Kiss the Earl

by Gina Lamm

  “Please,” she whispered, finding the strength to fuel the words somewhere deep inside. “Patrick…”

  “I am here. Have some more tea.”

  The cup was at her lips again, and she’d never been gladder to drink mud in her life. Not because it felt good, but because he was there giving it to her.

  She drank it all and sighed. It was too hard to open her eyes again. She’d sleep, and Patrick would be there with her.

  His large hand lay across her forehead, then slipped down to cup her cheek. The corner of her mouth lifted, and she gave in to oblivion for a while.

  * * *

  But when she woke, she was on fire. Sweat beaded her lip, and she thrashed against the pain. It was burning her alive; she was melting like a crayon in an oven. Something had to give or she’d just burn up…

  A cool, wet cloth ran its way across her chest, and she moaned in sheer pleasure.

  “Easy, angel,” he said, moving the cloth upward to her neck. “Does that not feel nice?”

  The cloth disappeared, and she almost cried, but then it came back, cooler than before. It wiped the sweat from her face, leaving a damp trail across her shoulders, down her belly, across her breasts.

  Several long minutes later, after the cloth had been dipped for the fourth time, she opened her eyes.

  “Patrick, I don’t want to die.”

  He stopped, the cloth on her chest, and looked her straight in the eye. “You will not.”

  “I might,” she said as he resumed bathing her with the wet cloth. “You know I might.”

  “I will not let you.” His words were lined with desperation and determination in equal parts. “I will not let you die, Ella.”

  She looked at him, and for the first time, she really, truly saw the man inside. He hadn’t left her. She’d been a crazy inconvenience to him, somebody he didn’t know at all, but he’d saved her, time and time again. And here he was, trying like hell to keep her fever down, and she knew, right then, what she wanted.

  “Kiss me, Patrick.”

  “What?”

  The desperate plea came natural as breathing. “Kiss me. If I’m going to die, I want to do it with your kiss on my lips.”

  “You are not going to die,” he whispered, but he leaned close to her mouth anyway.

  “Then kiss me to help me live,” she whispered back, and with a low groan of defeat, he closed the rest of the distance between them.

  Even though fever still ravaged her body, his lips were warm, strong as they moved gently over hers. His hands cupped her cheeks, and she wished she could wrap her arms around his back and hold him close, but she was too weak.

  Her skin tingled as his hands ran down to her shoulders, scooping beneath her to lift her up to his kiss. He tasted so good, like strength and peace and direction—things she hadn’t ever had before she met him.

  When he lay her back down on the pillows, his eyes glittering down at her in the candlelight, she knew that if she died right that moment, she’d be happy.

  For once.

  * * *

  He did not know what madness possessed him, but he did know that he did not want to be loosed from its grip.

  She’d been so ill for the last days, he’d thought she would surely dry out and float away, like a dead leaf. He’d only managed to get small sips of tea and broth down her throat, but now, with her looking up at him, her lips swollen and eyes bright, he dared to believe what he told her.

  “You are better than you were, and you will continue to improve every day. I swear it to you.” He rested his forehead against hers, relief sapping the strength from his limbs. “You will be home before you know it.”

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered, and he complied. Gently, but the passion was still there. He could not deny his body’s reaction to her. She was soft, willing, beautiful, and kind. He wanted her, but he tried to keep that from her with his soft kiss.

  After all, she was going home. And that was something he must give her. He’d promised. So this kiss would have to last forever, for there would be no others.

  Her mouth opened beneath his, and he groaned softly as her tongue ran across his lower lip. He tasted her, and she him, a sweet giving and taking that was not nearly enough to suit him.

  Though it pained him, he raised his head.

  “You must rest, Ella.”

  She gave a halfhearted nod, her eyes already drifting closed. He felt her forehead, relieved beyond measure to note how much cooler her skin felt than before.

  “Sleep now,” he said. “I shall be here when you wake.”

