

  “Mmm, my warm angel.” He rubbed his face up against her.

  Realizing he needed her, she climbed into his bed and wrapped as much of her around him as possible without moving him or touching his chest. Although useful, the position provided her comfort as well. She savored those nights she’d woken up snuggled close to him.

  Exhaustion overtook her as she lay against him. Too many sleepless nights and worrying had taken its toll on her. Soon, his body felt cooler than usual, which gave her hope. Satisfied with his temperature and with his brief consciousness, she fell asleep.

  Greyson’s eyes opened to see his wife standing over him. Her focus was on his upper body as she buttoned his shirt. His body felt sore, and his chest ached, making him wonder what she’d done to him. How could he not remember an experience that would leave his body as such?

  Studying her face, she didn’t have the look of a well-pleasured woman. No, she appeared tired, haggard even. Her lips were drawn tight, and her dress was wrinkled.

  “Did I miss something?” he croaked.

  She jumped. “Lord Merrick! You’re awake.”

  The smile she bestowed upon him made his heart ache. She had not looked at him like that since before they were wed. He found the idea strange that she would be so pleased to see him awake. What had happened to him?

  In a rush, his memory returned. Algers. Greyson’s hands clenched as he thought about the man’s threat. His wife appeared unharmed, but he . . . he had been shot. Reaching up to touch his chest, he felt a bandage wrapped tightly around it.

  “Would you like some water?” she asked, then before he could respond, she slid her arm around his neck and fed him the water like a baby. He didn�
�t appreciate the assumption that he would need help, nor did he care to be treated like this, but his thirst was too great to complain.

  After draining the glass, he dropped his head back against her arm, exhausted. The bullet must have taken quite a toll on him. Never before had he felt so worn out after a simple task.

  “More?” She straightened then walked over to the pitcher.

  Lacking the energy, he shook his head. She returned to the side of the bed and watched him, then reached out and lightly touched his forehead. Shocked at her familiarity, he grabbed her hand. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him.

  “What is going on?” he demanded, although lacking his normal authority.

  “Are you truly awake this time?”

  “Is that not obvious?” He wondered if he’d gone mad or if she had. Nothing made sense.

  “I should get Holland. It’s a miracle.” After another breathtaking smile, she hurried from the room, leaving his door open.

  With her gone, he shifted, refusing to remain there like an invalid. Biting his lip against the pain, he shifted himself into a sitting position. Breathing heavily, he scooted himself backward, putting the pillows behind him. The task took more strength than it should have. Exhausted, he fell back against the pillows.

  From his new vantage point, he could survey his surroundings. Besides his normal belongings, there were cloths, blankets, and basins of water on various surfaces. He also noticed a rocking chair close by his bed. His bedchamber had been turned into a sick room.

  When Holland arrived with Lady Merrick, his butler’s eyes held happiness and awe, whereas his wife’s held pride. He felt like he were on display, and he didn’t like it at all.

  “My lord, how are you feeling?” Holland asked him in a gentle voice, one normally reserved for a child.

  “Besides the obvious, I suppose I can’t complain.”

  “Excellent. Is there anything I can get for you?”