The Prince of Midnight

The Prince of Midnight by Laura Kinsale Read Free Book Online

Book: The Prince of Midnight by Laura Kinsale Read Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Kinsale
Tags: Romance, Historical
I to do?" he asked.
    Her eyelashes lifted. The look she gave him said she didn't believe anyone
could be so dim-witted.
    He set the cup down and gave her a dry smile. "I live here," he said. "I
don't have anywhere else to go."
    She closed her eyes and rested her head back on the pillow. "The village,"
she said weakly.
    "And take the fever there?"
    She shook her head without opening her eyes. "Stupid man . . . stupid man. If
you'd left . . . when first I told you to go. It takes intimate contact to ...
infect."
    He watched her without speaking, trying to decide if she was truly coherent
and on the way to recovery.
    "I hope," she said, "that you didn't stay out of some foolish romantical
notion."
    He looked down, staring at the tumbled bedclothes. "Such as?"
    "Saving my life."
    He looked up again with a grimace. "Naturally not. I usually throw my
houseguests off the cliff."
    One corner of her mouth curved faintly. "Then I wish you would ... do me the
favor." The curve turned into a quiver. She pressed her lips together.
    He sat down on the edge of the bed and smoothed her forehead, brushing her
skin with his thumb. "Sunshine," he whispered. "What have they done to you?"
    She bit her lip and shook her head. "Don't be kind to me. Don't."
    He cradled her face in his palms. "I was afraid you would die."
    "I want to." Her voice shook. "Oh, I want to. Why didn't you let me?"
    He traced her cheekbones and the curve of her eyebrows with his thumbs.
"You're too lovely. Dear God, you're too beautiful to die."
    She turned her face away. He stroked her skin, feeling the unnatural warmth
that still lingered. "Damn you." Her whisper broke upward precariously. "I'm
crying."
    Hot moisture tumbled down across his fingers. He smoothed the tears away,
felt her convulsive, shuddering breath as she fought to control it. She lifted
her hands and pushed feebly at his, trying to evade his touch.
    He moved away, to quiet her. This might be recovery, or it might only be that
last strange moment of lucid strength before the finish. He'd seen it happen.
Standing there looking down at her pale, finely etched features and the lifeless
desolation in her eyes, he could believe she didn't have far to go to slip over
to the other side.
    She was alive in the morning, though. Most definitely alive, if not more
cheerful. Four days later she sat up in bed, frowning, and refused to allow him
to nurse her, but ate and drank with her own wobbly hands and insisted that he
leave her in private for her toilette.
    So he did. He went out hunting for Nemo again and came back alone.
    The excursion had one success—he took his musket along and managed to poach a
brace of royal pheasant, which solved the problem of supplies for the time
being. When he returned, Miss Leigh Strachan was sleeping, her dark hair tousled
around her face in sable curls, but she woke and struggled up in bed the moment
he entered the room.
    "How are you feeling?" she asked abruptly.
    He lifted an eyebrow. "Considerably better than you, I don't doubt."
    "Your appetite is regular?"
    "Prodigous," he said. "You're keeping me from my breakfast."
    "No febrile symptoms? Or chilling?"
    He leaned against the wall. "Not unless my daily sojourn in that bloody
frigid stream counts."
    "You've been taking a cold bath?" She regarded him with a weak scowl. "That's
something then, at least."
    "Your orders, mademoiselle."
    She lay back on the pillows wearily. "Would that you'd followed them all. I
told you to go away, too, but you weren't sensible enough for that. I only pray
you won't suffer the consequences."
    "I've been drowning myself in rosemary and rue. I'm most delightfully
aromatic. Have you noticed?"
    She took no regard of the arm he held out for a sniff. "That will be helpful
as far as it goes." Her voice was strained, the natural huskiness pronounced,
but she went stubbornly on. "I've been considering a further list of herbs you
must collect, but you'll have to bring me a pen

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