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She closed her eyes instinctively. It felt lovely, blissful even, to be lying so close, encircled in his arms. As if she were exactly where she wanted to be.
‘This is nice.’ He pressed a kiss on to the top of her head.
‘Mmm.’
‘Now get some more rest,’ he murmured into her ear, his breath warming her neck and making her skin tingle. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up.’
* * *
‘A bull escaped, trampling several gardens including that of Lord and Lady Pewter. This reporter has it on good authority that a row of prize-winning hydrangeas...’
Henrietta rolled on to her side, surprised to find herself dreaming of escaped bulls and crushed flowerbeds. Only it wasn’t a dream, she realised gradually, more of a voice.
She opened her eyes to find her husband—bizarre as it still seemed to call him that—sitting beside her with one leg draped casually over the other, reading aloud from a local newspaper.
‘Sebastian?’
‘Ah.’ He lowered the paper and smiled. ‘And how’s the patient today?’
‘Much better.’ She smiled back, pushing herself up on to her elbows as she realised it was true. She felt considerably better than she had when she’d last closed her eyes.
‘Here.’ He tossed the paper aside and leaned forward, rearranging the pillows before helping her sit up against them. ‘Let me help.’
‘I can manage.’
‘You need to build your strength back up. You’ve barely eaten for two days.’
‘Two days?’
‘Since you got into this bed, yes.’
‘You mean I’ve been lying here for two days?’
‘Yes.’ He chuckled tenderly. ‘You did seem a bit confused.’
She opened her eyes wider, looking at him properly. He had two days’ worth of stubble on his chin, enough to qualify as a beard, and his eyes were circled with shadows, making them look even darker than usual. Now that she thought of it, she had a vague memory of drifting in and out of consciousness. There had been someone else in the room occasionally, but Sebastian had always been there, speaking to her in reassuring tones as she’d tossed and turned. When she’d been shivering, his arms had been around her. When she’d been burning up, he’d pulled the covers away and dabbed at her forehead with a damp cloth. When she’d been neither, well...he’d been there then, too.
‘Have you been here the whole time?’ she asked even though she already knew the answer.
He winked. ‘I’m thinking of a new career as a nurse. The doctor thinks I show a lot of promise.’
‘I agree. What else did the doctor say?’
‘That it was a fever exacerbated by nervous exhaustion.’ He leaned over, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek and beneath her jaw until his hand cradled the side of her face. ‘So no more worrying. Doctor’s orders. Your husband’s, too.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ She smiled and lifted her hand to cover his, trapping it against her skin. ‘I didn’t dream it all, then? We really are married?’
‘We really are. Notice the ring. It was my mother’s.’
‘Oh!’ She gasped in surprise, holding her other hand out to study it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me at the blacksmith’s?’
‘I thought you’d appreciate the gesture more when you weren’t about to collapse.’
‘I can’t believe that she gave you her wedding ring...’
‘Actually she gave you her wedding ring. She said she knew you’d take care of it.’
‘It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.’
