A Marquess for Christmas (6 page)

“He’ll
be disoriented. He may not remember things and he may feel dizzy. Make sure he
does not exert himself.
 
Monitor
his wounds carefully to prevent infection.”

Violet
pasted a smile on her face. It took him two hours to get here just to tell her
what she and Avery already knew.

He
reached into his satchel and handed her a bottle. “His injuries are severe. You
will need more laudanum. Give him a dose twice a day for the first week and
I’ll come back and check on him in a few days.”

“When
do you suspect he will be well enough to travel?”

The
old man raised his furry gray eyebrows. “It will take weeks, madam. I’ve seen
cases such as this which took two months to heal.”

Her
pulse leapt at the promise, despite her silent admonishment to her nerves that
she should be wishing him a rapid recovery.

So
he would be here for a few weeks at least.

“Keep
him calm. His room should be kept dark. Candlelight is fine when needed, but he
needs as much rest as possible. Someone should check on him periodically to
make sure he’s breathing normally.”

“Yes,
doctor.”

“Mrs.
Laurens, do you need me to check your person for injuries as well? Are you
well?”

Violet
smiled and patted his hand. “I am perfectly fine, sir. I suffered a fright at
watching this poor man suffer in defense of myself, but other than that, I am
well.”

“I
am glad to hear it.”

“Thank
you.”

She
walked him out of the room and down the stairs. He paused in the entrance hall.
“My lady, are you sure you do not require assistance? You are a woman alone
here with a stranger in your household. Perhaps you should send for a neighbor
or relative to be present.”

“Of
course,” she said to him, though it was more to soothe his sensibilities than
because she thought it was a good idea. “But do not worry. This man is a
gentleman of some rank and we will make inquiries to find his family and alert
them of his condition.”

 
“Very well. I shall return in a few
days, but if his condition worsens, please send for me.”

The
doctor’s joints acted up during the inclement weather, so she watched him amble
forward, his hips not quite in sync. A footman helped him into his greatcoat
and top hat and she watched the coat billow out as he exited the door.

He
was a character from a gothic novel for sure. She could imagine him haunting
the moors and frightening some young woman who dared to venture out in the
storm.

My,
her imagination was active today. First the stranger, now the doctor. Maybe she
was more affected than she’d thought by the events of today. Was she in shock
as the soldiers had often been after battle?

Or
was she merely tired and lonely? Envisioning things around her to be more
vibrant and mysterious than they were so she would not have to face what was
lacking in her life.

Maybe
her brother was right.
It is about time
that you find a good man to settle down with. John would not want you to grow
old alone.

Violet
liked her independence, the freedom that came with being a widow of means. But
that freedom definitely came with a price.

She
could spend her money as she liked, stay out late visiting friends, or make her
own choice of investments, but at night, she lay in her large oak bed and
listened to the wind echo through an empty house. There were servants, but no
husband, no children, no laughter to quiet the silence in her heart.

* * * *

“He
still sleeps fitfully, my lady.” Avery put his hand to the man’s head. “A
little warm. We should get some ice and keep his temperature down.”

“And
you have checked his bandages?” The bleeding had stopped, but the chance of
infection was high. She stood by the four poster bed, looking down at her
savior, who lay still and quiet, despite the people in the room.

“Yes,
the wound is not healed, but neither is it as gruesome as it was yesterday.”

“And
he has not awoken?”

“He
tosses and murmurs and has managed the chamber pot a couple of times, but he
does not speak and his eyes are glazed and unfocused.”

It
had been two days since the incident. She prayed it was the laudanum keeping
him so dazed and not his injury. But they could not be sure yet.

“If
he does not awaken in the next day or two, we shall have to fetch Doctor
Littleton. For now, let us keep him cool and make sure that someone checks on
him every hour.”

Violet
went to the window and opened it.
 
The sky was cloudy and the ground covered with a thin layer of snow.
“The fresh, cool air should do him good.” She rang the bell then went back to
the bed and sat down. The man’s hands felt hot under hers, but she raised them
to her cheek to be sure. Definitely too warm.

“My
lady?” Miriam entered the room.

“Go
and fetch some ice please. If there’s no ice, send a footman outside and gather
snow. We need to keep him cool until his fever breaks.”

She
leaned over to the bedside table, dipped a cloth into a small ceramic basin,
and wrung it out. “I will see to him for a while, Avery.” She looked up at him
and smiled. “Thank you.”

Gently,
she wiped the man’s face, always conscious of the bandage. She hummed as she
worked. It was a very old song that she’d learned as a girl. Sometimes her
mother would sing it as she stitched.

“Come live with me and be my love and we
will all the pleasures prove. The hill and valley, dale and field, and all the
craggy mountains yield.”

She
washed his arms, noting each twist and turn of muscle. She even tested it with
her finger to see if it was as firm as it appeared. Nothing about him was
soft— except for his lips and the silky threads of his hair.

She
brushed the towel over his neck and down to the exposed skin at the opening of
his tunic. The hair there was fine. She couldn’t help but stare as she swept
over his chest. His nipples were wide, but tightened into little nubs when she
touched them.

What
would it feel like to run her palms over them? Would they react to her as they
did to the damp cloth? What about her mouth?

Violet
turned away and blushed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember him
fighting off the thief and the moment when he’d taken the fateful blow. She
needed to focus on her task and not on the yearnings she felt for a man she
barely knew.

She
might be fantasizing about a man of base morals or a man with a wife and four
children. Or what if he was a clergyman? That she doubted considering his skill
with weapons and his readiness to fight, but what gentleman would watch an
innocent woman get attacked by thieves and not come to her rescue?

A man does what needs must
. Even a man
of the cloth will take up a pistol if his life or his country demanded it. She
had seen boys barely old enough to carry a gun with gaping holes in their chest
and villages ravaged and burned in the war.

