Bronson reappeared with the tea tray, setting a mug of broth on the nightstand near Angelika before placing the tray on the table in front of Pruitt. He poured tea for both of them.
“Should I send word to Dunfey Park about His Grace?” the butler asked as he delivered a cup to Angelika before offering the second to the valet.
“No need,” Pruitt replied. “Cook saw me as I made my way out. She’ll inform the rest of the staff.” He paused. “I do think it best we return him to Dunfey Park in a coach, though. I doubt he’ll make it back of his own accord.”
Overhearing the servants’ conversation, Angelika straightened and realized the two knew one another. After so many years serving adjoining estates, she supposed they would have met in nearby Kirkby Kendal, probably at the church. “I rather doubt a coach will work,” she commented, remembering Pruitt’s description of the duke having been thrown from a coach as a child. “Perhaps… perhaps he merely requires a roof over his head.”
“My lady?” Bronson’s quizzical expression belied his usual look of boredom.
“An umbrella,” she stated. “Our largest. A means to block out the sky while he walks back to Dunfey Park.”
Pruitt and Bronson exchanged quick glances. “It’s worth a try, for the alternative would be to transport him while he’s asleep, and I rather doubt we can keep him unconscious for the entire trip,” the valet replied.
“Not to mention how difficult it will be for a coach to make it through the snow,” Bronson remarked. There was a road connecting the two properties, but both boasted long, tree-lined drives of nearly a quarter-mile to reach it.
“Might you have a vinaigrette?” Pruitt asked of Angelika.
She wrinkled her nose. “I shouldn’t wish to subject him to such an awful odor,” she replied, knowing the ammonia and parfum scents would linger in the bedchamber for a time. “Let’s allow him to sleep. Surely he’ll awaken of his own accord, and when he does, I’ll be here. I’ve a book in the parlor I can read. Besides, isn’t it time for the servants’ luncheon?” She rather liked the idea of reading while her patient recovered but preferred to do it without the servants present.
Pruitt and Bronson exchanged curious glances. “Yes, my lady,” the butler responded. He gave the valet a shrug. “Do ring if you’re in need of anything.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the sleeping duke. When the servants were gone, she retrieved the French book from the parlor. Returning to the guest bedchamber, she leaned over Andrew and touched her lips to his forehead.
For that brief moment, she inhaled the scent of him and felt his warm breath wash over the bare skin above her breasts. She couldn’t help but slide a thumb across his smooth forehead as her fingers speared his sandy blond hair. The silky strands remained out of place as she pulled her hand away, leaving him with a rakish appearance.
Relieved to discover he hadn’t developed a fever, she settled into the chair. She had barely opened the tome when she realized she was being watched.
Glancing up, she gave a start. Andrew was staring at her, and he had the oddest expression on his face.
