With a quick curtsy, Nora quit the room.
I rolled over in bed, hoping to catch the last wisps of sleep, but when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Damon wearing Mr. Turner’s shirt and the way it clung to his shoulders. All I could feel was the warmth of his lips on my hand and cheek. And all I could hear was his voice, whispering to me in the dark as we danced.
A sigh escaped my mouth, and I smiled. Though our evening had not ended as I would have liked, I already anticipated the next time I would see him again. We would discuss our feelings and come to a solution.
A knock came at the door, and I drew up the covers to hide my nightdress. “Come in,” I said, raising the pitch of my voice so as not to sound like a frog.
The door swung open, and Lady Winfield entered the room. She took one look at my face and said, “Oh my dear, youareflushed.”
I was certain that I was, but not for the reasons she believed.
Lady Winfield walked to my bedside and sat on the edge. Her brow pinched with concern as she studied my face. She pressed a cool hand to my forehead. “You are warm but not hot. That is good.”
A movement at the door drew my attention. “Ollie,” I said in surprise, and I drew up my blanket even further.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he said from the corridor, “but your maid said you are feeling unwell, and I had to see that you were okay.”
“I am only alittleunder the weather,” I reassured him, though it burned my throat to say it.
“Still,” Lady Winfield said. “Your maid was right to encourage you to stay in bed.”
“Is there anything you need?” Ollie asked.
Damon, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. He was no doubt still out on his morning ride, exercising Ares, and as soon as he returned and heard I was unwell, he would surely send up a comforting note or forsake propriety and come to wish me well.
A chill shivered through me. “Nora is bringing up a tray, so I will have everything I need soon, but thank you for checking on me.”
Ollie nodded, but he lingered in the doorway.
“I will let you rest then.” Lady Winfield rose from the bed. “I will come back to check on you in a few hours.”
I nodded, grateful.
Lady Winfield walked toward the door. “Come, Ollie.”
“I need a moment alone with Hannah,” he said.
Lady Winfield glanced at me, her expression wary, then back at her son.
“Please,” Ollie said.
“Only a moment,” she said. “I will wait for you in the corridor.”
He nodded, and Lady Winfield stepped out of my bedchamber.
Ollie stepped inside my bedchamber, and the light from the window exposed dark circles under his eyes, rumpled clothing, and mussed hair. Had he slept at all?
All that had transpired between us yesterday rushed back at me. My confession of love, fleeing from the room, Ollie’s pained look as he watched me leave with Damon. So much had happened since then—Damon and I had repaired the Turners’ roof, he’d told me his secrets, we’d danced in the moonlight.
“I must apologize for how I responded to you yesterday in the morning room.”
“You have no need to apologize. You acted as a gentleman.”
“Yes,” he said. “I mean, no. That is not what I am apologizing for.” He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it further.
“Please,” I whispered. “Let us not speak of it.”
“I have no desire to cause you any further distress,” he said, “so I will not press the subject, but may we please talk of it another day?”
