She grew restless, jarring him back to the task at hand. He dipped the cloth again and patted down her skin. Yet, the image of that scar along with the huge one on her forearm, and not knowing how she’d sustained them, bothered him greatly.
In her delirium, she went from yelling at her papa to chastising the twins for running away to uttering her despair for some long-lost love. Something in his chest clenched at her longing after another. A debilitating jealousy, yet her kiss hadn’t indicated experience.
The day had long since moved into the depths of night. Serena had been run ragged, despite Sebastian insisting she rest. But she’d refused to stop until he absolutely put his foot down, telling her she would not do her mistress any good if she relapsed. Still, he couldn’t deny how useful she’d been, making sure there had been sustenance for the three of them.
“Come on, darling. You need more broth,” he said softly. He gently lifted her to sitting and put a glass of water to her cracked lips. She was burning up, kicking at the coverlets, turning her head from side to side, struggling to get away. Fighting.
“Don’t. Don’t push me.” Rebecca thrashed about. “Don’t. You d-don’t understand, Gabs. Gabs…” Her pet name for his sister ended on a wail. Tears trekked down her cheeks. “He’ll… he’ll think…”
“Shush. It’s all right, darling.” He spoke soft, soothing, nonsensical words. After a minute, she calmed.
Sebastian gave up on attempting to feed her and settled her back down. Then dipped the cloth in the basin of cool water, wrung it out, and dabbed her face with it again and again. Seeing her this way frightened him more than he’d believed possible. To see her so… so despondent ripped through him like a serrated dagger. She was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She could push a man three times her size in the mud. Save two children from a dastardly villain. With one look, convince another to bring a smelly mongrel into a crowded carriage. Nothing could bring down this warrior. Certainly not some damned fever.
Sebastian tucked the blankets about her, leaving her scarred arm out so he could grip her fingers with his own, willing his good health on her. He lowered his forehead to their clasped hands and offered up a prayer to assist him in his silent proclamation.
~~~
Rebecca snuggled closer to the heat, knowing she should get up. She should check on Serena. But before she could convince herself to rise, she slipped into another bout of slumber.
The bed shook, waking her. Slowly, she opened her eyes—and froze, then blinked several times over. The Duke of Ryleigh sat on the edge of the far side of the bed, pushing a hand through his unkempt hair, then rubbing it over his scruffy jaw. His white shirt and buff breeches were beyond wrinkled. Nothing duke-like in his appearance.
“You require a shave, Your Grace.” Her voice came out croaked and somewhat breathless, rather than stern.
White teeth flashed in his quick smile that heated her through. She was hot, her hands clammy. She shivered. “I do indeed,” he said, his voice sounding as sleepy as hers.
She smiled back, her eyes drooping closed once more then shooting wide. “Dear heavens,” she breathed. “You… surely you didn’t sleep with me?” Her voice edged up an octave with each word.
Her hand was instantly engulfed within his and he was leaning over her. “You’ve been very ill.”
“Im-impossible. I’ve never been ill a day in my life.” She shoved him out of the way, sat forward and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She attempted to stand only to end up dizzy and swaying.
He caught her arm, gently, thankfully, or she would have ended on the floor in a heap. “I can well believe it,” he said gently. “You must be famished.”
She put a hand to her head, pressing hard to stem a shot of pain behind her eyes. “How long?”
“Two days. Lucky for you, I have no faith in the local medical community, or you would have been bled dry.”
She shuddered, the lightheaded sensation swamping her again.
He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to his. She was stunned by the concern, the fear, that lurked there. “Your fever broke well after midnight.” He eased her onto the bed. “Sit. I'll round up some food—”
“You were in bed with me,” she said on a whisper.
He was silent for a long time, then said, “I’ve never been so terrified in my life.” He stood up. “I’ll send your maid in to attend you, then round something up for you to eat.”
She gasped. “Serena! Does she know you… you… slept here?”
“Of course not.” Annoyance slashed his features.
“I must check on her.” She started to stand, but Ryleigh’s hand landed on her shoulder, pressing her back down. She was too weak to fight him off. Her eyes blurred and, to her utter humiliation, tears spilled down her cheeks. “She could still be ill.”
“Oh, my poor darling.” A handkerchief appeared out of nowhere and he was dabbing the dampness away with a feathery touch. “She’s much better. I sent her to bed late last night. I had to make her leave your side lest she fall on her face. She’s completely devoted to you, I’m happy to say.” He dabbed at more tears then kissed her cheek. And in his pushy arrogant way, hustled her back beneath the coverlets.
“What of Gabby—Gabriella? We need to reach London.”
“For once, my dear sister shall have to be responsible for herself. She’s woman grown, my dear.” He tucked the blankets snugly around her.
“Two days. Did you send her a letter? We must hurry.”
