“I believe you feel are in earnest.”
He broke into a coughing fit, and Judith straightened, turning to the nightstand beside her to fiddle with the medicines arrayed there. Placing a few drops of a special reddish-brown medicine in his teacup, she gave it a quick stir. Then, helping him upright, she shoved the teacup to his lips, and though Mr. Byrnes tried to speak, she forced down a few swallows of the tea.
“I believe you well enough, Mr. Byrnes. I am quite familiar with the reasons I seem to be such a prime choice for your wife: we rub along, I am so very good with the children, and you require assistance.”
“Are those reasons so very bad?” he asked with a frown. “But there is more—”
“It may seem incomprehensible to men, but I have no desire to be the convenient choice for a widower’s wife. I may have little in this world, but I have my pride, and I assure you such proposals are not flattering.”
Mr. Byrnes tried to straighten, but a wracking cough struck, and Judith forced him back down.
“You are not well enough to discuss such matters, Mr. Byrnes.”
“I—” he coughed again, and his voice was raspy, struggling to fight through the words. “I am well enough to discuss something of such importance—” He coughed for another long moment. “Especially when you are determined to be so stubborn.”
“You call it stubbornness, but I call it good sense. Making your life easier is hardly an incentive for me to marry you.”
Mr. Byrnes’s chest heaved as he studied her, his voice dropping to a whisper, though it was not weak or uncertain. “I’ve had weeks to consider our situation, and I assure you my feelings are not based on convenience.”
His hand traveled along the mattress to wrap around hers, and Judith stared at it, her heart thudding in her chest. After one wretched proposal, several days of travel, and several more sitting at his bedside, Judith had little strength left in her to deny the thing she wanted so very much. Though roughed, his hands were gentle, brushing along her fingers and sending a spark of pleasure skittering across her skin. Judith hadn’t known a simple touch held so much power.
“It is not convenience.” Mr. Byrnes blinked heavily, his head falling back to the pillows. “Not entirely, at any rate. Yes, you make my life better. I shan’t deny it. But it is more than that…” His words drifted, his eyelids lowering in a long blink. “Did you put something in my tea?”
“The doctor gave me laudanum for when you grow fractious,” she said without a hint of remorse.
“I doubt he intended you to use it as an avoidance tactic.”
But Judith gave no response, for there was nothing more to say. Mr. Byrnes blinked heavily, each one growing slower.
“Did that Hardwicke fellow propose to you in Yorkshire?” he mumbled. “He was a fool for choosing another. You are extraordinary. Far better than any woman…”
“You need to sleep, sir,” she said.
Mr. Byrnes attempted to lift her hand to his lips, though his strength failed him. “I need you, Miss Delmonte.”
The obstinate fellow continued to argue with her, though his logic grew more skewed and garbled with each passing moment. Eventually, he drifted off into oblivion, and Judith allowed herself one more moment to revel in the feel of his hand wrapped around hers before she gently pulled free.
Chapter 37
The line between reality and dream was so much more difficult to distinguish of late, and when Silas opened his eyes once more, he truly couldn’t say whether or not he was sleeping. His gaze drifted to find Miss Delmonte at his bedside, whose attention was on her watercolor journal. Her delicate fingers held the brush with the ease and familiarity of one who knew how to use them, her strokes moving across the page without hesitation.
His heart gave a heavy thud in his chest as his eyes traced the line of her cheek. The sun filtering through the window cast her in a golden glow, the edges of her face alight. His breath stilled for reasons that had naught to do with his illness, and he yearned to brush a finger across her skin. Silas remembered all too well just how soft it was.
Words flooded his thoughts, prodding him to speak anything and everything that might convince her to accept his suit, but the experiences of the last few days had taught him that Miss Delmonte wouldn’t listen. And that she was adept at drugging him to avoid speaking of such personal matters.
Silas supposed he ought to be offended or discouraged, but he smiled instead. Helen had taught him much about deciphering subtext, and it was not lost on him that not one of Miss Delmonte’s reasons for rejecting him had been about her feelings. She’d decided his heart wasn’t true, and so, Silas merely needed to make her understand it was. And if Miss Delmonte was determined to avoid direct conversations on the subject, he would simply have to employ subtlety
Miss Delmonte canted her head to examine her painting from a different angle, and her gaze drifted from her work.
“Mr. Byrnes, you are awake.” Her tone was entirely polite and altogether irritating.
“As you see.” He swallowed, but his mouth was so wretchedly dry. Miss Delmonte rose to her feet and lifted him to offer him another drink, but Silas shook his head. “I do not wish to sleep anymore.”
“I promise this is only tea,” she said, and though he didn’t entirely trust her, Silas needed to wet his lips far more than he feared her drugging him once again. He took a long drink and felt like sighing with relief at the absence of the bitter tang that accompanied laudanum.
Miss Delmonte drew close to help him back down, and Silas took the opportunity to examine her. The circles beneath her eyes told him much of what he needed to know, and the stiff manner in which she moved answered the rest. Clearly, she had not gotten any proper sleep nor left his bedside in days, but heaven help him, Silas couldn’t bear the thought of sending her away.
“Are you feeling better, sir?” she asked with all the deference befitting a governess addressing the master of the house. Silas’s stomach gave an unhappy turn, and he hid his scowl; if he was to lure his true Miss Delmonte out once more, he needed to tread carefully.
