Page 34 of A Momentary Marriage

A knock sounded on his door, and he turned so quickly he overbalanced and again had to grab the bedpost to keep from toppling over. The door opened a crack, a woman’s soft voice, saying, “James.”

“Laura!” The word came out in a croak, and he took a step forward, afraid to let go of the post. He looked like a fool, he knew, standing there shirt hanging open and feet bare, clinging to the bedpost and clutching the washcloth in his hand like a spinster about to have a fit of the vapors. But then, he so often looked like a fool these days, he supposed it scarcely mattered.

The door swung wider, and Laura came into the room. She was smiling in that way of hers, calm and serene, but with a glimmer in her eyes that spoke of a readiness to laugh. He had always thought her beautiful in the way a perfect piece of art was, but now he could see how much more intriguing she was than perfection. He wished . . . well, no use wishing anything.

The important thing was she wasn’t angry or disgusted or fearful, all the emotions he had feared he might see in her face. The knot in his chest eased. It had been a dream.

He took a step toward her and crumpled to the ground.

The dog reached James first, prodding him with his nose and licking his cheek. Laura knelt beside him, pushing Dem aside.

“James?” She laid her hand on his forehead. He wasn’t hot again. She shook his shoulder. “James, get up. I need you to get into bed. Please, I can’t lift you.”

Laura ran to the bell pull and yanked it several times. There was a noise behind her, and the mastiff growled deep in his throat. Laura swung around. Walter stood in the door, staring at James. “Good God. James.”

“Don’t stand there,” Laura snapped. “Come here and help me.”

Her orders broke the young man from his paralysis and he hurried to her side. Together they tugged and pulled, but could manage to do no more than get James into a sitting position. Laura cradled him against her breast, holding his head to keep it from lolling back. She stroked her hand across his forehead.

James opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at her. “Laura. Beg pardon.”

Laura was perilously close to hysterical tears. What was she to do? A fever she could battle, but she felt lost now. Nodding toward the bell pull, she told Walter, “Go ring again.”

But at that moment, Simpson came in, followed by one of the footmen. Between the men, they managed to lift James and put him in the bed. Simpson shoved the pitcher at the footman and told him to fetch more water, and Laura turned to her father’s bag.

With shaking fingers, she poured willow bark tincture into a glass, then patted James on the cheek. “James, wake up. Look at me. James.” Her voice grew sharper, and her hand against his cheek was a little stinging.

James muttered a curse and opened his eyes. They were clearer now, at least. She managed to get some of the liquid down him, though he gave her a baleful glare. She cupped her hand against his cheek, running her thumb along his cheekbone.

“Stay awake now. Will you?”

He nodded and ran his tongue over his lip. “Thirsty.”

The footman brought the pitcher of water, and she gave James a sip. He looked slightly better, though his face was bloodless. The footman retreated to the foot of the bed, but Walter remained on the other side, staring down at his brother. He looked, she thought, quite lost.

“James . . .” he said vaguely, then, gazing up at her, “He can’t—he’ll be all right, won’t he?”

Behind her, more practically, Simpson said, “I’ll send for the doctor, ma’am.”

“No.” James spoke up, though his voice was so lacking in power it scarcely sounded like him. “No doctor.” He looked at Laura. “Keep them away from me.”

“Yes, of course, if you don’t wish him here,” she said mildly, taking his hand.

“I wish him to the devil. I wish everyone to the devil.” His hand tightened on hers. “Not you.”

She glanced at him, surprised, and once again felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes. “My. High praise, indeed.”

Demosthenes padded over and reared up, planting his paws on the bed, and stretched his head toward James. James patted him. “It’s all right, Dem.” To Laura he said, “Get Owen to take him out; he’s the only one not scared of him.”

“Yes, sir.” The footman came around the bed. “That’s me, ma’am. I’ll take him.”

It took some persuasion from Owen, but finally the big dog followed him from the room. Laura turned to the butler. “Sir James had a high fever last night. I think perhaps he simply fainted because he’s weak from that. Why don’t you bring him a cup of broth or maybe oatmeal? Something strengthening.”

“I don’t want it,” James said behind her.

“Of course not, but I think you should have a little anyway.”

“Then doubtless I will.” He pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I must use the breathing treatment.”