Thorne cleared space on the bedside table. “Set it here.”
She obeyed quickly enough, but her countenance was most defiant. Confusing, but unimportant at the moment. Thorne ignored her. “A cloth, if you please,” he said softly.
“Aye, my lord.”
The cloth landed in his hand.
He dipped it in the water, wrung it out, then dabbed it along Lorelei’s forehead. Blast it, she was much too warm. “Tell Oswald to send for Dr. Pogue.”
She swooped up Lorelei’s wet clothing and then shut the door softly. “Where on earth were you in this deluge?” He murmured questions and nonsensical words, praying for a flutter of her eyes. Just a flash of her previous fury would ease his mind.
The door opened again. “I brung you some tea, my lord.” Bethie’s tone was grudging at best.
“Thank you, Bethie. Is Lady Maudsley still about? I should see about getting her home.”
“Aye, sir, but I believe Lord Brockway is waiting to see her to her destination.”
“Dr. Pogue?” He dipped the cloth in the water once more and pressed it to Lorelei’s wrists.
“Andrew’s been dispatched to fetch ’im, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll tend to Lady Kimpton until Pogue arrives.” The door closed again.
Lorelei’s eyes fluttered, and her gaze rested on him, confused. “Thorne?”
“I’m here, darling. You fainted, you fool girl. What on earth possessed you take such risks with your person?” He spoke softly, something inside his chest tightening. “It’s raining torrents.”
“I-I didn’t faint. I’m so c-cold.”
He leaned in and tucked her hands beneath the coverlets, tugging them clear to her neck. He smiled slightly.
Her eyes focused, and tears glittered. Hurt glared out at him. Her eyes closed, shutting him out. With a shiver, she rolled over to face the wall.
“Lorelei,” he whispered. “Darling, you’ve taken a chill. Dr. Pogue is on his way.”
Silence loomed like a hovering cloud before her muffled voice sounded. “Where is Ginny?”
“Brock is seeing to Lady Maudsley.”
Quickly, she rolled back over. “No!” She fumbled with the counterpane, kicking at it. “He mustn’t.” She kicked furiously, stood, and swayed precariously.
Thorne caught her for a second time that evening. “I’m afraid the only place you are going is back to bed.” He gently but firmly tucked her back beneath the covers. Voices filled the hall outside the chamber, then a quick tap came at the door. “Enter.”
Bethie ushered Pogue in and took to lighting more candles. She straightened her ladyship’s dressing table.
Pogue set his black bag into the chair Thorne had vacated.
“I came as quickly as I could, your lordship,” he said, as indeed his panting breaths indicated.
“Your expediency is appreciated. I worry that Lady Kimpton has contracted a chill in this foul weather.” That she would treat her health so carelessly sent a ripple of irritation through him.
Dr. Pogue was a painfully thin individual with a pointed chin and nose to match. His most distinguishing feature, aside from his perpetually red cheeks, were ears that did not lay flat to his head. They rather looked as if he could use them to fly.
“Let us take a look.” Thorne stepped back, allowing the doctor access. “Lady Kimpton, you do appear a tad flushed. If I may?”
Thorne bit back a grin at her short nod. Lady Kimpton was not an easy patient, though not a word passed her compressed lips. Pogue pressed the back of his hand against her forehead.
Her brightened eyes and flushed cheeks, despite the unnatural paleness of her skin, indicated that her body temperature was abnormally high. The doctor confirmed this a minute later. “I recommend a drop or two of laudanum, my lady, and plenty of fluids and rest.”
