When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(19)

A gentle hand descended to the side of her face, testing the temperature of her skin. “You’re much better now,” came a familiar voice. “The fever has broken, thank God.”

Lysette’s eyes flew open in astonishment as she recognized the voice. “Monsieur Vallerand?” she asked groggily. “Oh, no. It’s you.“

Amusement curled through his quiet voice. “I’m afraid so, petite.“

“But… but…” She floundered into aghast silence. Who had let him into her sickroom? Surely he had not taken care of her while she was ill. Fragments of memory floated through her tired brain… the coaxing voice, the strong arms, the gentle hands that had tended to her most intimate needs. She could not believe it.

It dawned on her that she was na**d in bed, with a light sheet draped low over her hips, her back completely exposed. It was too much to comprehend… she couldn’t think of how to react.

“I’m not dressed,” she said plaintively.

Vallerand leaned over her. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, the neck open to reveal the startling wealth of black curls on his chest. His tanned face was unshaven, his jaw covered with heavy bristle, and his hair was disheveled. The dark eyes were undercut with deep shadows.

Carefully he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound all that apologetic. “It was easier to take care of you this way.”

She stiffened at the touch of his finger on the hot curve of her ear.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m hardly going to molest a woman in your condition.” He paused before adding, straight-faced, “I’ll wait until you’re better.”

Despite Lysette’s consternation, a gurgle of amusement escaped her. “How long have I been ill?” she asked thickly.

“Almost three weeks.”

“Oh, mon Dieu,” she said, her mouth going dry. She lurched to her side, fumbling with the sheets, her entire body turning crimson as she realized her br**sts were exposed.

Vallerand didn’t seem to notice the display as he helped her to turn over. Deftly he pulled the sheet over her chest and tucked it beneath her arms. Lysette stared at his dark face in bewilderment as he arranged the pillows behind her with the expertise of a seasoned nurse.

Seeming to understand her needs without being told, he brought a cup to her lips, and Lysette drank thirstily, letting the cool water ease her parched mouth and throat. When the cup was removed, she settled against the pillows.

“I don’t understand why your mother allowed you to take care of me,” she said hoarsely.

“Maman didn’t approve,” Vallerand admitted, straightening the covers around her. “But she was exhausted after the first few days of nursing, and I was very stubborn.” He smiled wryly. “And later she sadly decided that since you were probably going to die anyway, it didn’t matter who took care of you.”

Lysette absorbed his words, filled with a deep inner certainty that she would have died without his inexhaustible, patient, all-encompassing care. “You saved my life,” she said faintly. “Why?”

His fingertip trailed over her freckled cheek. “Because the world would be a much darker and duller place without you, ma chère.“

Lysette watched passively as he straightened the articles on the bedside table. Remembering the day she had fallen ill, when she had found the unsent letter to Marie, she recalled that she had good reason to be angry with him. However, that issue could wait until later. No matter what else Vallerand had done, he had seen her through a terrible illness, and for that she owed him her gratitude.

“If I send for some broth, will you try some?” he asked.

The thought made Lysette grimace. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Just a little.” Clearly he was going to pressure her until she relented.

She frowned and sighed. “A very little.”

After Vallerand called for Noeline and requested the cup of broth, he returned to the bedside. Lysette toyed listlessly with the edge of the sheet and glanced at him, her gaze traveling from his fur-covered chest to his bristled face. “You’re the hairiest nurse I’ve ever seen,” she said.

He grinned, his teeth white in his swarthy face. “You can’t afford to be particular,” he informed her. “Until you’re better, petite, you’re going to have to tolerate me.”

———

When Lysette had recovered enough to desire a change of scene, Max carried her to the downstairs parlor. The stronger she became, the more troubled Lysette was about their developing intimacy.

In the past three days she had tried to put some distance between them. She no longer allowed him to help bathe her or comb and braid her hair, and only Noeline and Irénée were permitted to help her dress.

However, as Max lifted her in his arms and carried her downstairs, the treacherous feelings of closeness remained. It did not help that he was being so gentle and attentive. She could almost let herself forget that he had betrayed her and was certainly planning to manipulate her further.

Reminding herself that she could not let herself be stupid enough to trust him again, Lysette gave him a suspicious frown.

“What is it?” he asked, shifting her slight weight in his arms. “Are you uncomfortable?”