Page 20 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

“I have managed to keep them apart. Besides, Cleopatra is a lovely cat. She wouldn’t harm anyone.”

“Cleopatra is a dead queen, and that cat would gulp your bird for breakfast if you turned your eyes too quickly.” Nash stared at the ground while he walked in a circle, keeping his thoughts to himself. Arabella held her breath. This was one battle she did not intend to lose, but she grudgingly acknowledged the final word rested with her new husband.

Nash finally stopped before Arabella grew dizzy just watching him. “This is not a situation I am happy with. Not at all. Wild animals do not belong in houses. Furthermore, you are a countess, and countesses do not collect broken animals and treat them.” He held up his hand as she began to speak. “I do not wish to have a lengthy discussion about this right now, since we need to leave. However, these are my conditions. The bird is released tomorrow. The dogs can stay in the house—the area behind the kitchen, that is—until I have a kennel built. Then they will live outside. The cat,” he eyed Cleopatra with disdain, “will reside in the mews behind the house, but never, never, ever inside. I do not intend to live my life by sneezing my way through my days. Is that clear?”

“I am not pleased with these ultimatums, my lord, but I agree a lengthy discourse at present is not wise.” She would definitely fight harder for her animals, but right now she felt as though a very large, and very fast, carriage had run over her poor body.

“Good. Let us move along. The time grows late.” He turned to leave and then drew back, studying her, as if really seeing her for the first time all day. “Are you unwell?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I am afraid so. I awoke with a sore throat and headache, and it seems to be getting worse.” No doubt the last thing a man wanted to hear on his wedding night was his wife was ill.

He moved toward her and placed his hand on her forehead. “My God, you are burning up with fever, Arabella.”

She nodded, the slight movement causing her head to pound. “May we move along? I feel as though I need to lie down.”

“Tavers,” Nash shouted as he headed to the entrance hall to seek the butler. “Have my carriage brought around immediately. Lady Clarendon is ill, and I need to get her home as quickly as possible.”

Home. The word sounded as odd to Arabella’s ears as her new tittle did, since this had always been home. Now she belonged to Lord Clarendon, and consequently, home was his townhouse. Her head too muddled to sort it all out, she took a few steps, and called out, “Nash!” She stumbled and he was right beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She looked up at him. He seemed very far away. “I don’t feel well at all.”

“I know.” He scooped her into his arms and strode down the corridor. “Is my carriage ready?”

“Yes, my lord. The driver was in the process of bringing it around when I sent word for him to hurry.”

Mother followed them, wringing her hands. “Will you be all right, Arabella?”

“She will be fine.” Nash swept through the door Tavers held open and descended the steps.

“My animals!” Arabella barely got the words out.

“They will remain here until you are better. Now I must get you home, into bed, and summon a doctor.”

Arabella rested her very heavy head against Nash’s chest. Her clothes scratched, every part of her body ached, and she still felt as though she might completely embarrass herself by bringing up what little bit of food she’d consumed at the breakfast.

Nash placed her into the carriage and followed her in. She wobbled a bit until he settled beside her then drew her onto his lap.

“This is not proper,” she mumbled into his neck.

“I am your husband. You look as though you will slide to the floor any minute.” He grabbed a blanket from underneath the padded seat and covered her with it. Tapping on the ceiling of the coach, he leaned back as the coach moved forward.

“I am very warm. Perhaps we can remove the blanket?”

“I don’t think so, Arabella. If you have a fever, you are better off covered.”

She hated being told what to do, and if she wasn’t feeling so miserable she would have fought him on the matter. But never had she felt so weak. A lone tear slid from her eye and traveled down her cheek. Within minutes several others joined it until she was having a hard time controlling her sobs.

Her wedding day. She’d only had three days to plan it, she was married to a man she hardly knew, their interaction so far had not been promising, she had never felt so sick in her life, her animals were left behind, and she was to be placed into a bed in a house she’d never even visited.

Nash tilted her chin up. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ll get you home, and Sophia can help you into bed. I’ve already sent word for the doctor to attend you. It will be all right.”

When she continued to cry, mewling like a weak kitten, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Blow your nose.”

Lord, he was even ordering her to blow her nose…like she was a child. She stubbornly just wiped it instead, and closed her eyes.

…

Nash held his new wife, the heat from her fever-riddled body warming him enough that he wished he could strip off all his clothes. What a disaster. From the time the ridiculously named cat, Miss Aphrodite, had slammed into his chest, his life had gone from one mishap to another. And they all centered on the new Lady Clarendon—his countess.