The Governess Game (Girl Meets Duke #2)(55)

Or his hopes, for that matter.

He caught her by the arms. “I have never made Rosamund or Daisy promises. Not one. Now you’ve made them in my stead, setting them up for disappointment. If those girls get their hearts broken—no, when those girls get their hearts broken—it will be your fault, Alexandra. Not mine.”

He expected her to wince. Shrink from him, wounded by his words.

Instead, she tilted her head and surveyed him with curious eyes. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine. And I meant every word I just said.”

“You don’t look well. Your face is rather pale. Are you fatigued from the journey?”

“If I’m exhausted, the journey has little to do with it. I’m bone weary of having this conversation over and over again.”

She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. “You’re feverish.”

“I am not feverish, for God’s sake.”

Chase supposed his face was flushed with heat. And maybe her face had gone wavy at the edges. Perhaps his iron grip on the banister felt essential if he wished to remain standing. But all those things were entirely due to anger, not illness.

“Chase,” she said tenderly, looping her arm through his. “I think you should go upstairs and lie down. I’ll bring you some tea.”

“Stop fussing over me.” He shook off her arm and tromped up the stairs, at a great cost of effort. Someone seemed to have painted this staircase with treacle while he was away. “Haven’t you been paying attention at all? I am infuriated. With you.”

“Of course you are,” she crooned.

Good God. What would it take to get this message across? Did she need it spelled out in maritime flag signals?

He stopped on the landing of the staircase, out of breath. “Don’t want you here. Don’t want them here. Going to put a sign on the door tomorrow. No Females Allowed. Not even doll ones.”

“No females whatsoever? That might interfere with your plans for the Cave of Carnality.”

“You interfered with my plans for the Cave of Carnality. Another thing I hold against you.”

Her amused little smile made his head swim with frustration.

“This isn’t serious, Alex. I am being funny.”

“Oh, indeed.”

God damn it. None of this was coming out right. His brain buzzed like a hive of wasps. His whole body hurt. “Stop looking at me that way,” he growled.

“In what way is that?”

“As if you care.”

“I do care.”

“As if you expect me to care in return.”

“Don’t you already?”

“No.” He released the banister, drew to his full height, and marshaled all his remaining strength into making one last stand. “Come Michaelmas, the girls are going to school. You will be leaving my employ. I will bid all three of you farewell, and we will carry on with our separate lives. No attachments.” He let the words fly like missiles. Gunshots, arrows. Meteors, comets. Dried peas launched through a hollow reed. Anything hurled far and fast enough to wound. “And our little lessons downstairs? Those are through. We are through. I don’t know what kind of dream you’ve sold yourself on, but it is time to wake up. Nothing has changed. Nothing.”

He despised himself for putting it to her so viciously. But apparently, it needed to be done. Any alternative would have been crueler, on balance.

“There, now.” He dragged air into his lungs. “I hope we understand each other.”

She nodded. “I think we do.”

“Good.”

And then, to put an ironic punctuation mark on this little speech, Chase staggered two steps sideways and fainted at her feet.



“Chase.” Alarmed, Alexandra shook him by the shoulder. “Chase.”

No response, other than a low mumble. Something about sheep and manure.

She loosened his cravat. Good heavens, he was burning up. His breath came in shallow rasps. He was even more ill than she’d thought.

Alex surged into action. What with waking the house, calling for physicians, boiling water for tea, and dragging some fifteen stone of weakened, feverish man to his bed, the next few hours passed in a rush.

The following days, however? They slowed to a snail’s crawl.

The longer Chase remained ill, the further Alex slipped toward madness. The nature of her relationship with the master of the house was—she hoped—a secret to everyone but the two of them. She didn’t have an excuse to visit Chase’s bedchamber, let alone sit by his sickbed and keep a nightly vigil, as she yearned to do. Neither could she use the excuse of bringing the girls in to visit. Too much risk of contagion.

The situation served as a painful dose of reality. A reminder of her true status in his life. She’d fancied herself to be something more than just another of his illicit lovers, but she wasn’t. Not really. Not in any way that counted now.

She couldn’t lay claim to him.

Her only news came from overheard scraps of conversation and bits of information shared by the servants. The doctors came and went, they said. Mr. Reynaud wasn’t improving. A pneumonia had settled in his lungs, and his fever hadn’t broken.

Alex wore a brave face for Rosamund and Daisy, but fear tightened its grip on her heart. Chase was a strong, healthy man in his prime of life—but even strong, healthy men in their prime of life could be struck down without warning. She knew that all too well.