At the Earl's Convenience (7 page)

The doctor winked at Selina. “Rest is what his lordship needs. Keep the room as warm as you can. I approve of your treatments. Keep them up. He can have laudanum for his aches and pains and give him a spoonful of this three times a day.” He handed Selina a bottle of medicine. “I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Doctor,” Selina said.

“We doctors always scurry to the
ton
,” he said, his grey eyes twinkling. “Don’t know why. They seldom pay their bills.”

“We pay our bills here,” she said with a smile.

He shook her hand. “I’ve known his lordship since he was in short trousers. If I may be so bold, I’m pleased he has married, and I’m very glad it’s to you, Lady Halcrow. What you’ve achieved here at Halcrow Hall is little short of a miracle.”

He paused at the door. “You might have his lordship bathed. If nothing else, it will make him feel better.”

Chapter Nine

After the doctor had gone, Selina called for hot water, soap, and towels. In the flickering candlelight, she drew down the blankets, rolled up his nightshirt, and began to wipe the sweat away, dipping the cloth in the water, wringing it out, and stroking his body, before gently patting it dry. She started at his feet then his legs, discovering, with inner delight, every perfect inch of his body. She left that awkward part until last, fearing she would wake him.

It had to be done. She was tentatively dabbing at his groin when his manhood stirred and stood to attention.

“Can’t I take my eyes off you for a minute?” an amused voice said. She looked up to find him watching her.

“The doctor told me to wash you.”

“I must thank him when I see him. Please continue but be careful. What you begin, I may finish.”

She dried him quickly and poured out a spoonful of medicine. Raising his head, she slipped the linctus between his parched lips. He closed his eyes and was soon breathing deeply.

“Promises, promises,” she said softly.

When he rolled over, she studied the bruises, a kaleidoscope of yellow, grey, and purple. She’d found a bruise on his chin, and his knuckles were swollen. What had he been up to? A fight with a cuckolded husband? She gently washed his strong back and rounded backside then toweled him dry and pulled down his nightshirt. When she tucked him in, he didn’t stir.

Drained, she lay down on a chaise lounge she’d had brought in, discovering it to be more decorative than comfortable. She pulled a rug over herself and dozed.

Hours later Selina rose again to tuck him in after he’d tossed off his bedclothes. He moaned and muttered in his sleep. She wearily returned to her makeshift bed and closed her eyes, trying to snatch some rest.

“No! You’re wasting your time, damn you, you bastard.”

Selina woke with a start. Devereux was crying out. She leapt up and went to him, but he was still in a deep sleep.

“By God, you’ll have to kill me!” he ground out, his face rigid with anger.

She dipped the cloth in the bowl and gently stroked his sweaty brow. He didn’t stir.

What did his words mean? She lay down again, not expecting to sleep.

Selina woke as the first pale rays of sunlight peeped through the break in the curtains. The room was deathly quiet. Fear clutched her throat. She threw off the rug, stumbling to the bed. He was alive, thank God, but deeply asleep. Her hand settled on his forehead. It was blessedly cool. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she flicked it away with a finger, excusing it as weakness. She
was
drained. Tiptoeing back to her bed, she lay down and closed her eyes.

Selina woke again with a start. Sunshine flooded in and warmed the room. She must have slept for hours. She sat up too quickly and her head spun. Devereux lay with a hand supporting his head, watching her.

“You’re awake.” She clamped her lips on a crow of delight and struggled out of her blanket, untangling her creased gown, which had gathered up around her legs. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded. “You should not have forsaken your bed for me, Selina.”

“It’s of no consequence. Any wife would do the same.”

His gaze roamed over her. “Your hair is coming down.”

Selina put a hand to her tangled curls. She must look a fright. She walked to the door. “I’ll go and change and order your breakfast.”

“Don’t rush off. Come here.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“I want to talk to you. Do I look like I’m capable of more?”

She remained with one hand on the door. “You talked in your sleep last night…argued, with someone. Do you know who it was?”

“You ask too many questions. Come and sit here.” He patted the bed. “Your lord and master demands it.”

She raised her chin. “I won’t be long.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Amusement lit his blue eyes. “What if I ask nicely? Please.”

Suddenly breathless, Selina came to perch on the edge of the bed beside him. “Of course I’m not.”

Devereux reached up and pulled the remaining pins from her hair. Her locks slid down her back to her waist. He threaded his fingers through the strands. “I’ve wanted to see your hair loose,” he said. “A waterfall of ebony silk.”

She swallowed; her heart was truly at risk when he was charming. “It’s brown.”

“Not brown. It has sun-kissed streaks of coffee amongst the black.”

She wasn’t ready. Her needy heart swelled. He could easily charm her right out of her clothes, and her common sense. She attempted a frown. “My hair is the exact same color as my mother’s. Brown.”

“You are being contrary. You’re a stubborn woman.”

“Such compliments, you’ll turn my head.”

He toyed with the hooks on the back of her cambric gown. “I’d like to see what you keep hidden. It’s only fair; you’ve seen all of me.” Amusement flickered in his eyes at her guarded expression. “I want to unwrap you like a present, on a voyage of discovery, one piece of clothing at a time.”

“You must be feeling better.” As her body tightened with need, she moved away, half-afraid he’d attempt to put his words into action. “I’ll see to your breakfast.”

He sighed. “If you must. No gruel or invalid food, mind.”

“You’ll have what the doctor said you should eat,” she said, now on surer ground.

His eyes widened. “Have I married a harridan? You, madam, take advantage of my weakened state.”

