Everything and the Moon (The Lyndon Sisters #1)(71)

“Victoria,” he said, sounding infinitely weary. “I couldn't move even if I wanted to, which, incidentally, I don't.”

“Good.”

“Go!”

She threw up her arms. “I'm going, I'm going.”

Robert allowed himself to sink farther under the bed sheets once she left. Good Lord, he was cold. When he'd left for a swim, he'd never dreamed that the sky would whip up into such a ferocious storm. He clamped his teeth together, but they clattered anyway. He hated being so dependent on Victoria, especially when she had to be freezing cold herself. He'd always loved being her knight in shining armor—strong, brave, and true. Now he was wet, cold, and pathetic. And to add insult to injury, she'd finally seen him naked, and he did not have much to show for himself.

“Are you still under the covers?” Victoria yelled from the next room. “If you get out of bed, I'll—”

“I haven't moved!”

He heard a grunt that sounded something like “Good.” He smiled. He might not like being dependent on Victoria, but there was something to be said for being fussed over.

He pulled the covers tighter around him and rubbed his feet against the sheets in a vain attempt to warm them up. He could barely feel his hands, so he shoved them under his buttocks, but as his rear was equally cold, this didn't do much to help. He pulled the blankets up over his head and breathed heavily on his hands. This brought some momentary relief.

Footsteps pattered in the hall for a moment before he heard Victoria say, “What are you doing under there?”

He poked his head out just far enough to see her. “It's warmer under her.” Then he looked a little more closely. “What are you wearing?”

She made a face. “You might recall that I neglected to bring a change of clothing.”

He wished his face was warm enough to smile.

“All I had,” she continued, “was this nightgown you gave to me. And this quilt I pulled off the other bed, for the sake of decency.” With a rather matronly sniff, she pulled the aforementioned quilt more closely around her body.

Robert's eyes rolled heavenward as he moaned, “I must be even more ill than I thought.”

“What do you mean?” Victoria rushed to his side, perched on the edge of the bed, and brushed his hair aside as she placed her hand on his brow. “Are you feverish?”

He shook his head, his expression beyond pained.

“Then what is the matter?”

“It's you,” he croaked.

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

“You. In that gown.”

She frowned. “It's all I had.”

“I know,” he moaned. “It's my wildest fantasy come true. And I'm too damned miserable to even want you.”

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “It serves you right, in my opinion.”

“I had a feeling that would be your opinion,” he muttered.

“Are you any warmer?” she asked, assessing him rather unsympathetically.

He shook his head.

Victoria stood. “I am going downstairs to prepare you some broth. I assume there is food in the kitchen?”

He looked at her blankly.

“Food?” she repeated. “In the kitchen?”

“I think so,” he said, not sounding at all certain of himself.

She stared at him in disbelief. “You abducted me and forgot to stock the cottage with provisions?”

His lips stretched into a decidedly weak smile. “I might have.”

“Robert, this is so stunningly unlike you, I don't know what to think. You've never forgotten a detail in your life.”

“I sent word to the caretaker that I would be arriving, asking him to prepare the cottage. I'm sure he brought food.” He paused and swallowed. “At least I hope he did.”

Victoria stood, a stern, governess-worthy expression firmly in place on her face.

“Do you know how to cook?” Robert asked hopefully.

“I'm a wonder when I have food.”

“You'll have food.”

She didn't say another word as she left the room.

Robert remained in bed, shivering and feeling altogether sick. It hadn't been so bad when Victoria was there. She—and that devilish nightgown he was beginning to wish he hadn't purchased—took his mind off the fact that ten little icicles were attached to his feet and that he used to call them toes.

A few minutes later Victoria reappeared in his doorway, two steaming mugs in her hands. Robert's entire face lit up. “Broth?” he said. He couldn't remember a time when broth sounded so good.

Victoria smiled sweetly. A little too sweetly. “This is your lucky day, Robert.”

Robert sniffed the air, searching for an aroma. “Thank you, Victoria, for—” He stopped when she handed him a mug. “What is this?”

“Hot water.”

“You brought me hot water? Isn't one supposed to receive some sort of nourishment when one is ill?”

“You're not ill, just cold. And hot water is, by definition, hot. I'm sure it will warm you up.”

He sighed. “There wasn't any food, was there?”

“Not even a biscuit.”