When she reached the hall, she was relieved to see that Lord Thornton had tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. She draped the blanket over him, and he barely stirred.
Thank heavens. She could only hope that he’d think their kiss a fever dream.
Ash’s rooms were at the very end of the corridor where, he claimed, he had the privacy to relax without having to hear the maids fussing over his sisters at every turn. Holly rapped on hisdoor, then listened. Hearing no signs of him stirring within, she knocked again.
“Ash,” she said, “wake up. Lord Thornton requires your assistance.”
After a brief time, her brother opened the door and blinked at her. “What is it?”
“Come and see.” She lifted her candle and marched back down the hall.
He followed, tying the belt of his robe. The narrow door to the servant’s stairs opened on the far side of the hall and her ladies’ maid, Abby, stepped out, bearing a candle of her own. She wore a plain blue wrapper, and her braid was somewhat haphazardly stuffed into her mob cap.
“What is it, milady?” she asked, then gasped when Holly directed her attention to the unconscious form of Lord Thornton slumped against the wall.
“Egad.” Ash pushed past them and crouched beside his friend. “Wake up, man.”
He took the viscount by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.
Lord Thornton opened his eyes. “Ash. Good—fetch the cartman and I’ll be off.”
“I don’t think so,” Ash said dryly, then looked at Holly, his brows raised
“When I found him, he was raving about taking the tree to Dovington Hall,” Holly said.
“Yes!” Lord Thornton sat up straight. “Nearly Christmas, isn’t it? I must depart immediately.”
It took Ash on one side, Abby on the other, and Holly behind him to lever the viscount up. He kept all his weight on his uninjured leg, and, one-footed, wavered back and forth, in imminent danger of falling back to the floor.
“How the devil did you manage to get here from your room?” Ash asked rhetorically. “Come on, Thorn, back to bed.”
Between them, they managed to limp Lord Thornton back down the hallway, past Rose’s room—she had a prodigious ability to sleep through anything, and this commotion was no exception—and finally back to his bedroom.
Despite his protests that he must make for Dovington Hall, they got him between the covers. Once abed, he subsided, to everyone’s relief.
“What if he gets up again?” Abby asked, giving the viscount a worried glance.
Ash blew out an exasperated breath and hauled a chair up beside the bed. “I’ll stay with him for the rest of the night. Hopefully, he’ll be more lucid tomorrow.”
Holly handed him the lap robe. “You might find this useful. Good luck.”
“Lady Holly,” Lord Thornton said suddenly emerging from his daze and grabbing her hand. “Don’t forget. The tree.”
He was clearly agitated, pressing her fingers intently. Until the matter was settled, it was plain he’d be unable to sleep.
“Rest, Lord Thornton,” she said. “I’ll see to it.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“Yes. I promise.”
“Thank you,” he said fervently.
Then, most unexpectedly, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His lips burned against her bare skin, and she pulled her hand away, breathless. Trying to conceal her reaction, she snuck a look at her brother. Could Ash see the brand of the viscount’s kiss blazing upon her lips?
Her brother gave her an exasperated smile and shook his head. “Ever the rogue, I’m afraid. You must forgive him, Holly. He’s not himself.”
“Of course.” She hoped Ash would attribute the color in her cheeks to the exertion of helping return Lord Thornton to his bed and not her flustered reaction to his attentions.
