“This is because she left the house in the mist this morning.” The words scraped out of him, half to himself. He had made his usual trek to the lighthouse and back, trusting to her that she would find her way back to the house.
The path was simple enough. Even without landmarks, it was clear.
Unless it wasn’t.
Unless she had wandered in the cold until her limbs ached and her body gave out. Until the chill sank too deep to shake.
The thought landed hard, crushing his chest with guilt.
Of course it was his fault. Italwayswas. He would drive everyone away in the end—through carelessness, through pride, through the same selfishness that had brought him here in the first place.
Yes, she oughtn’t have followed him, but he should have walked her back. Should have noticed. Should have cared more, sooner.
He stared down at her milky complexion. Her lips parted faintly, skin far too pale.
Squeezing the cloth, he let the water drip between her lips. “Come on…” he murmured softly. “Swallow.”
With a little coaxing, she eventually did.
“Your Grace,” Fellows called from behind him. “What would you like me to do with your dinner—”
“Blast the dinner, man!” Sebastian bellowed out, before catching himself slightly.Devil take it.He pinched the bridge of his nose as another idea sprang to him.
“Just… just send it up on a tray,” he said instead. “I’ll eat it here with Her Grace.”
“Very good, sir.” Fellows bowed, though he couldn’t hide the disapproval on his face.
Well, what did that matter? All that mattered was that Aurelia was well.
How long would the physician take to get there?
“What else can I do?” he demanded of the lady’s maid, regretting it almost instantly when she flinched back.
“I don’t know, Your Grace. Keep her temperature down where you can. Comfort her if she wakes.”
Comfort her.He hardly thought he was the right person for that role. But the idea of leaving her side now, especially after the way they had left things—and with the ghost of Kate haunting his thoughts—seemed utterly untenable. He would not.
As though on cue, Aurelia’s eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, and he squeezed her hand gently.
“I’m here,” he murmured, and when her lids opened to reveal eyes hazy with confusion and pain, he forced a smile. “Don’t you worry, little mouse. I’ve got you.”
Her mouth turned down in a frown. “…Sebastian?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m having dinner with you here instead.” On impulse, he pressed her fingers to his mouth. They were hot against his lips—everything about her was burning up. “You’ll be well soon enough.”
“I’m not ill…” she mumbled.
“Of course not.”
“Why are you here?”
“When you didn’t come down for dinner, I came to see if you were all right.” He neglected to mention the fact that he’d assumed her illness was a ploy. That wouldn’t help either of them now. “And when I saw you were in bed, I thought to keep you company. If you recall, you did the same to me.”
Her frown only deepened. “But you were angry.”
“I was—” He took a breath, dismissing the remainder of the servants with a wave of his hand. When they were gone, he whispered, “I was wrong.”
Her eyes still searched his, but her pupils were blown, and he couldn’t be sure she saw him instead of whatever image her delirium was providing for her. “You’re really here,” she breathed, as though in wonder. “I thought you despised me.”
