Secrets of a Summer Night (Wallflowers #1)(44)

“Oh, lovely,” she tried to say in acerbic response, but the effort made her choke and hiccup.

“Don’t try to talk—just breathe. Another long, slow one…another. Good girl.”

As Annabelle gradually recovered her breath, the panic began to fade. He was right…it was easier if she didn’t struggle. The sound of her fitful gasping was underlaid by the mesmerizing softness of his voice. “That’s right,” he murmured. “That’s the way of it.” His hand continued to move in a slow, easy rotation over her chest. There was nothing sexual in his touch—in fact, she might have been a child he was trying to soothe. Annabelle was amazed. Who would have ever dreamed that Simon Hunt could be so kind?

Filled with equal parts of confusion and gratitude, Annabelle fumbled for the large hand that moved so gently on her chest. She was so feeble that the gesture required all her strength. Assuming that she was trying to push him away, Hunt began to withdraw, but as he felt her fingers curl around two of his, he went very still.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The touch made Hunt tense visibly, as if the contact had sent a shock through his body. He stared not at her face but at the delicate fingers entwined with his, in the manner of a man who was trying to solve a complex puzzle. Remaining motionless, he prolonged the moment, his lashes lowering to conceal his expression.

Annabelle used her tongue to moisten her dry lips, discovering that she still couldn’t feel them. “My face is numb,” she said scratchily, letting go of his hand.

Hunt looked up with the wry smile of a man who had just discovered something unexpected about himself. “The clivers will help.” He touched the side of her throat, his thumb gliding along the edge of her jaw in a gesture that could only be characterized as a caress. “Which reminds me—” He glanced over his shoulder as if just remembering that Daisy was in the room. “Miss Bowman, has that damned footman brought—”

“It’s here,” the dark-haired girl said, coming from the doorway with a tray that had just been brought up. Apparently they had both been too absorbed in each other to notice the servant’s knock. “The housekeeper sent up the clivers tea, which smells ghastly, and there’s also a little bottle that the footman said was ‘tincture of nettle.’ And it seems the doctor has just arrived and will be coming upstairs any minute—which means that you must leave, Mr. Hunt.”

His jaw hardened. “Not yet.”

“Now,” Daisy said urgently. “At least wait outside the door. For Annabelle’s sake. She’ll be ruined if you’re seen in here.”

Scowling, Hunt looked down at Annabelle. “Do you want me to go?”

She didn’t, actually. In fact, she had an irrational desire to beg him to stay. Oh, what a bewildering turn of events, that she should so desire the company of a man she detested! But the past few minutes had somehow wrought a fragile connection between them, and she found herself in the odd predicament of being unable to say “yes” or “no.” “I’ll keep breathing,” she finally whispered. “You probably should leave.”

Hunt nodded. “I’ll wait in the hallway,” he said gruffly, standing from the bed. Motioning Daisy forward with the tray, he continued to stare at Annabelle. “Drink the clivers, no matter how it tastes. Or I’ll come back in here and pour it down your throat.” Retrieving his coat, he left the room.

Sighing with relief, Daisy set the tray at the bedside table. “Thank God,” she said. “I wasn’t certain how I was going to make him go, if he refused. Here…let me lift you a bit higher, and I’ll push another pillow behind you.” The girl elevated her deftly, demonstrating surprising competence. Taking up a huge earthenware mug filled with steaming contents, Daisy pressed the edge against her lips. “Have some of this, dear.”

Annabelle swallowed the bitter brown liquid and recoiled. “Ugh—”

“More,” Daisy said inexorably, lifting it to her mouth.

Annabelle drank again. Her face was so numb that she wasn’t aware that some of the medicine had drib-bled from her lips until Daisy picked up a napkin from the tray and blotted her chin. Cautiously Annabelle lifted exploratory fingertips to the frozen skin of her face. “Feels so odd,” she said, her voice slurred. “No sensation in my mouth. Daisy…don’t say that I was drooling while Mr. Hunt was here?”

“Of course not,” Daisy said immediately. “I would have done something about it if you had been. A true friend doesn’t let another friend drool when a man is present. Even if it’s a man that one doesn’t wish to attract.”

Relieved, Annabelle applied herself to downing more of the clivers, which tasted rather like burned coffee. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she was beginning to feel the tiniest bit better.

“Lillian must have had a devil of a time finding your mother,” Daisy commented. “I can’t imagine what has taken them so long.” She drew back a little to look at Annabelle, her brown eyes sparkling richly. “I’m actually glad, though. If they had come quickly, I would have missed seeing Mr. Hunt’s transformation from a big bad wolf into…well…a somewhat nicer wolf.”

A reluctant laugh gurgled in Annabelle’s throat. “Quite something, isn’t he?”

“Yes, indeed. Arrogant and oh-so-masterful. Like a figure from one of those torrid novels that Mama is forever ripping from my hands. It’s a good thing that I was here, or he probably would have stripped you right down to your unmentionables.” She continued to chatter as she helped Annabelle to drink more of the clivers, and blotted her chin once more. “You know, I never thought I would say this, but Mr. Hunt isn’t quite as terrible as I thought.”