A Most Dangerous Profession(28)
“Yes,” she croaked, pressing a hand to her throat. “I’m awake. I’m hot and my head hurts and I’m so very thirsty and—”
He chuckled, and to her surprise, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
The unexpectedly tender gesture made tears well once again. She didn’t know what to say.
Apparently Robert didn’t either, for he abruptly turned away and poured her a glass of water. “You gave us all quite a scare.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Almost five days. Do you remember anything?”
“I remember trying to pass your coach and the accident.”
He held the glass to her lips and allowed her a cautious sip.
“You hit your head and lost consciousness in the coach. After I brought you here, you caught a fever. There was one day when we didn’t know if—” He set the glass aside and put a cloth into a water basin. After wringing it out, he brought it back to the bed.
She took the cloth. “You are too kind.” She rubbed it over her face, her hands shaking like a blancmange. The coolness felt heavenly and she closed her eyes, savoring it. Finally she sighed and handed the cloth back to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He placed his hand on her forehead. “The physician was right; he said you’d turned a corner.”
I don’t remember a thing. “Where are we?”
“We are the guests of Squire MacDonald and his wife, Anne. The coach overturned half a mile from the drive leading to their house, which was fortunate for us.” He glanced around the well-appointed room. “The house is very nice. They’ve been very nice, as well. The squire is very fond of brandy, so I’ll send him a case in thanks.”
“I shall do the same,” she said, wondering at Robert’s solicitude. A thought struck her like an icy hand. Did I talk while unconscious? Did I tell him about Rowena? Please God, no. She pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “May I have something more to drink?”
“If you’re up to sitting, I shall pour you some of the lemonade that our hostess provided before she retired for the night. She seemed certain you would awake this evening.” He paused. “I informed our hosts that we are man and wife.”
“Oh? You didn’t think they’d welcome us otherwise?”
“I wanted no questions as to the propriety of my being in your sickroom.”
“Why are you in my sickroom?”
“Who else would tend you? The squire’s wife who, while a kind soul, is a stranger?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I didn’t expect you to do it.” Moira put her hands to her sides and struggled to sit. “I’m weak as a kitten.”
“Allow me.” Robert slipped an arm about her shoulder and helped her, his strong arm warm against her back. Then he moved to one side to stack pillows behind her. “Better?”
She let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” He flicked a short glance at her and then said, “You can take some tonic while you are sitting up.”
“I feel fine. A little weak, is all. I’m sure that once I have something to eat and drink—”
“You also need your rest, and the tonic will help you sleep.” He picked up a small vial and a waiting spoon and prepared a dose. “You like this; you said it was sweet.”
She took the tonic, more to get him to move away from the bed than any other reason. It was disturbing to see him mussed and unshaven, looking more masculine than ever. “Mmm. It is sweet.”
He went to fetch her the promised lemonade, and she eyed it thirstily. “After I drink that, I shall get out of bed.”
“You’ll get up when I say you will, and not before.”
“You’ve become overbearing.”
“I’ve always been overbearing.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She took the glass, but her hand trembled so much that he quickly rescued it from her.
“Allow me.” He held the glass to her lips and tilted it for her. Her dry lips burned on contact with the lemonade, but she’d never tasted anything so wonderful in her life.
When she finished, she sighed with satisfaction. “That was lovely.”
He returned the glass to the small table. “Shall I read to you while you rest?”
“I’m really not tired.”