Page 29 of A Momentary Marriage

chapter 11

James leaned more heavily against her as they went, his steps slowing. When they reached his room, Demosthenes took up his post outside James’s door, fiercely watching the hall, as if he could keep the danger at bay. Laura blinked tears from her eyes.

They weaved across the floor to his bed, and Laura eased James down on it, grateful for the servants’ custom of turning down the bed. He started to lie down, but she grabbed both his arms, stopping him.

“Wait. Let me get your jacket first.” She reached out to grasp his lapels.

He pushed weakly at her hand. “No. I can do it.”

“Oh, do shut up, James.” Laura pulled the garment off him. He was, apparently, feeling too bad to put up any more protest, but sat docilely as she started on his waistcoat and ascot.

“How far do you plan to go?” he asked drily.

“It’s encouraging that you feel enough improved to make annoying comments,” she told him, giving him a little push back onto the bed. “Where do you hurt?”

“Where do I not?” He lay back, raising his hands to his head and squeezing as if he could crush out the pain. “My head is the worst. Damn it, I wish it would just get it over with.”

Laura looked at his drawn face and brushed her hand across his forehead, gently pushing back his hair. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”

“I don’t need—” He stopped and sighed. “Laudanum makes me ill.”

“Then I won’t give you any.” She pulled the covers up over him and crossed to the door. Demosthenes turned to regard her, but did not give way. Laura reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “Don’t worry. I’m coming back.”

She gave his shoulders an extra pat. The mastiff let out a long sigh that sounded much like James’s and stood aside, leaving a narrow space open for her to leave. Laura went to her room and pulled her father’s bag from the bottom of her wardrobe.

It occurred to her that she should probably put on something besides her nightgown and robe. She had never been around any man but her father in only her nightclothes. But she didn’t want to take the time, and it was scarcely as if James would notice or care in his condition.

Picking up the medical kit, she returned to James’s room. Demosthenes, who had remained standing at the door, flopped down across the doorway after she entered and laid his head on his paws, closing his eyes. Apparently he had decided it was safe to leave James in her care. Laura shut the door softly behind her and tiptoed across the floor.

“You needn’t sneak,” a voice said from the dark. “I’m not asleep.”

“May I turn on a low light?”

“Whatever you like.” James eyed her bag suspiciously. “What is that?”

“Instruments of torture.” She was pleased to see his face had recovered a bit of color.

“Ah. Good to know.”

“It’s what my father took with him when he visited a patient.” She pulled out a bottle and poured some of the contents into a glass, adding water. “This isn’t laudanum; it’s from willow bark, good for headaches.”

“Your father dabbled in folk medicine?”

“He wasn’t one to discount a remedy merely because it was old.” She slid one hand beneath his head to lift it, and he raised up on his elbows.

“I’m not helpless.”

“I’m sure you’re not. Drink this.”

He sipped and made a face. “That tastes terrible.”

“Of course it does—it’s good for you.” She gave him a teasing smile and laid her palm over his forehead. “Now drink the rest of it.”

James complied, then lay back down and watched her as she moved about, pouring water from the pitcher into the bowl and dipping a rag into it.

“You feel a trifle hot,” she commented. She feared that was the reason for the color in his face. “Are you feverish?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m no longer sure what I am.”