A Marquess for Christmas by Vivienne Westlake Read Free Book Online Page B

her for his wife or some mistress? A
sharp pang twisted in her gut. Did he have a mistress? She’d already considered
that he could be married, but she hadn’t thought about the possibility of a
mistress.
    He
was a virile, handsome man with a body any sculptor would worship and carve
into stone. She’d seen it all, every wicked inch of him. The thought of that
body being pleasured by some other woman made her ill.
    “Do
you or the gentleman need anything else, my lady?”
    “Perhaps
the cook has some broth. But please make sure it is tepid, not hot.”
    Miriam
set down the tray of ice and curtsied before exiting the room.
    He
rubbed his temples, then when Miriam was gone, he turned back to her. Though he
whispered the word, “Water,” his eyes said something else.
    She
plopped another ice sliver into his mouth. He sucked on it, watching her still.
She felt a flush run down from her ears to her belly. If she didn’t know
better, she’d have thought his fever was catching.
    A
foolish part of her longed to demand if he had a wife or mistress, but she bit
her lip. That was not the first question she should ask him. And he was so
weak, it was better if he didn’t speak at all.
    She
put her hand to his mouth. “Do not try to speak, sir. You are weary and
hoarse.”
    He
opened his mouth and before he could argue, she fed him another ice chip.
    “You
have a fever and you need to rest.”
    His
forehead was still warm. It could be a long night if his fever didn’t break.
But he was at least alert for now, which was a good sign.
    She
stood up, intending to move aside the blankets and leave him with the sheet,
but he reached for her arm.
    “Don’t.”
Under his stare, she froze again. “Do not. Leave.” Though the words were
gravelly and low, it was a command, not a plea.
    “Very
well.”
    She
pulled aside the blankets, careful not to touch his thighs, and moved a chair
close to the bed. The mere foot of space between her seat and the bed seemed
much farther. Every little movement made her aware of the hard chair beneath
her and the cool air brushing over her skin.
    She
missed the heat of his body next to hers. “Shall I sing you the rest of the song?”
    He
nodded and she continued singing the last two verses. She fed him a few more
ice chips and started a new song, a sad tale about sailors at sea.
    She
rubbed the ice over his face and arms, singing softly. His eyes closed and
though he tossed a couple of times, he soon fell asleep.
    “My
lady,” Miriam whispered from the doorway. “I’ve the broth and a bit of bread
here.”
    Violet
took the soup from her and set it down as quietly as possible.
    “Bring
me the sewing basket and the man’s jacket and trousers.”
    Since
she did not want to leave him, she decided she could make herself useful.
    He
slept for two hours before he stirred again. This time, he could hardly speak
and every movement caused him to groan in pain. She managed to get him to eat
some broth and gave him a dose of laudanum, which made him even less
intelligible than before. But he slept deeply and she iced him down again
before sending Sally to look after him for a while.
    After
some consideration, Violet went to her room. At first, she sat down at her
secretary to write a letter to her brother, Westley .
But the black ink beaded on the page more than once as she paused to think of
what to say. Her mind kept returning back to him .
    She
would have to tell Westley everything sooner or
later, but it could wait. Fingering the fine walnut wood of her desk, she
reached down to the drawer where she kept her journal.
    It
was the only place where she could allow herself to express what she was really
feeling. Her quill danced over the page as she recalled the last two days: the
wild events on the way home from the Crofts’ farm and the mysterious gentleman
who’d come to her rescue.
    She
described his intense gaze, the sumptuous mouth that tempted her every time she
looked at it too closely, and the