Page 76 of Against the Wind

“Yes, of course.” She hurried to pour him a glass from the pitcher on the dresser. Setting the glass aside, she propped up his pillows. “When your fever lessened, I tried to get as much broth down your throat as you would allow, but I was not always successful. It might take a while for you to come fully right. But the wound is healing well now,” she added, handing him the glass. “I just checked it some hours ago.”

“How long have I been out?”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Most of this last week.”

“And you’ve been my nurse?” He had the audacity to wink.

“Who else? I would not leave your care to others.”

He squeezed her hand. “Rutledge?”

“It seems the duke’s pistol dispatched him to the next world. He’s dead, Martin.” Her voice sounded cold even to herself, but she couldn’t deny she was glad the man was gone.

“Saved me the trouble.”

“The duke insisted on bringing you to Chatsworth,” she said, looking around the overlarge room. “If you’re wondering about this grand bedchamber.”

The corners of his mouth hitched up in a grin. “Yes, that occurred to me. Nowhere else in the Midlands looks like this.”

She glanced toward the fireplace, following his gaze. “It seems the duke favors marble…and books. I’ve seen a lot of both everywhere, and John tells me he has seen even more.”

“John is here?’

“The duke insisted, and it seemed a good thing to me. I thought you might need him.”

“Yes, that was wise.”

“Hart put you on the first floor so that his servants could better see to our needs. He’s been very kind, Martin, even sending a message to Ormond to let him know you were injured.”

“Hart, is it? Well, I suppose that is to be expected. Seems to be the name he prefers.”

He pulled her onto the bed and winced.

Observing his expression, Kit said, “Do you think we should be doing this? You’re not well.”

“It’s part of my recovery having you next to me, Kitten.”

She smiled in agreement, turned in to his side and nuzzled the base of his neck, reveling in the now cooler touch of his skin.

“I seem to recall in my foggy dreams a woman’s voice telling me she loved me. Your voice, Kitten.”

“Yes,” Kit admitted. “I was reminding you that you were not free to leave this world.”

“I have no desire to leave it,” he announced, leaning down to kiss her. “And it sounds like I owe my recovery to Hart as well as you.”

“The duke doesn’t think you owe him anything, Martin. He’s been telling everyone you’re the Prince Regent’s man and a hero. But I agree with you: We do owe him. If we hadn’t been here, if we hadn’t had the ice he provided and the care…”

Her words trailed off as Martin drew her tighter into the curve of his body. She kissed his neck just below his ear and said softly, “The duke thought to offer us a wedding gift with some time at Chatsworth, but you getting shot changed that a bit.”

“I’m certain we can make up for it,” he said, teasing her lips with a gentle kiss.

Seeing Martin brought back from death’s door had drained all the prior anger she’d experienced at his having failed to tell her what he was doing in Pentridge. Those nights of sitting with him while he was lost in fever had bonded her to him in a new way. But she hadn’t forgotten. As she leaned into his side and returned his kiss she whispered, “You might have told me you were working for the Crown and not against it.”

“Did you truly worry I was a traitor, Kit? You were supposed to be trusting me, remember?”

“I did trust you—and I did worry. Recall we did not know each other very well.”

“Ah, my kitten, you keep saying that. But, as I keep telling you, we did know each other very well.”