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it while she allowed herself a small smile then hurried to her chamber.

By nightfall, he was aching, and his temperature had risen again. The doctor had warned that this might happen, and Selina was ready for it. As he tossed and turned fretfully, she attended him, trying to ease him and make him more comfortable. In the morning, after a very bad night for both of them, he seemed a little better.

This went on for the better part of a week, and at the end of it, the patient had two good nights in a row and began looking a great deal better.

“You are now in the convalescent stage,” the doctor told him. “You must take things carefully. You may sit in a chair for an hour or so but keep warm. And no undo exertion.”

“I shall move back into my own chamber,” Selina said after the doctor had gone.

Devereux raised his brows. “You might join me here.”

“The doctor said no physical exertion,” she said, tamping down her smile at his scowl.

“If I could get out of this bed, madam…” he began. Then to her surprise, he laughed, and she laughed with him.

While he bore his infirmity stoically and didn’t complain, Selina sensed when his head or back ached, and then she would give him laudanum or a back rub. He seemed to enjoy the latter and she knew the day was coming when he would be strong enough to demand more from her. She longed for that day herself.

At the end of the second week, Devereux sat in the morning sun, gazing out the window, watching the gardeners at work below in the gardens. He impatiently pushed back a lock of blond hair that swung across his face.

“You need a shave and a haircut. As you no longer have a valet, I’ll send for the village barber.”

“You do it, Selina.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll cut your throat?”

He grinned. “Make a good job of it if you do.”

She went away and found his shaving things and a sharp pair of scissors. She returned to settle a towel around his shoulders as he sat back in the chair.

She soaped his face carefully, taking in every loved feature she longed to kiss. As she leaned over him, he moved his knee, positioning it between her legs. A thrill unnerved her, and her hand shook. She hesitated before making a small scrape at his cheek.

“Not like that, woman.” He removed the razor from her hand. “I’d rather face a French cavalry officer with sabre drawn than have you shave me. Fetch me a mirror.”

She held up a hand mirror and watched his long fingers grip the razor as he expertly shaved off his beard.

“You get used to doing for yourself in the army,” he said as he tidied his sideburns. “You don’t always have your batman at hand.”

“I’d like to hear about your army days.”

“Not now.” The note of finality in his voice warned her not to pursue it.

He wiped his face with a towel. “That feels better. How do I look?”

He still had dark circles under his eyes. She took a breath, aware of just how sick he’d been. “Better.”

With a nervous intake of breath, she picked up the scissors. His golden hair, streaked with whiskey tones, settled over his shoulders. “How short shall I make it?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

Selina leaned in, and his shoulder pressed into her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair. The gold strands were as silky to the touch as they appeared. Chewing her bottom lip, she began to cut. The sound of their breathing and the click of the scissors filled the quiet room. The atmosphere seemed charged with expectation as her fingers settled on the nape of his neck. His hair was so thick it slid away from the scissor blades, making her fear she would hack it out of shape. She parted it and cut in sections, tuffs of hair falling onto the sheet and the floor.

“Must you do that?”

“What am I doing?”

“Chew that full bottom lip of yours. It’s an open invitation.”

She took a step away. “It’s not meant to be,” she said, insulted that he’d think that of her. “It’s a habit.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to kiss you, you’d better stop it.”

The atmosphere crackled between them. “Do you want me to finish this or not?” she asked.

“I do. Kindly continue.”

She moved around to face him to gauge what she’d done. He gazed up at her with a small smile. At least the edgy expression she’d grown used to had gone. Dare she hope that one day he would come to love her?

He took her by surprise when his arm snaked around her hips. He pulled her onto his lap, his arms trapping her there. “I have developed an appetite,” he said, his breath feathering her ear.

“Then I’ll have food sent up.”

“Not for food. I want to make love to you.”

Her pulse beat faster. “Your temperature will rise.” She breathed in his musky male smell, sorely tempted to lean back against his broad chest and rest her head against his shoulder. It would be so easy to give in to him. She yearned to have him make love to her with every fiber of her being. She knew he wanted an heir, and she wanted that too. But she still feared that, if they made love now, all her resolve would be gone and the war that waged between them, he for her acquiescence, she for his respect, if not his love, would be lost.

With a narrow, glinting glance, he released her. “I’m not a very patient man.”

“I know, but you’re still a sick one.”

“That might be true, or you would be too busy right now to argue.” He broke into a fit of coughing, and Selina slipped off his lap and hurried to pour out a spoonful of the cough medicine, which did seem to help him.

His eyes narrowed at the mixture, but he opened his mouth. Shuddering, he swallowed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs over the rug. “Kindly continue with the haircut.”

She dropped her gaze, fearing he would see how weak she was where he was concerned and how difficult it was for her to refuse him anything.

The knock at the door was a welcome distraction. Frobisher entered with the tea tray.

“Remember the first time we met?” Devereux asked.

“Of course I do.” Selina poured milk into teacups and stirred a teaspoon of honey in his to ease his throat. How could she not remember the handsome, devil-may-care man who had stolen her heart? The night of the Bath ball was burned into her brain. The ladies fluttered their fans in the hope he would dance with them, but for some unfathomable reason, Devereux had asked her. Three times, they’d danced together, causing a rumble of gossip, which she’d overheard: surely, the earl wouldn’t marry a nabob’s daughter and such a long Meg too. When they weren’t dancing, they’d talked, discovering interests in common: politics, the war, news she thirsted for. He was entertaining and knowledgeable and had her in thrall when he quoted from Milton.