A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(57)

She ought to have been more careful in guarding her heart. She’d known she would only cause herself grief if she allowed him inside.



She bent her head against her hands intertwined with his listless one. She brushed her wet cheek against the back of his hand, closing her eyes, relishing the tenderness of the contact. Then she brought her lips to his hand and let them linger, tasting the salt of her tears.

Kissing his hand was the boldest thing she’d done yet, but during his last breaths what did it matter if she threw away propriety and caution? She would likely never get another chance to kiss him.

She trailed her lips around to his palm and placed one long, last kiss there. Then she laid her cheek into his hand, imagining that he was cupping her face, caressing her skin.

And she tried to ignore the whispers that taunted her, telling her that whether he lived or died, she would lose him anyway.





Chapter

12





Carl’s eyelids were heavy, and he couldn’t get them to open. He tried raising his head, but it didn’t budge, as if someone had put a load of bricks on his forehead.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he was thirstier than he could ever remember being in his life, even when he’d lain injured on the battlefield.

He shifted and his entire body protested, with pain shooting through his legs and arms. Had he died and gone to hell? Was he suffering the torments of the everlasting fires?

He groaned, and the pathetic noise sounded like it belonged to one of his dying comrades. He tried opening his eyes again. This time he managed to pry them into slits.

The blurry light was enough for the flood of memories to come crashing back over him—the morning he’d awoken to an agonizing headache, how he’d tried to ignore the growing faintness and heat that had spread over his body, and how he’d determined to plant the corn.

He’d hoped that if he ignored the symptoms, they’d just go away. But he must have collapsed. As much as he’d wanted to stand strong and fight the fever, it had knocked him down anyway.

Someone had obviously dragged him to a bed.

Annalisa?

His muscles tensed. What had happened to Annalisa and Gretchen?

He forced open his eyes all the way and blinked hard, trying to bring the room into focus. Desperation pummeled him fully awake. He had to find them and make sure they hadn’t caught the disease too.

With all the strength he could muster, he turned his head until his gaze landed on the chair next to the bed. It was empty.

He almost groaned again, but then he felt a flutter against his hand.

He shifted and found Annalisa kneeling next to the bed, her face resting against his hand, her eyelids closed in slumber. The dark circles in the fair skin under her eyes and the weary lines across her forehead attested to her exhaustion. But from what he could tell, she wasn’t ill. Yet . . .

How long had he been sick?

He glanced around the cabin, trying to gauge the passing of time. A wave of dizziness overtook him, and a moan escaped from his parched lips.

She gave a soft sigh against his hand, and an instant later the tender warmth of her lips pressed against his palm. She let the fullness of her mouth linger with a familiarity that she’d never shown before.

The sweetness of the touch sent a shiver up his arm. Suddenly all he could think about was pulling her into his arms. The need to be near her, to hold her, to touch her overwhelmed him. He wanted to make sure she was all right.



But his arms wouldn’t work, even though he willed them to reach for her and draw her near.

She nuzzled her nose against his wrist. He lifted his finger and caressed her cheek, letting the cool smoothness of her skin soothe him.

She gave a gasp and sat up.

“Good morning.” His whisper was hoarse.

With another sharp intake of breath she dropped his hand and shifted her eyes, but not before he caught the mortification in them. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“With that kind of nursing, maybe I should go back to sleep.”

She lowered her head. Her hair hung in loose waves around her face. It was free from the usual braid and shimmered in the sunlight that cascaded through the open window.

“How are you feeling?” She peeked at him, her eyes big and clear and full of the sky at dawn.

Once again he was overcome by the need to pull her next to him, to feel her kisses against his hand.

But she sat back. “I didn’t think you’d live through the night.”

“You’re beautiful.” The words came out as a croak. He knew he shouldn’t say them, that he should stick to his resolve to maintain a platonic relationship with her, but he was too tired and his defenses too weak.

Her eyes widened.

He lifted his fingers—all he could manage with the little strength he had.

She looked at his hand.

“Kiss me again.”

She began to shake her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Please.”

She started to bend, then paused.



His gaze held hers, and he knew he was silently begging. And yet he didn’t care.

With a soft sigh she moved forward until her lips made contact with his palm again. The lightness of the touch and the whisper of warmth sent a surge of renewed life through his body.