And
this man would die like the rest if she did not do her duty to him. He’d saved
her and now she must do the same for him.

With
such thoughts distracting her, she didn’t realize she’d paused her singing
until she heard a low, gravelly voice.

“Sing.”

She
looked down to see dark eyes watching her.

“You
are awake!”

“Sing,”
he repeated, but he’d barely finished the word when a ragged cough took over
his body.

“A belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral
clasps and amber studs, and if these pictures may thee move, come live with me
and—”

“Be
my love.” His voice was hoarse, even more than she expected for someone who’d
slept for two days. She lifted from the bed to pour water from the pitcher into
a cup.

When
she lifted the cup to his lips, he coughed and it dribbled down his chin. “Easy.”
They tried again, but still, most of the water ended up down his chest. His
tunic absorbed the excess liquid and clung tightly to his body, so she could
see every line and curve. His nipples hardened again.

“Let
me try this another way,” she said. This time, she dipped her fingers into the
cup and let the water drip into his mouth.

He
opened wide for more. She leaned closer, her bosom near his face, and poured
more water from her fingers.

After
the third time, he put her two fingers to his lips and sucked them. A flash of
heat shot through her limbs. If she’d been standing, she would have faltered
and lost her balance.

His
mouth was hot and she suspected it had little to do with his fever.

“More,”
he whispered. He stared at her and she could not move, could not speak.

There
was a knock behind them and that jolted her out of her frozen state. Miriam
stood in the doorway with ice and more water. The man groaned.

She
motioned for the maid to come in. As soon as the girl was close, Violet took a
tiny chip of ice and put it in the man’s mouth.

The
ice would help his thirst, but she also was afraid for him to speak. The need
in his eyes was too real, too close to the desire that she felt. But he was a
stranger. A beautiful, dark, bewitching stranger who had risked his life for
her, yet she knew almost nothing about him.

A
fact that she could remedy. No. What was she thinking? He was wounded,
disoriented, and who knew if he mistook her for his wife or some mistress? A
sharp pang twisted in her gut. Did he have a mistress? She’d already considered
that he could be married, but she hadn’t thought about the possibility of a
mistress.

He
was a virile, handsome man with a body any sculptor would worship and carve
into stone. She’d seen it all, every wicked inch of him. The thought of that
body being pleasured by some other woman made her ill.

“Do
you or the gentleman need anything else, my lady?”

“Perhaps
the cook has some broth. But please make sure it is tepid, not hot.”

Miriam
set down the tray of ice and curtsied before exiting the room.

He
rubbed his temples, then when Miriam was gone, he turned back to her. Though he
whispered the word, “Water,” his eyes said something else.

She
plopped another ice sliver into his mouth. He sucked on it, watching her still.
She felt a flush run down from her ears to her belly. If she didn’t know
better, she’d have thought his fever was catching.

A
foolish part of her longed to demand if he had a wife or mistress, but she bit
her lip. That was not the first question she should ask him. And he was so
weak, it was better if he didn’t speak at all.

She
put her hand to his mouth. “Do not try to speak, sir. You are weary and
hoarse.”

He
opened his mouth and before he could argue, she fed him another ice chip.

“You
have a fever and you need to rest.”

His
forehead was still warm. It could be a long night if his fever didn’t break.
But he was at least alert for now, which was a good sign.

She
stood up, intending to move aside the blankets and leave him with the sheet,
but he reached for her arm.

“Don’t.”
Under his stare, she froze again. “Do not. Leave.” Though the words were
gravelly and low, it was a command, not a plea.

“Very
well.”

She
pulled aside the blankets, careful not to touch his thighs, and moved a chair
close to the bed. The mere foot of space between her seat and the bed seemed
much farther. Every little movement made her aware of the hard chair beneath
her and the cool air brushing over her skin.

She
missed the heat of his body next to hers. “Shall I sing you the rest of the song?”

He
nodded and she continued singing the last two verses. She fed him a few more
ice chips and started a new song, a sad tale about sailors at sea.

She
rubbed the ice over his face and arms, singing softly. His eyes closed and
though he tossed a couple of times, he soon fell asleep.

“My
lady,” Miriam whispered from the doorway. “I’ve the broth and a bit of bread
here.”

Violet
took the soup from her and set it down as quietly as possible.

“Bring
me the sewing basket and the man’s jacket and trousers.”

Since
she did not want to leave him, she decided she could make herself useful.

He
slept for two hours before he stirred again. This time, he could hardly speak
and every movement caused him to groan in pain. She managed to get him to eat
some broth and gave him a dose of laudanum, which made him even less
intelligible than before. But he slept deeply and she iced him down again
before sending Sally to look after him for a while.

After
some consideration, Violet went to her room. At first, she sat down at her
secretary to write a letter to her brother,
Westley
.
But the black ink beaded on the page more than once as she paused to think of
what to say. Her mind kept returning back to
him
.

She
would have to tell
Westley
everything sooner or
later, but it could wait. Fingering the fine walnut wood of her desk, she
reached down to the drawer where she kept her journal.

It
was the only place where she could allow herself to express what she was really
feeling. Her quill danced over the page as she recalled the last two days: the
wild events on the way home from the Crofts’ farm and the mysterious gentleman
who’d come to her rescue.

She
described his intense gaze, the sumptuous mouth that tempted her every time she
looked at it too closely, and the body that made a woman want things that
should never be spoken aloud.

In
front of the doctor and the servants she could pretend that she merely sought
his welfare, that she wished to repay him for assisting her on the road. But
here in her private space, she could be honest. Violet wanted him. She wanted
his kiss, his body gliding over hers. Each time he awoke and looked into her
eyes, the need grew stronger.