A Taste of Desire(73)
He glanced down at her again to find her peeping up at him. “You needn’t act like such a boar. He was being a gentleman. In any case, you can put me down. I’m quite capable of walking unassisted. It’s nothing more than a bellyache and perhaps a touch of a fever.”
“We’ll let a physician determine that,” he said grimly.
In her chamber, he placed her gently on the bed. Seconds later, Amelia’s maid came rushing to her bedside, anxiously peering at Amelia from behind him.
“Oh, mon Dieu, qu’est qui s’est passé? Monsieur says zu are ailing. What ‘as ‘appened to mademoiselle?”
“Your mistress is unwell. Find Alfred and have him send for the physician.”
“Monsieur has already sent for a physician.”
By monsieur, Thomas assumed she meant Cartwright, whom he was relieved to see was nowhere in sight.
“Mademoiselle, iz it your belly? Your appetite has not been right.”
Amelia nodded slowly. “And some dizziness, but I’m sure it’s nothing a day in bed won’t cure.”
The maid sighed softly, then turned and made her way to the adjoining bathing room.
Thomas’s gaze flew to Amelia. He began to mentally catalogue her symptoms. Dizziness and stomach pains? Brought on by what, nausea? Suddenly the possible cause of her illness had his stomach dropping and his head spinning.
“Are you with child?” Behind his harshly bitten-out question lay a fear so distasteful he found it hard to swallow.
Her eyes rounded. “Good Lord, you shall always think the worst of me, shall you not?”
He’d been holding his breath in anticipation of her response. He expelled that breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. She wasn’t breeding. Not even Amelia could feign that kind of affront.
Thomas shifted on his feet, momentarily averting his gaze. “Not an impossibility given your history.”
Her eyes darkened, and then she abruptly fell back against the pillow, her pallor stark against the navy bed sheets. “Please go. I don’t want you here.”
Amelia’s maid returned to her bedside with a rag in her hand. “If zu would pardon me, my lord.” She sent him a tentative glance, as if not wanting to offend. Thomas hastily moved aside to allow the woman access to her mistress.
Pregnant indeed! The cool rag on her forehead was a balm against her fevered skin, but the wretched man was impossible.
Hélène began to remove the pins from her hair. Shortly, Amelia’s hair lay fanned about her head. Thomas, who had taken to pacing at the side of the bed, halted and stared at her.
“My lord, I will attend mademoiselle, and tomorrow she should be, as you English say, good as new, non?”
Thomas didn’t reply to Hélène, just continued to stare at Amelia. She blinked against the intensity of his gaze.
“Worried I won’t be well enough to resume work tomorrow?” she whispered in an effort to blunt the sudden tension in the air.
Her voice seemed to snap him to attention as if coming out of a daze. “Don’t be absurd. What do you think I am, a tyrant?” he asked briskly.
“Oh, don’t scowl so. Just leave so I can rest. I can hardly do so with you hovering over me. And Hélène can—”
The knock at the door was followed immediately by the entrance of Lord Alex and a man who could only be the physician, given the black physician’s bag in his hand. Moreover, the older gentleman, tall and elegant with a thick thatch of snowy white hair, entered the chamber with an air of authority.
“Dr. Lawson was belowstairs treating one of the servants who appears to be suffering from something similar,” Lord Alex announced to no one in particular, advancing into the room as if anointed by some authority that he too was at liberty to be in attendance.
Leprosy might have received a warmer welcome than Thomas offered the arrival of his friend. Amelia noted the stiffening of his jaw and the coldness now glazing his eyes. Thomas gave Lord Alex a curt, dismissive nod.
“Good morning, Thomas. I gather this is the patient?” The doctor spoke with an informality that told Amelia he’d known Thomas many years, probably long before Thomas had gained his title.
The doctor advanced to her side and gazed down at her in a medically assessing manner.
“Yes, Dr. Lawson, this is Lady Amelia Bertram. She’s running a fever and is complaining of stomach pains.”
“Hmm. Well, let me take a look. Don’t worry, my dear, this will not hurt.” He gave her a reassuring smile, which did nothing to allay Amelia’s worries. Doctors had a way of mucking things up before eventually curing you. Of course, that’s if they didn’t kill you first.