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Georgine licked her lower lip. “Can I trouble you for a drink of water? Not laced with laudanum this time, if you please.”

Robyn chuckled.

“Of course.” He swiftly poured half a glass from the decanter on the nightstand, then gingerly propped her up as she took a few sips, taking care not to jostle her injured arm.

The effort seemed to drain the last of her strength, and she sank back into the pillows with a ragged sigh.

After setting the glass on the stand, he collected the book.

“I have orders to monitor you all night.” To lighten the statement, Robyn raised his eyebrows and gave her a mischievous smile, bracing himself for her objections.

Instead of getting ruffled and balking as he expected, she murmured, “Thank you.”

Her quiet acquiescence alarmed him, but he kept his expression neutral.

Clearing his throat, Robyn opened the book. “No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine.”

Georgine closed her eyes, and not for the first time, Robyn admired the thick lashes. Only now, they created a stark contrast on her wan cheeks.

Fifteen minutes later, he set the book aside, confident that the gentle rise and fall of Georgine’s chest and the steady cadence of her breathing meant she had fallen into a fitful sleep.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands.

“Why do you fascinate and haunt me, Georgine Thackerly?

“Of more import, what am I going to do about it?”