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“For tonight, all conversation will cease,” he commanded. “Go to sleep.”
“But, Uncle, Brigitte is sick,” Noelle protested.
Eric’s attention shifted to Brigitte, who continued to gape at him as she tried to absorb the reality of his presence.
“My niece is right. You are ill,” he pronounced.
“I must be.” She blinked. “Not only ill, but delirious. I could swear you’re standing in Noelle’s room.”
Eric didn’t smile. “You have a fever. A high one, I suspect. You belong in bed.”
“Obviously I do.” Brigitte pivoted, wobbling a bit as she headed toward her room. ?
??Very well. I’m on my way, my lord. I’m sure by daybreak I’ll awaken and realize this was all an up-to-mist-ick dream …”
In a dizzying surge, the floor rushed up to greet her.
Seven
“DON’T.” BRIGITTE TOSSED HER HEAD, FENDING OFF THE CHILLY compress that persisted in finding her face.
“Lie still and stop fighting me, dammit.” A firm hand gripped her chin, and that dreadful cloth resumed its path.
“Too cold,” she murmured.
“I know it’s cold.” His grip gentled. “But you’re burning up. It’s the only way to bring down your fever.”
With immense effort, Brigitte cracked open her eyes. “Eric?”
“H-m-m?” He applied the cloth to her nape.
“Am I in bed?”
“Yes.”
“In my quarters?”
“Of course.”
“And you’re tending to me?”
“I’m the only other adult at Farrington.”
Her eyes slid shut. “I am in heaven. How wonderful. At last I can savor this dream. I’ve awaited it forever.”
“Stop it,” he ordered vehemently. “You’re not in heaven. You’re at Farrington. And you are not going to die.”
The fervor of his tone only minimally penetrated Brigitte’s semiconscious state. She turned her lips against his forearm, burrowing into the warmth of his skin. “Do you know how long I’ve loved you?” she murmured. “Forever. Can you guess how many nights I’ve pictured your coming to me?” A breath of a sigh. “Dozens. Hundreds. But the fantasy was never this real. Certainly not before. Not even after. No dream could re-create the sensations I discovered in your arms.” Hazy mists clouded her mind. “Do you remember that afternoon, Eric? The afternoon we were together? I do. Every extraordinary detail. Nothing … ever … felt … so … wonderful.”
Reclaimed by her feverish slumber, Brigitte missed the tormented look on her husband’s face as he caressed her fiery cheek. “Yes, Brigitte,” he replied in a rough, ragged voice. “I remember. And, no, nothing ever felt so wonderful.”
He fell silent, watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she slept, unable to deny the wrenching emotions her confessions had evoked—emotions he’d thought himself incapable of feeling.
Rising, he paced aimlessly about the room, facing the incomprehensible truth.
He could lock himself away, seal his door to the world for the duration of time. But he couldn’t seal his heart from this selfless, beautiful angel who was his wife.
Brigitte.
