Page 34 of Vanquishing the Viscount

She opened the window, then escaped to the kitchen to brew up a tisane of fresh feverfew. She added as much honey as they could spare, but even so, she knew the mixture would taste vile.

Returning with the steaming cup, she settled herself on the bed again and helped his lordship—James—take a sip of the tisane.

He pulled a face, gulped the lot down in one go, then gave her a dark look. “I hope you’re not making me suffer deliberately,” he said.

She smiled. “The worse it tastes, the better it is for you.” A complete lie, but it had worked with Willie in the past.

Speaking of whom, how was Willie? Should she have written back to Charles, just to be sure of receiving news? She needed to stay on the right side of the Keane family if she was to keep her position.

And James must never reveal to them her true identity.

“My parents will be wondering where I’ve got to,” James said. “I’d planned to ride home today.”

“A message has been sent to the Earl of Rossbury,” Emma reassured him. “And your bags have been brought over from the inn, so you have everything you need to hand.”

“Too kind.” His head flopped back again, and he moaned. She rescued the cup from his limp hand and discovered his fingers felt clammy. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and he plucked at the bedclothes.

Understanding, she dragged them off, then reached for a cloth and dipped it in a basin of cold water before pressing it against his brow.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the liquid trickled over his flushed face and pooled in the hollow of his throat. His breaths turned into groans, and his body shifted in discomfort as spasms of heat rolled over him.

She stroked his damp hair, pushing it back from his face and murmuring soothing words. This calmed him briefly, but before long he was fidgeting again and picking at his nightshirt.

She reached for her fan and flapped at his face, but he still complained he was burning up. “I must get out of this damned nightshirt,” he croaked.

“Wait!”

She grabbed up a sheet and pulled it over the lower half of his body, then applied herself to removing the shirt. It was a struggle, but they managed it between them, and she was able to fan his chest.

He’d benefit from the wet cloth there, as well, but despite her being in the role of nurse, she was pretty sure that would break every rule in the etiquette book.

Not that it mattered anymore. Her expectations of being one of the ton had been dashed along with the family finances, so she had no social reputation to maintain. Besides which, James was in no condition to complain about, or even to remember, if anything improper had occurred.

Dipping the cloth again, she dribbled cold water over his chest and shoulders, then fanned him vigorously, hoping to stop him throwing off the sheet entirely. She could use the fan just as well with her eyes closed as with them open, but the temptation to look at his naked body—purely out of curiosity, mind—might be too powerful to resist.

She fanned herself for a moment, then ran the cloth over James’s torso. It was disquieting to see him brought so low—how was it that a fellow with such broad shoulders and a chest rippling with muscle could barely lift a hand to mop his own brow? A vernal ague was a devastating thing, and she prayed fervently he’d soon be restored to his former glory.

Her hand faltered. Since when had she, in any way, thought of him as glorious? Handsome, yes, with those intense blue-gray eyes, the well-defined nose, and beautifully sculpted lips…but glorious?

It was also unsettling to see his face no longer animated by thought or feeling. She was used to sparring with him, to seeing his brows fly up and the warning spark in his eyes. Now, all she could see was the misery he was trying to hide.

As if sensing her perusal, he suddenly flicked open his eyes, and clasped her hand where it rested against his stomach.

“You really shouldn’t,” he murmured. “This isn’t a job for a proper young lady.”

“Since when have you thought me proper?” she retorted, smiling. “You’re always censuring me, even when at your very weakest. I’d like to break you of the habit.”

He managed a rueful grin. “I apologize for everything I’ve ever said or done to discomfit you. And just in case I’m at Death’s door, I must tell you something before I pass through it. There has never been, nor ever will be, anything between myself and Philippa Keane. She came to my room unbidden that night and was rapidly ushered out again. I can be most oppressive when I want to be, and I think I scared the poor girl out of her wits. I needed to tell you that. I don’t want you thinking ill of me.”

She squeezed his hand, which felt comfortingly large and warm in her own. “There’s no need for deathbed confessions. I’m your nurse now, and I’ve every intention of keeping you alive.”

Even so, his admission buoyed her. There was nothing between him and Miss Keane. Such a relief. He’d done the right thing and sent her away.

But he still meant to vandalize Tresham, unless she persuaded him otherwise.

He nodded, releasing her hand. “Can the window be opened any wider? I still can’t cool down.”

“The feverfew will make you sweat more for a while, but you’ll feel better afterward.”