“I’m a bit unsteady, Barstow.” More wetness struck her cheeks no matter how she wiped it away. “The duke’s fever is gone.”
“So you’ve said, Your Grace. Do not fear, I’ll watch over him.” Barstow’s words were gentle. “You’ve barely eaten since the duke fell ill. That must be remedied immediately.”
“Someone tried to kill him,” she whispered, afraid to admit such a thing out loud. Could it be the man in London who pretended to be Roxboro? “He didn’t just trip and fall on a knife.”
Yet Sophia had told no one of her suspicions. Not halted the wedding. Or confided in her father. Now this….pretendermay have tried to kill Roxboro. This was all her fault.
A sob left Sophia.
“I know, Your Grace. Your maid is preparing a bath for you.”
A bath? Yes, she probably needed one. Sophia hadn’t left Roxboro at all except to see to her immediate needs. “I am in need of one.”
“I will stay with him,” Barstow said firmly. “And will not leave his side until you return. I promise. But you must eat, Your Grace. Sleep.” He opened the door connecting her rooms to Roxboro’s. The rooms, done in the same colors as her chambers in London, seemed foreign to her now after sleeping for so long in a chair beside Roxboro.
“Barstow and I are in agreement.” Ann came forward as the door opened and took Sophia from the butler. “Come, Your Grace. The bath is ready. Steaming hot.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Sophia’s limbs felt weighted.
“And there is fresh bread. Butter. Thick slices of ham. Oh, and scones. Currant. Which you adore. You can eat while I bathe you.”
Sophia signed, heavy with exhaustion. Her stomach rumbled. “I do love a good scone.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophia paused outsideof Roxboro’s chambers, her hand lingering over the doorknob, listening to her husband throw a temper tantrum of which any child would be envious. She’d been in the library, searching through the books that had followed her from London. She read to Roxboro every day, mostly to pass the time and ease his boredom though he had no great love of the novels Sophia favored.
“I want a bloody scotch.” A fist pounded on the mattress. “Right now, Barstow. You are in my employ, and you will do as I ask or I’ll,” Roxboro puffed. “Sack you.”
Barstow murmured something in a low tone, not the least intimidated.
“I don’t care what she says.I’mthe duke.”
Sophia opened the door and stepped through, book tucked under one arm. “Thank you, Barstow, for your continued tolerance of the duke’s tantrums as he heals.”
“Your Grace.” The butler bowed to Sophia and hurried out.
“Brandy,” Roxboro yelled after him. “If there is no scotch. Everyone knows brandy has healing properties.” He turned to scowl at Sophia. “It is cruel to keep it from me.”
“I see you’re feeling better.” She shut the door. “But I believe brandy can wait until you are fully recovered.”
“Tyrant.” He glared back at her, freshly bathed, the hollows of hischeeks starting to fill out now that he was eating solid food once more. Roxboro was still weak as a kitten, barely able to sit up without help despite his demands. The wounds were almost completely healed, scabbing over with no pus or infection. Dr. Reading was very pleased with the duke’s progress, calling his recovery extraordinary.
After the fever finally broke, he slept for the entirety of one full day before waking up once more. And once Roxboro opened the shimmering green orbs with their streaks of gray, he eyed her with nothing but irritation.
“I’m a duchess,” she answered. “The rules dictate that I may behave as such.”
Roxboro made a frustrated sound, but one side of his mouth tilted in a sensual smirk, one Sophia had dearly missed. He had always been breathtaking in appearance, but now she’d grown to care for him. Incredibly unwelcome under the circumstances, though it was likely only a result of having nursed him back to health.
Oh, it’s more than that.
Her heart, ever disobedient, thumped loudly in agreement.
“Completely unfair, Serafina. I demand a brandy.”
Sophia bit her lip, trying not to laugh at his determination to address her by any other name than her own. Roxboro had quite a list.
“Life, Roxboro, is not fair in general. Stop behaving like a child. It is unbecoming of a duke.”
