The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 85
“But if I hadn’t come back to London, she’d still be alive.”
“And Fellows would still believe me guilty. Or Hart. There’s no forgiveness needed for finding out the truth, my Beth.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice tight with fever. She put her hand on his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.
Ian held her close, his heart thumping. When he lifted her gently to kiss her, he saw that her eyes had closed again and she’d fallen back into her stupor. Ian laid her down on the pillows, tears sliding from his eyes to scatter across her hot skin.
Chapter Twenty-two
Beth swam to wakefulness. She was soaked in sweat and sore all over, but she somehow felt, deep down inside, that the worst was over.
And she was so hungry.
She turned her head to see Ian in the chair beside the bed, his head back, his eyes closed. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, his shirt open to his navel. He held her hand firmly in his, but a gentle snore issued from his mouth. Beth squeezed Ian’s hand, ready to tease him for the rumpled sprawl of his big body. Oh, for the energy to climb out of bed and curl up in his lap, letting those strong arms hold her again.
“Ian,” she whispered.
At the small sound, he snapped open his eyes. The golden gaze raked over her, and then he was on the bed, a cup of water sloshing in his hand.
“Drink.”
“I’d love something to eat.”
“Drink the damn water.”
“Yes, husband.”
Beth drank slowly, liking the wetness on her parched tongue. Ian glared at her mouth the entire time. She wondered whether, if she didn’t swallow fast enough for him, he’d hold her nose and dump the liquid down her throat. “Now bread,” Ian said. He broke off a tiny piece and held it to her lips.
Beth took it, unable to stop her smile. “This reminds me of when we were at Kilmorgan. You fed me breakfast.” Ian broke off more bread without answering, watching as she chewed and swallowed.
“I feel better,” she said when she’d eaten several pieces for him. “Though very tired.”
Ian felt her forehead and face. “The fever’s broken.”
“Thank heavens—“
She broke off with a squeak when his arms went hard around her. His shirt fell open, the warmth of his bare chest like a blanket.
He tried to slant a kiss across her dry lips, but she pulled back. “No, Ian, I must be disgusting. I need a bath.” Ian smoothed her hair from her forehead, his own eyes wet. “You rest first. Sleep.”
“You, too.”
“I was asleep,” he argued.
“I mean proper sleep, in a bed. Have a maid come and change the sheets, and you can sleep in here with me.” She brushed a tear from his cheek, treasuring the rare sign of his emotion. “I want you to.”
“I’ll change the sheets,” he said. “I’ve been doing it.” “The upstairs maids will not be happy if you take over their job. They’ll consider it not your place. Very snobbish are upstairs maids.”
He shook his head. “I never understand anything you say.”
“Then I must truly be better.”
Ian snatched folded linens from a cupboard. In silence he began stripping the sheets from one side of the bed. Beth tried to help, but gave up as soon as she realized she could not even pull up one corner.
Ian deftly unmade one part of the bed and tucked new sheets over it. Then he gently lifted her and laid her on the clean sheets before he repeated his actions with the other side.
“You are quite practiced at this,” she observed as he tucked quilts around her. “Perhaps you could open a school of instruction for upstairs maids.”
“Books.”
She waited, but he only tossed the wadded-up bedding in the hall and closed the door again.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Books on how to care for the sick.”
“You read them, did you?”
“I read everything.” He pulled off his boots and stretched out beside her, his warmth so welcome.
Beth’s thoughts went to when she’d wakened in the night, when Ian had looked straight down into her eyes. His golden gaze had been so anguished, so filled with pain. Now his gaze was evasive again, not letting her catch it. “It’s not fair that you look at me only when I’m extremely ill,” Beth said. “Now that I am fully awake and feeling better, you turn away.”
“Because when I look at you, I forget everything. I lose all track of what I’m saying or doing. I can see only your eyes.” He laid his head on her pillow and rested his hand on her chest. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Her heart beat faster. “And then you flatter me so that I’ll feel awful that I chided you.”
“I’ve never flattered you.”
Beth traced his cheek. “You do know that you are the finest man in the world, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer. His breath was hot on her skin. She was tired, but not so tired that she couldn’t feel an agreeable tightening in the space between her legs.
More memories of the church came back to her, the awful pain and Mrs. Palmer’s desperation, overlaid with the scents of her old life. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Mrs. Palmer, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“She loved him so much, poor woman.”
“She was a murderess and nearly killed you.” “Well, I’m not exactly happy about that. She didn’t kill Sally, you know. Lily did.”
