Her eyelashes fluttered. “Do ladies generally have male friends? Is that allowed?”
“It is as long as their conduct is proper. For example, you and I are friends. Excuse the circumstances right now, as I am infirm. You wouldn’t socialize in a man’s room, but in a drawing room, a dance floor, a garden path. And yes, you can speak to your male friends. If I learned anything from having a sister, it is that women can be just as humorous, witty, and engaging as any man. Why wouldn’t we be friends?”
“I see.” Her fingers stopped fidgeting and she folded her hands in her lap.
Sam cleared his throat and started to read. “Hesta lifted the lantern high, the yellow glow too weak to permeate the thick fog blanketing the gravestones. But she could hear grunting and heavy breathing coming through the mist that dampened her thin nightgown...”
“Why is she in a nightgown in a graveyard?” Daisy asked.
“She’s the vicar’s daughter. The graveyard is by her bedroom window.”
“But still.”
Sam held a finger to his lips. “Just listen.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Raise your leg.”
Sam smiled at her cheek but did so. It amazed him how many muscles he needed to lift his foot. From his abdomen to his foot, everything flexed as he lifted. He did a few more repetitions, and he was out of breath. But he continued to read about Hesta and her midnight quest through the graveyard, and Daisy stopped blushing, but she didn’t stop smiling.
Chapter Eighteen
One week later
Daisy watched fromher chair beside Alston’s bed as Dr. Bradley eased Alston down onto the edge of his bed. Alston had completed four laps of the distance between his bed and his door with a slight limp after falling and spraining his ankle the day before. But otherwise, he was looking better every day and putting on weight.
Alston caught her eye and winked. This was all a performance. They’d been working steadily, strengthening his legs so that walking would no longer be an exhausting feat of will. He was better, lifting his own legs off the bed with considerably less effort. Occasionally his left foot cramped, which was what led to the fall.
Dr. Bradley finished his inspection, declared Alston to be improving well, and took his leave. Miss Smith followed him out, receiving instructions from him. Alston pinned Daisy with a stare. The mischief in his eyes meant he had a reckless idea.
“What are you thinking now?” she asked.
“I can do more than four turns about the room. You know I can.” He braced his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. He’d been doing that too, to strengthen his arms.
“Why don’t you rest? Your ankle is still bruised.”
“I’ve had enough rest for the next decade. You can help me or not.” He straightened, holding his balance well. But still, Daisy came to his side. She hadn’t helped him walk yet, and as she approached him, she realized she would have to be a lot closer to him to do it.
“Don’t be so skittish. I don’t bite.”
He reached for her, his balance wobbling, and Daisy rushed forward to stabilize him. He held her by the shoulders, and she had her palms on his chest. The warmth of him through the thin shirt shocked her. She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze, the pale blue not as striking as usual, but softer, more comforting. She could lose herself in his gaze, forget anything existed outside the two of them. The more time she spent with him, the harder it became to remember she was engaged to someone else. Her heart began to pound. Could he hear it this close to her?
“We should walk.” She slipped out of his grasp and under his left arm. She wrapped her right arm around his back, and she could feel the muscles shifting as he breathed. His arm settled over her shoulders, the weight surprising her. His warmth surrounded her, the smell of his linen shirt, and the scent that was just him. Alston. Being this close to him was like being embraced by him.
Daisy tried to shake herself out of this spell and focus on moving her feet. She’d seen Miss Smith and Dr. Bradley do this enough to figure it out. He kept his gaze on her, but didn’t speak, thankfully. She didn’t have answers to his probing questions—at least no answers that weren’t terribly awkward. Their first step was more of a shuffle, but then they found a rhythm, and theymade an arc around the room from one side of his bed to the other and back again twice more.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Petrov will return soon.”
Daisy led him to his chair by the window, and he lowered himself back down.
Daisy wrung her hands as she turned away. Being near him like this turned her thoughts and words to mush. They’d had so much fun this past week, but she couldn’t bear to look at him now. If he knew how he affected her, he’d be uncomfortable. Yes, they’d become friends over the course of the week, but Daisy knew that for her it was becoming more. She was already infatuated with him, but she had not realized that infatuation could become obsession. He made sly comments and jokes about being better than any man she may ever meet, and she knew he meant them in jest, but it was true—no man of her acquaintance could compare. Especially not Cliffton.
“I think I’ll go lie down. I have a headache.” She spun away from him and bolted toward the door.
“Daisy, please come here,” he said, his tone gentle and pleading.
Daisy turned back toward him. She drew a slow breath and approached. “Yes?”
He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me your hand.”