  He stood as her breathing evened, looking down on her for several moments. It was late, the sun having long since disappeared beyond the horizon, but he’d not left her side. And nor would he, not until she was stronger. As soon as he could manage it, Ella would return to her own life. He must remember that and act accordingly. She was his patient, nothing more.

  A timid knock at the door came then, and he turned.

  “Enter.”

  Mrs. Templeton appeared, a soft smile on her face.

  “Your lordship, I brought you a supper tray, since you did not come down.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Templeton,” Patrick said as the housekeeper set the covered tray down on the table by the fire.

  “How is the young miss?” Mrs. Templeton nodded toward the bed.

  “Improving, thank the good Lord.” Patrick raked a hand through his hair. “I was beginning to doubt my own judgment in not allowing that disgrace of a doctor to touch her, but it seems that for now, she is fighting the sickness and winning.”

  His housekeeper smiled, her lined face wrinkling further with the expression. “That is wonderful news, my lord. Now you must eat and keep your own strength up, the better to care for her.”

  A wry half grin escaped Patrick and he followed Mrs. Templeton’s directions, seating himself at the table. “Thank you. Please tell Cook that this meal looks wonderful. I am sorry that I did not partake of it at table.”

  “Do not worry yourself, my lord. Sir Iain took it upon himself to eat more than his fair share to soothe Cook’s feelings.”

  Her words jerked Patrick’s gaze from the food in front of him. “Iain has returned?”

  “Oh yes, my lord. He arrived almost three hours ago.”

  Patrick dropped the linen napkin atop the table as he pushed his chair back. “I must speak with him. There is something I need him to do.”

  “Please, sit and eat, my lord. I shall ask him to come up, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Templeton.” Patrick sat back down. “I would appreciate if he would attend me directly.”

  The housekeeper nodded, bobbed a curtsy, and disappeared out the door.

  Keeping an eye on Ella the whole time, Patrick made short work of the roasted beef and ragout of vegetables. He was just finishing the sweet pudding when Iain, hair blacker than sin and grin twice as devilish, appeared.

  “So, you think to enjoy my table without even paying your respects to the host?”

  Iain didn’t blink an eye at Patrick’s jibe. He sauntered into the room and sank into the overstuffed armchair by the fire.

  “Since I have been bent upon your errands for the better part of a week now, I thought a meal or two was my due.” He leaned over and stuck his finger into Patrick’s custard, narrowly avoiding being jabbed by a fork. “Besides, you were otherwise occupied, or I should have dined with you.” Iain nodded toward the bed. “Mrs. Templeton says she is improving?”

  Patrick nodded, shoving the remains of his now-defiled pudding to the middle of the table. “She is very weak, but she spoke with me tonight. Which is part of the reason I needed to speak to you.”

  Iain crooked a brow at Patrick, who had turned his chair and was staring very intently at his cousin.

  “She wan
ts to return home, and I am bound to assist her.”

  “And Amelia?”

  Patrick frowned, the reminder of his other troubles rather unwelcome at this particular juncture. “Have you any news of her or the vicar’s whereabouts?”

  “I returned to Town, as you asked, and there I spoke with several members of society. No one has heard where she has gone, but the rumor mill is already abuzz. Since you disappeared at the same time, the betting books at White’s have gone mad with wagers that the two of you are wed, or about to be.”

  It was no more than Patrick had expected, but the confirmation was not exactly welcome.

  “Did you speak with the Brownstone staff?”

  Iain shook his head. “I tried, but you know the servant class. As soon as they got wind that I was not one of their own, they clammed up tight. Not a word would they speak.”

  “Damn.” Patrick looked at Ella, who’d shifted a bit in her sleep. Finally, that little furrow in her brow had eased. She was improving, but not fast enough to suit him. Perhaps he would ask Cook to make her a thicker soup for tomorrow. If she could remain awake long enough, surely her body needed nourishment to—

  “Patrick, I asked you what you would like me to do.”

