SHE WOULD NOT be alone with him except by his brother’s bedside. Vitor bade her sleep but she would not admit him to her bedchamber, nor would she welcome her friends. At luncheon the prince’s guests lingered morosely over their plates. They could imagine no entertainments while the earl’s life was in danger. When Ravenna appeared it was to eat only what Lady Iona set before her, then to allow Vitor to join her while she examined Wesley. She spoke only of the wound, the fever, and her treatment of both.
“The ice must be changed frequently. Cold is essential to keep the heat of the wound from encouraging it to fester further.” She bathed Wesley’s arm and dressed it again, settled new packets of ice around it, then closed her medical kit and went to the door.
“Ravenna—”
“I will return in an hour. You should remain with him. Do not trust his care to another.”
“I will not.”
“You did when you were in the dining room.”
“I went there looking for you.”
“Don’t do that again. Send a servant for me. If there is any change, send for me instantly.”
“Ravenna, allow me—”
She turned away. Lady Iona and Miss Feathers hovered at the door.
“He is unchanged.” She brushed off their solicitude and strode away alone.
THE SWELLING IN the earl’s arm decreased throughout the night. His fever broke after dawn the following day. A footman brought Ravenna the news. She ran to his bedchamber and entered without knocking.
Lord Case was sitting up in bed, his brother in the chair at his side.
Vitor stood.
“You see, Vitor,” the earl said weakly. “She saunters in here as if I wished her to witness me in this state, which it is true I might under other circumstances but not now, for God’s sake.” He spoke slowly but clearly, and the knot around her heart began to unwind. He studied her beneath hooded lids. “She has no respect for a man’s vanity or pride.”
Steadying her nerves, she moved to his side. “I am happy to see you improved.” She reached for his wrist and pinched it between her thumb and forefingers and counted silently.
“Was I a wretched monster while I was insensible?” His voice had lost some of its hauteur.
“Perfectly dreadful,” she said. “Wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” Vitor said. “Nothing out of the ordinary for you, Wes.”
“You wound me. The both of you. I would throw you out but that imbecile Franklin would probably kill me within the hour. I am stuck with you, I suppose.” He looked up at her face. “Am I dead?”
“Not today.” Ravenna tamped down her giddy smile and released him. “I have sent to the kitchen for broth and tea.” She turned to Vitor. “Make him drink them both. No wine or spirits, or I shall be very cross.”
“I shouldn’t like to see that,” the earl murmured, but Vitor smiled. It went to her belly and toes, curling deliciously and making her want to laugh, to run across a field of wildflowers and feel the warmth of sunshine on her skin and make love to him again.
She took up her bag and moved to the door, training her face to sobriety. “I will call upon you again after breakfast.”
“Miss Caulfield,” the earl said. “Wait a moment, if you will. Vitor, go away now, do.”
“Not even on your life am I leaving her alone with you.”
The earl’s eyes were serious.
“You may go,” she said to Vitor. “I am impervious to ravishment and in any case I am probably ten times stronger than he is right now. If he can stand, I would be amazed.”
“It isn’t standing that concerns me,” Vitor said, but he came forward. As he passed her, he touched her hand, and a rush of warm pleasure went through her. “I will wait just without.”
She closed the door and faced the bed.
“Miss Caulfield,” Lord Case said, “I beg your pardon and I hope quite fervently that you will someday bestow upon me the mercy of forgiveness.”
“That was a very pretty speech. I think the prince miscast his play. You ought to have had more lines.”
“I was a beast.”
“No. I have loved a beast,” she said, “and you are far inferior to him, in fact. But I am not a fool—”
“Quite the opposite, if my brother is to be believed.”
“—and I recognize that you spoke and acted according to your kind. I will forgive you for insulting me if you promise to not be such a sorry specimen of a man if the occasion should again arise.”
He shook his head. “You have no sense of the superiority of my station, do you?”
“A sense of the superiority of your station and everybody else’s in this house is my constant companion. But I am fully aware of my place and, what’s more, happy with that place. Your insult did not offend or hurt me, but I think more highly of you for offering the apology.”
“When do you imagine the occasion would again arise?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When do you imagine I will again feel the need to protect my brother from a woman who might intend him ill?”
Her heartbeats stumbled. “I—I—”
“I should think, madam, that particular task would be yours in the future.”
She had nothing to say to that and turned away, her cheeks hot. In the corridor, Vitor stood against the opposite wall. She closed the door and he came to her and without a word took her hand, only her hand, when he might expect to take all of her if he wished.
“I must go, to wash and change my clothes,” she said somewhat unsteadily.
“You were magnificent, capable and focused throughout. Thank you for what you have done.”
“I—”
Then he did take her, but only her face gently between his hands, and he kissed her. It was not a long or particularly passionate kiss, but when he released her she longed to go fully into his arms and press her cheek against his chest and breathe in his solid strength and life.
“Now, go,” he said and, with visible effort, stepped back from her. “Wash. Change clothes. Eat, if you must. You look skin and bones. As I like a bit flesh on a woman, you must remedy that immediately.”
“To please you?”
“To please me, of course.” He gestured her away. “Off with you, now. When you are finished, I am easily found.” He offered her a smile that went not to her stomach, but traveled beneath her ribs with a sweet, deep ache that gave her pain, a good, joyful sort of pain.
She went, her steps quick and her bag swinging in her hand. Her bedchamber door was open. She crossed the threshold and recognized the straight, elegant back of the man in whose house she had lived for six years. He stood by the window.
“Good morning!” Happiness pressed at her, seeking to have its scandalous way. “Have you heard the news? Lord Case is on the mend. His fever broke and his wound is again healing well. There are no murderers about the place and even that horrid Penelope and her mother have departed. That last, I tell you, is true cause for celebration. All is well with the w—”
Sir Beverley turned from the window, his face ashen. Tears stood upon his cheeks. In the six years in which she had known him, she had never once seen him weep.
“Francis is gone,” he said simply.
It was as though the world went stark, blazing white and just as cold. She shook her head. “Take me to him. I will help. I—”
“It happened hours ago, my dear,” he said. “He went in his sleep. Peacefully, it seems, without sign of distress. I found him thirty minutes ago when I called upon him for breakfast.”