Page 33 of Vanquishing the Viscount

By suppertime, Dr. Nash had visited, approved the family’s belief that the viscount was suffering from an ague, and promised to send some Peruvian bark along as soon as possible to help the patient cope with the malady. Lord Tidworth had been helped into a spare nightshirt of George’s and tucked into the truckle bed in the parlor.

It was now midnight. Seated in a chair outside the door of the makeshift sickroom, Emma cursed her luck. How very inconvenient of the man to fall ill just when she’d determined to hate him again! But having read about the symptoms of the ague in one of George’s medical books, she couldn’t help but pity Tidworth. He could expect fevers alternating with chills, delirium, and excruciating headaches. Sufferings she wouldn’t wish on her greatest enemy.

Once again, it had fallen to her to care for the viscount and make sure he didn’t attempt to leave his bed until he was fit. Which probably meant she was in for a struggle when he finally awoke. At least she now had a physician’s approval of her treatment regime—though no guarantee Tidworth could even remember Dr. Nash’s visit.

Maybe this was all to the good. The viscount would mark Tresham and its environs down as a sink-pit of disease and never come near the place again. Which meant the d’Iberts could hope to sell their home to a more sympathetic buyer.

A groan from within the room had Emma leaping up in concern. She rushed into the parlor to find the viscount thrashing about and tipping off his bedclothes.

“My lord, be still or you’ll hurt yourself!”

His gray eyes took a moment to focus on her, then he said, “It’s you.”

He recognized her, which had to be a good sign. “Here,” she said, perching on the edge of the bed and handing him a tankard of water. “Drink this. Slowly, now.”

Struggling to a more upright position, he complied, sipping his water as his gaze roved about the room, then once again settled on her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Like a pig roasting on a spit. After it’s been trampled on by a carthorse.”

She smiled. Well, at least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “We think you’ve caught an ague. The symptoms are very similar to those recently experienced by my father.”

“And you’d know all about such things, your brother nearly being a physician,” he said, smiling weakly back at her.

“Don’t waste your strength on teasing, my lord. Dr. Nash agreed with me.”

“Don’t waste your strength calling me my lord. I think we must dispense with the formalities under the circumstances. James will serve. Just James. Was it you who undressed me?”

“Of course not!” Keeping her eyes averted from the lean, muscular limbs poking out from beneath the sheet, she added, “Arthur and Papa did that.”

James’s head lolled back against his pillows. “I still have some dignity left, then.”

Never mind his dignity—what about hers? She was flushing furiously at the scandalous suggestion that she might have undressed him. How could he possibly imagine she’d do such a thing? And why could she not get rid of this unbidden vision in her head of his sweat-slicked, naked body?

“I’m sorry to have put you out,” he said softly.

Her voice prim, she answered, “Please don’t worry about that. You’re ill, so we’ll care for you as best we can until you recover. You have a sound constitution, I imagine, which will serve you well.” If those muscles were anything to go by.

“Hale and hearty most of the time, I assure you.”

Confound it! Why did she keep wanting to sneak a peek at him? She needed an excuse to leave the room so she might recover her composure.

“I’ll make up a tisane of feverfew to bring your temperature down,” she said, leaping to her feet.

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’ll need only a few hours in bed, then I can ride to Birney House to be cared for there. Or maybe a carriage could be arranged. How’s Lawrie?”

“Your horse is fine. I hope you don’t mind, but we borrowed him so Papa could fetch the doctor faster.”

“Your father is kindness itself.”

She couldn’t help but smile ruefully. “How very polite you are when you’re sick,” she said.

“I’m polite most of the time. You’ve just caught me off guard in the past. I’ll endeavor to make it up to you.”

“You can start now by promising not to get out of bed until you’re better.”

“I can see why you make a good governess,” he muttered, wiping the sleeve of his nightshirt across his brow. “Could we have a window open? It’s like a furnace in here.”