  Patrick jumped, startled, and turned back to his cousin. Iain had the grace to try to hide his amusement, at least, but the corners of his mouth still turned up in mirth.

  “I take it back. You are not somber and maudlin anymore.”

  “Am I not?” Patrick crooked a brow at his cousin. “That was always what you claimed.”

  “Now you are a love-struck fool. The difference is appreciable, although I do not know if the outcome will be any less boring.”

  Patrick shook his head vehemently. “You are wrong; I am not in love.”

  “Are you not?” Iain held up a hand when Patrick started to make a fist. “No, no, do not plant me a facer. I do not deserve it, especially since I am willing to go to whatever corner of the globe you wish to send me to.”

  With a heavy breath, Patrick considered. On the one hand, he’d be hunted until Amelia was found. It was only thanks to his staff’s vigilance that no one from Brown Hall knew that he was in residence here. On the other, there was Ella, her face so sad when she’d said she wanted to go home. Though it pained him to think of her departure, he could not deny her.

  There really was no choice, no choice at all.

  “Amelia is almost certainly safe with her vicar. She does not need us for the moment, but Ella does. I need you to find someone who is practiced in magic,” Patrick said quite seriously. “Find someone who knows about magic mirrors, and then bring them here.”

  He stood and turned his back to his cousin, reaching into his pocket and rubbing the face of his pocket watch absentmindedly.

  “I promised her that I would send her home, and no matter what, I shall see it done.”

  Sixteen

  The predator stared at Ella, huge, golden eyes unblinking, ready to pounce.

  “Please,” Ella said, not too proud to beg. “My leg is falling asleep, and I need to move it. Can you please just let me slide over a little?”

  The predator lowered its paw, just a touch.

  Ella pushed the covers back, folding them slowly, carefully so as not to startle her attacker. She’d been through this before, for almost a week now. It never got any easier.

  Just when she thought it might be safe enough, the ache in her leg became too much to bear. With a hissed-in breath, she moved her leg, her toes making a small mountain beneath the covers as her good foot turned upright.

  Then she screamed as Elspeth pounced.

  “You stupid freaking cat!” Ella swatted at the feline, who’d clawed at Ella’s big toe from over the covers—thankfully too thick to allow the orange menace’s claws to penetrate them—and then bolted from the room like a fuzzy, orange lightning bolt.

  “Miss Briley? Are you all right?” Mrs. Templeton bustled into the room, carrying an armload of linens.

  “I’m fine. That cat attacked my toes again.” Ella flopped back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “It’s like she’s possessed. The minute she sees my foot move, it’s like her sacred duty to scare the crap out of me.”

  “Language, dear,” Mrs. Templeton clucked, holding the door open for the footman. He staggered into the room, the weight of the big brass tub almost too much for him to handle. Setting it in front of the fire, he gave a loud, relieved breath.

  “What’s going on?” Ella sat up and bit her lip, almost bouncing. It was too good to be true. It was really, really too good to be true.

  “You, miss, are well enough to have a bath.”

  Ella had never considered swooning in her life. She’d thought that swooning was something only women stuffed into corsets did. She was much more likely to punch something than she was to swoon. But, at the thought of a bath, she strongly considered laying the back of her hand on her brow and sinking dramatically against the pillows.

  She watched with greed as bucket after bucket of steamy water was brought into the room and poured into the tub. It seemed to take forever, and by the time the footman was done, she’d almost convinced herself it wasn’t happening.

  “There we are, miss.” Mrs. Templeton checked the water with her forefinger and smiled. “’Tis perfect. Now, can I help you to get in?”

  She’d almost been convinced she could float over to the tub, carried on a waft of her own stench, but Ella knew that was probably wrong. So she just nodded, and with Mrs. Templeton holding her up, she hopped to the tub.

  Mrs. Templeton pulled the nightshirt over Ella’s head. Ella thought really hard about being embarrassed, but she couldn’t be. Not anymore. This past week had been the most humiliating of her life, so why argue about a little nudity?

