Page 36 of Vanquishing the Viscount

As soon as the logs in the hearth were blazing fiercely, she asked, “Shall I heat a brick for your feet?”

“Why do you keep troubling me with questions?” he moaned. “I just want to sleep…if ever I can warm up enough to do so.”

How she wished George were here! She’d never had to deal with a serious illness before, and her confidence was quickly draining away. But she couldn’t let her patient see the doubt in her eyes—he must believe she had absolute control of the situation and knew just what to do for the best. Settling beside him again, she reached out to stroke his hair back from his forehead, saying, “You’ll be warm in no time.”

“Not without you to warm me, my ministering angel.”

“I beg your pardon?” She recoiled in shock, but he seized her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled her down, so their faces were almost touching.

“Warm me, I beg you,” he repeated in a soft whisper, his eyes boring into hers. “Nothing else will serve so well as another body next to mine.”

She didn’t want to examine how he knew this, or why she suffered a twinge of jealousy at the idea of him sharing his bed with someone else.

What he wanted was impossible.

“You can’t ask that of me,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I’ll be ruined.”

“Not if you marry me, you won’t.”

What?

“James, you’re delirious. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know my own heart,” he replied.

A flash of physical awareness shot through her center, but she fought against it.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t possibly be. Either she was still dreaming, or he wasn’t in his right mind. It didn’t matter which. She must not get beneath the covers and wrap her arms tightly around him. Even if it was the best way to stop him shivering.

However…

Wasn’t it vital to keep an invalid calm and comfortable? What if her refusal made him more distressed and confused, resulting in a scene that would rouse the whole household? She debated with herself.

And debated some more.

Perhaps…if she remained fully clothed she could accomplish the task and feel less guilty about it. No one need ever know, and he’d probably have forgotten about it himself by morning.

Did she dare?

He moaned again. “Please,” he murmured.

She swallowed heavily. And made up her mind.

To be on the safe side, she padded across to the door and locked it, then slipped off her shoes, lifted the blankets, and lay down in the space James had made for her. He took her in his arms and pressed her against him.

A great spasm of shuddering convulsed his body, so she hugged him back, trying to quiet him with the certainty of her warmth and compassion. He nuzzled at her hair and gripped her harder, his rough cheek grazing her face.

How easy it would be to kiss him! But wasn’t she already risking her own health by being this close? She wondered if the man had any idea of the enormity of what they were doing.

Probably not.

“James,” she murmured as the paroxysm eased. “Shall I fetch the hot brick now?”

“No,” he whispered against her hair. “Don’t let go. I don’t want you ever to let go.”

Each word he spoke, each touch of his fingers, made their situation feel less like merely a practical solution to a problem.

It felt more like the lovers’ embrace they’d shared in her dream.