“Your Royal Highness,” she said, finding her voice. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes. You’re intending to leave my side when I have need of you.”
His voice had gained strength and yet it remained strained. It occurred to Eleanora that he must have mistaken her for a servant in the darkness.
“I’m not a nursemaid, Your Royal Highness,” she explained gently. “I can fetch someone else to attend you if you like. Your bodyguard, perhaps? Or a footman?”
“I only want you, Eleanora.”
Something inside her seized. So, he did realize she was the one at his side. He hadn’t mistaken her for a maid after all. And he wanted her to remain. Ruthlessly, she tamped down the unwanted feeling.
“I’m afraid that I have stayed longer than I should have already. Is there something you require? I’ll see that a servant is sent to you.”
Tending to him was private. Intimate. Dangerously scandalous. She couldn’t remain. That she had stayed this long was a testament to her own recklessness, and it wouldn’t be repeated.
“No one else,” he insisted stubbornly.
“Your Royal Highness—” she began, only to be interrupted by his surprised grunt of pain.
She rushed to his side instinctively. “What happened? What is paining you?”
She didn’t have sufficient illumination to see his expression. The absence of candlelight frustrated her, but there was no hope for it at the moment. She leaned nearer, peering through the shadows.
“My arm. I dare say I shall only survive with your tender care.”
There was no mistaking the flirtatious tone that had crept into his voice. The utter scoundrel. It was also a definitive indication that it was time for her to go. He was confounding.
“I’m afraid I know precious little about tending to wounds,” she told him tartly. “The hour is late, Your Royal Highness. I must go, but rest assured, I’ll be certain to send one of the servants to your aid.”
“I do wish you’d call me Nando again,” he said with a sigh.
And yet she lingered, quite against her better judgment. “We’ve already established that it is improper for me to be so familiar with you.”
Strangely, she found herself yearning to be familiar, however. Clearly, spending so much time in this jaded rake’s cunning presence was rendering her mad.
“Just once more before I die, please?” he asked as if she hadn’t spoken.
“You sound well enough to me,” she pointed out.
“Ah, but the agony of my wound, you see. It feels as if someone has thrust a hot poker through my flesh. I’m burning from the inside out. The wound is festering, I have no doubt of it.”
“Surely it’s not. You didn’t feel feverish to me just now.”
“Feel my brow again, my darling Eleanora,” he urged, his voice suddenly sounding thready and weak. “I fear I am.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, finding herself in a fine predicament.
“I’ll fetch you more laudanum,” she suggested. “It will help you to remain calm and rest.”
“I don’t want more laudanum. Give me your hand.”
She had already moved nearer to the bed, quite stupidly drawn to the man despite all reason. She knew better than to grant Prince Ferdinando such proximity. She knew just what manner of persuasion rakes were capable of. She’d witnessed it on many occasions.
And yet, she was doing as he’d demanded. Allowing him to bring her hand to his brow. His flesh didn’t feel any hotter to the touch than it had before. But her body’s reaction was the same. A stunning sense of awareness fell over her, so potent that it made her belly tense. As if he sensed her susceptibility, his fingers tightened over hers. He gently caressed her hand.
It was the most sensual touch she’d ever received, and yet it was so light. So unassuming. On her hand, no less. Not some other portion of her person that would be far more daring and damning. Her breath had caught in her lungs. She struggled to find words.
“Do you see, Eleanora?” he asked, voice low and silken when she failed to speak. “I’m on fire. I have been from the moment I first saw you.”