  A pleasured hiss escaped Ella’s lips as she sank into the steamy water. Leaning her head back against the high lip of the tub, she closed her eyes and let the heat of the water soothe her.

  “I shall go and fetch some scented soaps for you. There now. Sit there and just relax. I’ll be back in a tick.” Mrs. Templeton smoothed the hair away from Ella’s forehead, clucked a little, and then left the room.

  Ella couldn’t help but smile after the older woman. She seemed to have taken on the role of mother hen where Ella was concerned. She’d been there so much during Ella’s sickness, always ready with a kind word or a glass of lemonade once Ella had been conscious enough to tell them how much she didn’t like tea.

  Raising her foot from the water, Ella watched as the clear rivulets ran down her more-than-prickly leg. Of course, even the sweet and kind Mrs. Templeton hadn’t done as much for her as Patrick had.

  Sinking into the water up to her eyes, Ella stared at the fire, knowing that her cheeks must be as bright as the flames there. God. He’d done everything for her—even carried her to the chamber pot a few times.

  “Bbb-bblgggg,” she groaned into the water, then sank completely beneath it. It’d be nice if she could develop some gills and live here, so she wouldn’t have to face Patrick again.

  He’d been way too nice to her. Too kind. He’d kissed her when she’d begged for it—begged, like a starving dog just waiting for a scrap of affection.

  When her lungs started to burn, Ella finally came up for air. Dashing the water from her eyes, she blew a big, fat raspberry.

  “Are you all right?”

  Oh good God, not now. Ella yelped with alarm, grabbing the closest towel and plastering it over her naked breasts. “Patrick!”

  He strode into the room, a concerned look on his face as he stopped next to the tub, looking down at her. “Mrs. Templeton told me that you were in the bath, but I am not sure you’ve the strength. Are you feeling all right? Are you weak at all? I can assist—”

  Her face was hot enough to melt iron. “I’m really okay, actuall
y. And I’m kind of embarrassed, so if we could talk about this later?”

  “You should not bathe alone. Someone should wash your hair, and—”

  “It’s really okay,” Ella squeaked. “Seriously, I’m fine. Where I come from, we always bathe alone. No help needed.”

  He crouched down by the tub, his face even with hers. “You have been so ill, Ella. I would but ensure your health as much as I may before you go.”

  God, why did he keep doing this to her? He was going to marry another woman, but all Ella could think about as she looked into his beautiful green eyes was asking him to kiss her again.

  “You can’t be here with me,” she whispered. “I’m naked.”

  “And I have cared for every inch of you since you fell ill. No one knows that we are here, so your reputation will remain unblemished. On my word as a gentleman, your person will be safe. Now, can you ease my mind and let me assist you?”

  She wanted to say yes. He was right—she was still about as strong as wet fettuccine. But she wanted him. He was gorgeous and kind, and he was somebody else’s.

  Slamming her eyes shut, Ella forced out the words. “What about your fiancée? Amelia won’t like it if she hears about this.”

  The only sound for a moment was the crackling of the fire and the low, even breathing next to her. But Ella couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Patrick’s face shuttered, guilty as he thought of the woman he loved.

  The woman he’d betrayed by saving Ella’s life instead of running to find her, his intended.

  “I… Amelia will be fine.”

  Her eyes flew open, and her jaw went slack. “What?”

  Patrick didn’t look her in the eye, but he said, “She would understand, Ella. For the moment, I am content that she is safe. I cannot help her at this moment, but I can help you.”

  His hand cupped her cheek, and Ella found herself falling again.

  Not into the tub, but into his eyes. And God help her, she never wanted to ascend again.

  * * *

  Keeping away from her bedside had become increasingly difficult as the days went by. He’d been in the stables, where he’d been making sure that both Bacon and Kipper had been installed comfortably in their new home. They’d arrived only that morning, and he’d needed the space away from Ella to think, to breathe normally.