He stared at her with a raised brow. “You look pale. Are you well?”
“Me?” she panted as she inspected him. He was sitting up in bed, presumably well, and there on the floor was a book. Her chest pinched. Her heart surely was not capable of withstanding the ups and downs of committing acts of good trouble. She was not built for this.
“Close the door, if you please.”
Daisy blinked and refocused on the present. She closed the door gently, hesitating. Should she lock it?
“Don’t lock it,” he said, reading her spinning thoughts. He chuckled. “Could you imagine what they’d think if anyone discovered it? You and me in a locked room.”
A calamity. It would be a disaster of epic proportions.
Daisy turned to face him. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“Too late. You already agreed, and you’re already here. Come closer. I won’t bite. It will be hard to help me regain my strength with you all the way over there.”
Daisy gathered her courage and approached the bed. His gaze wandered over her, and for every second he studied her, her temperature seemed to rise a degree. Her plain white gown was modest, the sleeves reaching her wrists and the neckline a ruffle at her throat. It wasn’t that she thought he’d attempt to seduce her, but it made her feel a bit more proper. In any case, he was likely used to more fashionable women who could flirt effortlessly and smile mysteriously. Not hapless, inexperienced wallflowers.
Though she wouldn’t be a wallflower if she were allowed to behave like other young ladies, would she? Instead, all she knew of society was sitting beside Lady Claystone at a handful of private balls and waiting for Lord Cliffton. Perpetually waiting.
The reminder steeled her nerves. Good trouble. Cliffton would not like this. The countess would have an apoplectic fit to learn Daisy was alone with a young, handsome lord. She was making a choice they could not control. Daisy never knew defiance could feel so splendid. But more than that, he needed her help.
“I had Petrov open the curtains,” he said as she finally went nearer, “but the day seems to not want to shed light in here. Forgive me if the room seems a tad dark and gothic.”
Daisy assessed the room. “It’s fine. What is it I’m supposed to do?”
“Well, Dr. Sloan is gone, and he didn’t have much to say other thanmove about. So far, I’ve been allowed to move from the bed to that chair.” He pointed to the chair on his left that was only a couple feet away.
“That is not very far,” Daisy said.
“Exactly. It’s only two steps, and I had to fight for that extra step. Can you imagine how much longer my recovery will take if I can only take a step further a week?”
Daisy nodded. “I can, almost. How difficult are the two steps?”
He sighed. “It’s a combination of factors.”
Daisy bit her lip. He didn’t want to admit those two steps were difficult. What was she supposed to do to encourage him?
“Dr. Sloan gave me some books about physical muscle systems.”
Daisy bent and picked up the book from the floor and handed it back to him.
“This book is about a man who didn’t leave his bed for a year due to a prolonged illness. It took him months to learn to walk again. He had the strength of an infant. The muscles in his limbs withered away.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. She was lost, and looking at him as he spoke made her thoughts disassemble into nonsense. Weak was not what came to mind when she looked at him. Weak was whatshewas, embarrassed and nervous just to be alone in a room with a man who couldn’t take two steps. Her and her shameless body! It wanted to erupt in sensations and temperatures whenever their eyes connected. She had to get hold of herself.
“I need to resist you,” he said.
Daisy’s attention snapped back to him. “I beg your pardon?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Were you listening to anything I said?”
She nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Get on the bed.”
Her knees wobbled. But if she asked him why, then she’d be admitting she hadn’t been paying attention. This was his fault. He had no business looking like he did. Shirt open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even his hands and forearms were distracting.
He shoved the coverlet lower, and her throat dried. She didn’t know what she expected, but his brown breeches seemed just as scintillating as if he’d shown his bare legs.
