“But… But you have to help me,” he said. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Her heart ached, but this was merely another attempt to elicit sympathy, and it wouldn’t work. Not that she didn’t believe him. The heavy bags under his eyes and the way he spoke without smiling or making any of his other usual flirtatious moves told her that the story was probably true. But she hada dozen dresses in her shop she had to finish and damage to repair.
“Is it the shop?” he asked. “I could give you the funds to hire another assistant.”
So, that was how he felt, that she could simply be replaced. One dressmaker was as good as another. It was typical that a member of the peerage would feel that way. Her dedication and experience meant nothing to a lord who could easily snap his fingers and have a dozen more dressmakers ready to outfit him in whatever wardrobe he demanded.
“I have to get back to work.” She tried to stand, but her legs buckled, and she fell back into her seat. She felt dizzy, and her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she’d eaten?
He sighed. “I understand. I-I’ll find another way.” He pushed to his feet.
She rose to see him out, but after a single step, her legs buckled. Darkness seeped into the corners of her vision as she crumpled to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cordon crouched awkwardlyon Kitty’s bed, peering out the window, darting the occasional nervous glance at his patient. She’d seemed fine, if exhausted and sweaty, but then she’d collapsed, and he’d been unable to get her to rise. Desperate, he’d pulled Kitty into the bed and rolled her onto her side.
“Where are you?” he whispered as he craned his neck to peer down the street in both directions for the fifth time in as many minutes. After getting Kitty situated, he had rushed downstairs, nearly scaring Kitty’s assistant, Alyssa, out of her skin, then scrawled a quick note and sent the girl off with instructions to fetch Dr. Rysel at his office. The man was a vampire, but he’d had hundreds of years to learn medicine. Surely, he could apply that to humans as well. There was a chance the doctor would refuse to risk venturing out of his home during the day, but Cordon hoped what he had written would be sufficient to express the urgency of the situation.
Cordon peeled himself away from the window and checked the folded cloth atop Kitty’s forehead. It was still damp, but it was much warmer than it had been when he’d soaked it. That couldn’t have been good. Her face was flushed, and she mumbled and thrashed, as if the blankets holding her down were restraints.
He touched his forehead to hers in the hope his cold skin would provide some relief. This was his fault. He’d taken her outside to ride a horse nude as part of his list.
“Youwillrecover,” he said, as if saying the words would make the sentiment reality. He pulled back and brushed a wet lock of hair from her face. “I promise.”
If only there were a more reliable way to cool without using ice, which was difficult to procure and often melted before it was of any use.
The sound of water dripping alerted him to the fact that he was squeezing the cloth so hard, it had exhausted its remaining water onto the floor. He rushed to the washbasin but was distracted by a pounding from the staircase. He tossed the cloth and ran to the door, throwing it open in time for Alyssa to careen through.
“Where is Dr. Rysel?” he asked, not without irritation. Coming back emptyhanded was unacceptable. Kitty needed help. If his note had not convinced Dr. Rysel, Cordon would race across town and drag the man out of his bed.
“Not to worry,” a male voice said from the stairs. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Thank you for coming,” Cordon said, when Dr. Rysel entered the room. He was wearing his usual black tailcoat, along with a black top hat and silver breeches. He held a large, brown leather case with silver rivets in one hand and in the other clutched a cane in a tight grip.
“Of course, Lord Grayson,” he said. “Where is my patient?”
Cordon shuffled out of the way and gestured to Kitty. The physician opened his case to reveal a collection of vials and shining, silver implements. He removed a bottle filled with what looked like leaves, then handed it to Cordon. “Boil this as you would a tea. It’ll take the fever down.”
Cordon unstopped the cork and sniffed the bottle. As he’d suspected, it smelled like willow bark, with perhaps a few other additions. He was very familiar with all the various nostrums and medications, having had every single one of them offered to him at some point. Leeches, bloodletting, spiritual healing, massage, as well as many other techniques that were questionably effective. He’d tried them all.
“Give it to me,” Alyssa said. “Miss Carter often has me boil fabrics downstairs.”
He handed over the bottle and took up a position behind Dr. Rysel. The man peeled back the cloth from Kitty’s forehead, felt her pulse with his hands, looked into her eyes.
“Exhaustion,” Dr. Rysel said. He gestured to the pile of dresses on the table. “I would guess she’s been working all night for several days. Between that and your draining of her blood, her body hasn’t had time to recover. I’ve seen it in several patients who refuse to take my advice.” Dr. Rysel gave Cordon a penetrating look.
“What do I do?” he asked. She was suffering, and it was his fault. If he had even stopped for a moment to consider how she was balancing running her business with assisting him, then he might have realized that she’d been working herself into an early grave.
“Remove the rest of her, ah…” The doctor gestured to Kitty and coughed. “She should not wear so much clothing in her state.”
Cordon nodded. That wouldn’t be a problem.
“Make her drink the tea when it’s ready. Then make another cup every four hours until the fever breaks. If it does not break by tomorrow at this time, call for me again.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ve seen this before, Lord Grayson. You have nothing to fear. Miss Carter will be fine in a few days.” He tappedhis fingers on the handle. “However, I must ask. What is your interest in this human? Have you found your fated mate at last?”
Cordon’s stomach twisted with longing. “No.”
He’d wanted it to be true, but he’d tasted her blood several times, and the telepathic mating bond hadn’t formed. If the journal was correct, that meant she could not be his betrothed.
