She would do anything to get his fever to break, even if he continued to believe he didn’t want her. But her heart ached at that thought, especially with the news of Liam’s return.
“I’ll always be your friend, even if you’re my husband,” she whispered. “I wish you could know that. And I don’t care what Liam thinks. Besides, he’s always liked you. Perhaps he’ll be happy at our marriage.” She imbued every word with the hope that she felt.
It felt good, almost freeing, to speak it all out loud.
“But even if he isn’t, it doesn’t matter. Because I want to be your wife. And I . . . I think that somewhere, deep down inside, you want that too.” Her voice lingered in the air between them. She imagined she could hear him say,Yes, of course I do.
She smiled and tucked her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to show you how much I care about you, Jeremiah Wiley. But first, you must get better.”
She closed her eyes then, relishing his closeness, and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
SUNLIGHT JUST BARELYfiltered into the room when Jeremiah awoke. His entire body ached, as if he’d been asleep for days.
How much timehadpassed?
His head felt cloudy, but at least it didn’t ache. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember. He and Deirdre had met his parents for dinner at the hotel. He’d been happy—and he’d felt so sick he could barely hold his head up. Had they left the hotel that night at all?
Jeremiah opened his eyes again. This was the boardinghouse, so they must have come back here. Vague snippets of memory floated through his mind. Him waking, drenched in perspiration, as Deirdre laid something cool on his forehead. Her hushed voice, speaking soothing words to him.
Deirdre. Where was she?
Jeremiah pushed against the bed in an attempt to sit up. A slight weight moved against his chest, and he paused. Deirdre was next to him, fast asleep, with her hand upon his chest.
She was here. She’d been here the entire time.
His breath caught in his chest. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he pushed himself the rest of the way into a sitting position. Her hand slipped off him, and she brought it to rest under her cheek.
Jeremiah leaned his head back to catch his breath. The fever had weakened him. How many days had he missed from the livery? A fine way to show his interest in owning part of the place—grow ill and unable to even show his face for who knew how long.
And his parents . . . he’d missed meeting them to show them the business. He hoped they were still in town. His mouth turned up as he realized his mother would never leave town if it meant leaving him here sick. He was honestly surprised she wasn’t hovering over him at that very moment.
Which meant Deirdre had convinced her to stay away, or Ma trusted Deirdre enough to take care of him. He glanced down at the woman next to him. Deirdre’s long hair was half out of its pins, as if she’d been too tired to bother with taking it down before she fell asleep. And she was still fully dressed. A lock of her red hair lay across her face, and without thinking, Jeremiah, reached down and gently pulled it back.
Deirdre stirred, and then shifted, her eyes fluttering open. She saw him and immediately sat up. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”
