Rebecca slumped against the backside of the door, her heart pounding. The night rail the duke handed her was Rebecca’s own. The very fact that her thought went there first spoke volumes. Her schoolgirl infactuation was alive and infuriatingly well.
A sharp cough from Serena had Rebecca chastising herself. This was no time for self-flagellation. She hurried over to Serena. The poor girl was shivering, yet her skin was flush and hot to the touch. Rebecca had already disrobed her maid and now slipped the gown over her head and pulled the covers over her legs. “Try to sit up, dear. So you can drink your tea. You need to get some broth down. Then you can rest.”
There was a sharp tap. “I have her tea,” Sebastian said through the door.
“You may enter.”
“Oh, my lady, this is unheard of,” Serena whispered.
“You don’t wish me to get sick, do you?” Rebecca said.
“No.”
“Then you’ll do as I say.”
Sebastian set a small tray on a table next to the bed. “Go tend to your bath, Rebecca. A young woman has arrived to assist you. Tell them to leave the bath. I shall require one after you finish.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I have four younger sisters, madam. I believe I’m capable of administering tea and broth,” he said with mock sternness.
Serena widened her eyes, and Rebecca hid her grin. Serena would come away from this adventure with a very excellent story of the duke who cared for the maid. “Very well, but we shall keep the door ajar. Serena, scream bloody murder if the duke behaves inappropriately in any way.”
Her mouth dropped.
“Quit your teasing, Rebecca. Your maid is in no frame of mind for your particular brand of humor.”
He was right, unfortunately. “Apologies, but, Serena, if you need anything, call out. The chamber pot is beneath the bed, Your Grace. I would keep it handy.”
His wince was minute, but enough to lighten her mood.
“No peeking, either.” She snatched up the day gown he’d handed her and stepped out, leaving the door cracked by a fist’s width.
~~~
Sebastian looked down to see his charge watching him. He cleared his throat. “Some broth, Miss Serena?”
She nodded with a slight and sickly smile.
As he assisted her with the bowl, the sloshing of water sounded from the other room along with a heartfelt moan. The images whipped through his head like a moving picture, as if such a thing were to ever exist. Rebecca’s dress hit the floor, then her stays, her corset, her chemise, and he could swear, he heard the swoosh of her stockings. His imagination took over the rest. Long supple legs sinking into a steaming rose—no, lavender—scented water. He swallowed back his own groan, carefully maintaining his benign façade.
He kept one ear tuned to the main bedchamber while pouring tea and broth down Serena’s throat.
Finally, she put her hand up and croaked out, “Enough, Your Grace, please.”
“Of course. I’ll send in your mistress soon. Do you think you can rest now?”
“Aye, sir.” Her eyes were already drooping.
He sat with her a few more minutes. Once her eyes completely shut and her breathing regulated, he rose and went to the door. True to his word, he didn’t peer out, though he may have put his ear to the opening…
“Goodness, I’m famished,” Rebecca said.
“I can send up food when we’re finished here, Your Grace.” The girl sounded young. Likely the innkeepers’ daughter.
There was a slight pause from Rebecca. “That would be lovely,” she said.
More sloshing sounded and Sebastian pictured Rebecca rising like a goddess from the depths of green-blue tropic waves. His own skin burned as if over-touched by the sun.
