The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [59]
“Tom,” he said quietly.
“Milord, there be a problem?”
“Aye, Her Ladyship is ill. I need you to make her some herbal tea and I’ll bathe her with cold water to bring down the fever. Have you any special potions that would help her?”
Tom had no potions, but he had his dear mother’s excellent herbal tea.
When Douglas returned to Alexandra, a lighted candle in his hand, he realized he hadn’t even noticed that during his conversation with Tom he’d been quite naked. He shook his head at himself, set the candle down on the small table next to the bed, and quickly pulled on Tom’s pants. He touched his palms to her cheeks, then to her shoulders. She was soaked with sweat. He pulled the damp linen shirt off her. Within moments Tom brought a bowl of cold water and a soft cloth.
Douglas straightened her arms and legs. He began methodically to wipe her down, long steady strokes from her face to her toes. When the cold wet cloth returned to her face, she tried to twist away, but he held her, saying quietly, “No, Alexandra. Hold still. You’re the one who is now ill. Hold still.”
She couldn’t understand him, he knew. He wiped her face, holding the cold cloth still for several moments. She turned her face against his palm, trying to burrow into the cloth.
“Yes, you’re hot, aren’t you? No, I won’t stop doing this, I promise. I know it must feel good. I know you’re burning up. Trust me in this, at least.” The cloth went down her throat to her shoulders. He lifted the cloth then and realized it was hot. The fever was heavy upon her.
He eased her onto her stomach. Again and again he stroked the cloth over her. He tried not to look at her, tried not to assess how he felt as he looked at her, tried not to acknowledge that his sex was swelled even though she was ill and not ready for him, that she probably wouldn’t want him even if she wasn’t ill.
“Alexandra,” he said. “Listen to me now. You’re ill but I fully intend that you get well and very quickly. Do you hear me? Stop this foolishness now. Open your eyes and look at me. Damn you, open your eyes!”
She did. She gazed up at him, her eyes clear. “Hello,” she said. “Does your head pain you, Douglas?”
“Who gives a damn about my head? How do you feel?”
“I hurt.”
“I know you do. Does this feel good?” He wiped the cloth over her breasts and down her belly.
“Oh yes,” she said, and closed her eyes.
Douglas continued until Tom knocked on the door with his mother’s special tea.
Douglas covered her and propped her up on the pillows. He sat beside her and held her up against his arm. “Wake up again, Alexandra. I want you to drink this tea. It’s important that you drink liquids or you’ll dry up and blow away. Come now, open your mouth.”
She did. She choked on the tea and he slowed it to a trickle. He was patient. She drank the entire cup. Then she moaned again. He laid her back down and began again to stroke the cloth over her body.
At the end of an hour, the fever was down. She soon began to tremble and shudder with cold.
Douglas didn’t hesitate. He crawled into bed with her and drew her against him. She sought him out then, trying to burrow inside him, her legs pushing against his, her face under his right arm. He smiled even as he tried to straighten her body. He was soon sweating but he didn’t pull away from her; he pulled her closer, trying to cover every inch of her. Odd that she was so hot yet felt so very cold inside. This is very strange, Douglas thought as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair, at least, was now dry. He was fully aware that she was his responsibility, fully aware that his hands were stroking up and down her back.
Damnation.
She moaned softly, her nose pressing against his rib, very close to his heart. He felt something altogether strange and unwelcome as her warm breath feathered against his skin.
He came awake when it was dawn, a gray dull dawn with the rain still pounding down, lessening but a little bit.