“And Fellows would still believe me guilty. Or Hart. There’s no forgiveness needed for finding out the truth, my Beth.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice tight with fever. She put her hand on his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.
Ian held her close, his heart thumping. When he lifted her gently to kiss her, he saw that her eyes had closed again and she’d fallen back into her stupor. Ian laid her down on the pillows, tears sliding from his eyes to scatter across her hot skin.
Chapter Twenty-two
Beth swam to wakefulness. She was soaked in sweat and sore all over, but she somehow felt, deep down inside, that the worst was over.
And she was so hungry.
She turned her head to see Ian in the chair beside the bed, his head back, his eyes closed. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers, his shirt open to his navel. He held her hand firmly in his, but a gentle snore issued from his mouth. Beth squeezed Ian’s hand, ready to tease him for the rumpled sprawl of his big body. Oh, for the energy to climb out of bed and curl up in his lap, letting those strong arms hold her again.
“Ian,” she whispered.
At the small sound, he snapped open his eyes. The golden gaze raked over her, and then he was on the bed, a cup of water sloshing in his hand.
“Drink.”
“I’d love something to eat.”
“Drink the damn water.”
“Yes, husband.”
Beth drank slowly, liking the wetness on her parched tongue. Ian glared at her mouth the entire time. She wondered whether, if she didn’t swallow fast enough for him, he’d hold her nose and dump the liquid down her throat. “Now bread,” Ian said. He broke off a tiny piece and held it to her lips.
Beth took it, unable to stop her smile. “This reminds me of when we were at Kilmorgan. You fed me breakfast.” Ian broke off more bread without answering, watching as she chewed and swallowed.
“I feel better,” she said when she’d eaten several pieces for him. “Though very tired.”
Ian felt her forehead and face. “The fever’s broken.”
“Thank heavens—“
She broke off with a squeak when his arms went hard around her. His shirt fell open, the warmth of his bare chest like a blanket.
He tried to slant a kiss across her dry lips, but she pulled back. “No, Ian, I must be disgusting. I need a bath.” Ian smoothed her hair from her forehead, his own eyes wet. “You rest first. Sleep.”
“You, too.”
“I was asleep,” he argued.
“I mean proper sleep, in a bed. Have a maid come and change the sheets, and you can sleep in here with me.” She brushed a tear from his cheek, treasuring the rare sign of his emotion. “I want you to.”
“I’ll change the sheets,” he said. “I’ve been doing it.” “The upstairs maids will not be happy if you take over their job. They’ll consider it not your place. Very snobbish are upstairs maids.”
He shook his head. “I never understand anything you say.”
“Then I must truly be better.”
Ian snatched folded linens from a cupboard. In silence he began stripping the sheets from one side of the bed. Beth tried to help, but gave up as soon as she realized she could not even pull up one corner.
Ian deftly unmade one part of the bed and tucked new sheets over it. Then he gently lifted her and laid her on the clean sheets before he repeated his actions with the other side.
“You are quite practiced at this,” she observed as he tucked quilts around her. “Perhaps you could open a school of instruction for upstairs maids.”
“Books.”
She waited, but he only tossed the wadded-up bedding in the hall and closed the door again.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Books on how to care for the sick.”
“You read them, did you?”
“I read everything.” He pulled off his boots and stretched out beside her, his warmth so welcome.
Beth’s thoughts went to when she’d wakened in the night, when Ian had looked straight down into her eyes. His golden gaze had been so anguished, so filled with pain. Now his gaze was evasive again, not letting her catch it. “It’s not fair that you look at me only when I’m extremely ill,” Beth said. “Now that I am fully awake and feeling better, you turn away.”
“Because when I look at you, I forget everything. I lose all track of what I’m saying or doing. I can see only your eyes.” He laid his head on her pillow and rested his hand on her chest. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Her heart beat faster. “And then you flatter me so that I’ll feel awful that I chided you.”
“I’ve never flattered you.”
Beth traced his cheek. “You do know that you are the finest man in the world, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer. His breath was hot on her skin. She was tired, but not so tired that she couldn’t feel an agreeable tightening in the space between her legs.
More memories of the church came back to her, the awful pain and Mrs. Palmer’s desperation, overlaid with the scents of her old life. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Mrs. Palmer, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“She loved him so much, poor woman.”
“She was a murderess and nearly killed you.” “Well, I’m not exactly happy about that. She didn’t kill Sally, you know. Lily did.”
