“I will keep that in mind.” Even though Florian knew all too well that they might not have any choice in the end. If the gossipmongers chose to be malicious, Juliette would be ripped to shreds by their wagging tongues. The only positive outcome—the one that would truly give her the chance to decide what she wanted for herself—was the one in which no one found out she was staying with him as his patient. Especially since he knew she had long since become so much more than that.
Chapter 23
The first thing Juliette registered when she woke was the blessed coolness upon her skin, covering her body in the most incredible way imaginable. It wasn’t until she moved that she realized she was submerged in water, the liquid shifting around her, offering weightless bliss and endless amounts of comfort.
Which was thoroughly enjoyable when compared to the aching weight she’d been feeling the last two days. Until she started wondering about how she’d arrived in a tub. The last person she recalled speaking with was Florian, but beyond that, she remembered nothing.
Curious, she opened her eyes just enough to discern she was in a room darkened by tones of gray. A candle flickering somewhere nearby cast dancing shadows across the walls. Dropping her gaze, she saw the tub had been covered by a white sheet in an effort to protect her modesty, for which she was grateful.
Her eyes slid shut once more even as the dryness in her mouth, informing her of her need to drink, pushed a groan from her throat. The impulse to use what little strength she possessed in order to procure a glass of water was suddenly uncontrollable. She grabbed at the sheet, determined to pull it away, her arms and hands splashing about in the process.
“What is it?” Florian was beside her in an instant, crouched down with his lovely blue eyes so close she imagined swimming right into his gaze. “What do you need?”
“Drink.” The effort it took to say that one word was astounding, and once it was spoken, it sounded like wood crackling in an open fireplace.
A glass was promptly produced and set to her lips, the wine she tasted upon her tongue easing away much of her discomfort. It was followed by something else—something bitter—and then by wine again. She muttered her thanks, as inaudible as they were. Her eyes, impossible to keep open, drifted shut, and she allowed herself to succumb to slumber.
When she woke again she was lying on a bed and dressed in her favorite nightgown. Feeling light pressure beneath her chin, she reached up and touched the fastening of the nightcap that had been firmly secured to her head. Expelling a breath she dropped her hand. The room was unfamiliar, which meant she wasn’t at home. Turning her head with some effort, she observed the man who snored ever so softly from his position in a nearby armchair. Strands of copper fell in absolute disarray around his handsome face—a face far more relaxed in sleep than it had ever been while awake. He looked... at peace, she decided; free from all the worry and concern he otherwise carried with him.
Further study drew her attention to his torso. He’d shucked his jacket, vest and cravat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the fine dusting of golden ginger hair upon his forearms. Allowing her gaze to drift lower, she followed the length of his long legs until she arrived at his feet. Both were bare, which for some absurd reason made her smile. In spite of her sickliness, there was something utterly charming about Florian’s informal state of undress. She appreciated it and liked the fact that he’d had the good sense to let propriety slip in favor of comfort.
Unwilling to wake him, Juliette tried to rise from the bed as quietly as possible. Which wasn’t easy since she required a chamber pot with extreme urgency. She practically tumbled from the bed with a thud in her desperation to reach it, all the while trying to figure out how she would see to her business without Florian bearing witness.
“Juliette.” Her name spoken with hasty alarm sent all such hope flying out the window. Before she had a chance to protest, Florian had ascertained her requirement, procured the chamber pot from under the bed and helped her use it. “Hush,” he whispered while stroking his thumbs across her cheeks. “There is no need for tears. All of this is perfectly normal to me. I have experienced it hundreds of times before.”
As true as that might be, Juliette was mortified. Only Amelia and Raphe had seen her like this before, and even then it had not been quite so bad. To find herself reduced to this infirm state, while the man whose admiration she craved bore witness, was beyond awful.
After helping her back to bed, he propped her up and helped her drink more wine. “Sustenance is vital to your recovery.” His voice was firm. “I brought some chicken and fruit for you. Try to eat a little.” He handed her a small plate before going to pick up the recently used chamber pot. “I will be back soon.”
Juliette groaned but did as he asked and made a deliberate effort to push food down into her belly. To her surprise, it wasn’t as much of a struggle as she had expected, and by the time Florian returned, she only had one small piece of plum left.
Florian glanced at the plate and gave her a nod of approval. “Your appetite is excellent. If you can continue eating and sleeping like this, I do believe you will get well again soon.”
“Where... am I?” She wanted answers while she could get them.
“In the guest room of my house.” He moved closer, removed the plate from her hands and placed it on the bedside table before perching on the edge of the bed. “Your brother agreed it was for the best.”
Closing her eyes, she chose to ignore the impropriety and the possible scandal this might cause. There would be enough time to worry about that later if she survived. So she reached for his hand instead and squeezed it. “Thank you.” It was all she could manage to say.
His thumb brushed across her cheek. “Please don’t cry.”
She hadn’t realized she was. “Thank you,” she told him again, since she could think of nothing else. Her brain felt like a big wad of cotton. Forming coherent thought and then voicing it was proving a chore, and the small amount of effort she’d made to leave her bed and then eat had drained her completely.
“Get some rest,” she heard him say, the comforting sound of his voice accompanying her as she drifted away once more.
Pulling back his cue, Bartholomew peered across the green felt topper of his billiards table. Taking aim, he struck his target with swift precision. The ball rolled smoothly forward, knocking another ball into the corner pocket.
“It’s time for me to be merciless,” he told Mr. Smith as he straightened his posture. Reaching for his nearby glass of claret, he took a sip and savored the sweet flavor against his tongue.
“What are you proposing?” Mr. Smith asked.
Bartholomew sighed. “I’m tired of playing games and of not finding satisfaction. I gave Florian a chance to redeem himself by ensuring Guthrie’s arrest and still he refuses to comply with my wishes!”
“I believe he’s been a bit busy tending to Lady Juliette.”
Bartholomew pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. “I don’t care what his reasons are. The point is, he needs to be taught a bloody lesson, which means I have to follow through with my threat this time no matter how it might affect Claire.”
“You want me to contact Harper?”
