Page 54

“Father,” William scolded with a chuckle. “Your stomach is showing.”

Anthony looked down and saw that his son was right. Quite by accident, he had lifted the hem of his shirt too high, exposing a sliver of his abdomen.

“Mrs. Havers would say that you need fattening up,” William continued to chirp, his spirits high, utterly oblivious to Marina’s shocked state.

Anthony quickly let his shirt drop, his gaze more curious as he watched the color in Marina’s cheeks darken by a hue or two. Her throat bobbed and, for a moment, he thought he might like to kiss her there, or perhaps at the curve of her graceful neck.

As swiftly as she had turned to look at him, Marina turned back to face the books, fumbling with the next tome that needed a home on the shelf.

“I like to organize everything,” she explained, her voice thick. “This is part of my work; I must know where everything is, and if I am the one putting everything away, then I cannot blame anyone else when I cannot find something.”

Anthony took up some of the books that had been abandoned on the desk and carried them to her. “At least allow me to put some of them away for you,” he said. “Any you might wish to have up on the mezzanine, perhaps.”

William wandered off to inspect the last crate of belongings, humming merrily to himself as he tinkered with the empty bottles and jars, sifting for treasures. Leaving his father and Marina quite alone together.

“I… thought I might put some of my tools up there,” she said, not looking at him. “Ingredients, too, so that I can work indoors until my workshops is ready.”

“You will need a table up there,” Anthony said, frowning.

It would not be easy to lift such a piece of furniture, but with enough hands and some ropes, he could envision how it might be done.

“Yes, I likely shall,” she agreed.

Just then, he noticed a faint tremble in her hand as she pushed a book into place. And her breathing was rather uneven, her face still red as if she had a fever.

Before he could stop himself, he touched his hand to her brow.

She gasped and turned her fluttering gaze up to him. Indeed, now that he thought about it, the shine of her eyes was also rather feverish.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, taking a half step closer, bringing his other hand to the nape of her neck.

She was warm, but he could not tell if she was too warm. Was it just that she had been lifting and carrying things all morning, or was it something more nefarious?

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.

“Marina? Are you unwell?” he repeated, worried.

He adjusted his hold on the back of her neck so he might better feel the heat of her skin, while his palm pressed more firmly against her brow. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid: her putting herself in harm’s way. True, he had been more concerned about a fall or a strained muscle or fainting from the exertion, but her becoming unwell was just as worrisome.

Her hand came up to touch his chest, a light pressure that had all the power of a fierce blow. The ability to breathe abandoned him as she left her palm there for a moment, right where his heart was beating faster than it should.

In the next instant, she pushed him away gently.

“I do think that… I might be unwell,” she admitted, her voice wavering. “Yes, my… um… my heart does not feel quite right. Some manner of arrhythmia. And I… uh… feel rather warm.”

Anthony did not think twice. He did not think at all.

He swept Marina up into his arms, concern pulsing through his veins.

“You must retire at once,” he insisted. “I shall send for a physician.”

She wriggled in his embrace, kicking her feet in protest. “That really is not necessary, Anthony. Please, set me down. I shall take to my bed after I have finished this.”

“I am not letting anyone else get sick,” he insisted. “I almost missed my son’s illness, but I shall not let the same thing happen to you.”

He carried her away from the half-ordered books, and felt the defiance relax out of her.

“What are you doing?” William asked, his face reflecting his father’s concerns.