Page 59 of To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

The women ignored him, allowed him to stare down at their charge. It had been hours since he'd seen her in good light. Surely her cheekbones had been just as prominent earlier, surely the skin around her mouth was always so pale. She couldn't be so ill, so quickly. He'd made love to her not twelve hours before.

A sudden shift in the room caught Collin's attention. Both servants straightened and stared at a point some­where over his shoulder. The maid bobbed a curtsy.

The Duke of Somerhart moved past without a glance in his direction. He rushed to his sister's side, pressed a hand to her cheek with grave care. "Alex?"

There was no response. Collin watched the man reach beneath the crisp sheets to pull her hand out. Their color­ing was the same, black hair and blue eyes. There the sim­ilarities ended. Somerhart was tall and whip-hard, and his usual expression of idle contempt could cut glass. His face was even sharper than that now. He squeezed her hand, stroked her fingers with his thumb, and then he turned cold blue eyes to Collin.

"What the fuck are you doing with my sister?"

"She—"

"I made it clear you were to stay away from her."

"I can't defend myself."

"Is this your revenge?"

"No."

Somerhart turned his eyes back to Alexandra, appar­ently done with Collin for the moment. He sat gently on the bed and pressed her slack fingers to his mouth, then bent to murmur something close to her ear. She stirred a little at the words, but her eyelids only fluttered.

"Move back."

Collin took a step back, assuming he was being ordered from the room. When a short man dressed in severe black brushed past, he realized the doctor was speaking to the room in general. The man was a small package of efficient energy as he situated his equipment and bent to his task. He briskly examined Alexandra, peering into her eyes, her throat, her ears, checking her pulse and her breathing. He even unbuttoned the woolen nightdress she'd been dressed in. Collin looked away. He felt weakness vibrate up from his knees. The doctor has come, was all he could think.

"Scarletina," the man's voice cracked. "See the rash starting here?"

Somerhart rumbled a low answer.

"You must get some water into her. Willow bark tea if you can." He pulled ajar from his bag, opened the lid. "Try to keep her comfortable. Keep her warm." He pressed a leech to her neck. "Marrow broth if she keeps down the tea."

Bile burned the back of Collin's throat at the sight of the writhing leech dark against her skin. It was obscene, that thing burrowing into her white flesh, sucking her precious blood. Another one squirmed on her wrist, then another at the crook of her arm.

"Blackburn." Collin's name fell like a fist from the duke's lips. "Get out. See yourself to my library."

Collin hesitated, wondering if this were the last

time he'd see her. But now was not the time for tender good­byes. He had apologies to make and explanations to give. And if Somerhart refused to allow him near her, he would scale the walls.

Forcing his feet to move, he turned away from her, left her behind in the care of others. He wandered down the stairs and was directed to the library with a jerk of the butler's head. He was not surprised when refreshments failed to appear.

The air seemed to thicken with rage when the duke stepped inside the library and pinned him with a glare.

"I came to see your sister. After you ordered me not to."

"That was months ago."

"Yes. We spoke only briefly. We happened upon each other again at your cousin's home. George Tate is married to my cousin, Lucy."

"Yes. I am aware of that." Somerhart stalked to the side­board and poured himself a drink. He did not offer one to Collin.

"We became better acquainted."

"You seduced her, you mean?"

"No, that's not what I mean. We were. . ." Collin rubbed a fist against his brow, trying to free his rusty brain from its exhaustion. "We engaged in a flirtation."

"A flirtation. And did you mean to wound her? To pun­ish her?"

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