Page 47 of A Momentary Marriage

He nodded. “Laura . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m no good at this.”

“At what? Being sick?”

“No. Well, I’m not good at that, either, apparently. But what I meant . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . thank you.”

A pale flush started along the sharp edge of his cheekbones, and Laura realized he was embarrassed.

“You’re welcome.”

After a moment, he murmured, “I hate being weak. I hate them knowing I’m helpless.”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t go downstairs and risk falling down in a faint in front of them.”

“True. That thought doesn’t appeal.” He sighed. “You’re right. Of course. But I feel so useless.”

“The most useful thing you can do is get stronger. Get well.”

“I can’t make that happen,” he said irritably.

“No, but you can allow it. You can lie here and sleep, give your body time to heal itself. You can eat.”

“You mean drink that blasted milk you want to pour down my throat.”

“Among other things. It would be better if you stayed in bed . . . if the others didn’t know you were improving yet.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Meaning that if they think I’m dying they won’t decide it’s necessary to come in and smother me in my sleep?”

“Well, yes.”

He studied her for a moment, then said, “Very well. I shall do as you wish . . . on one condition.”

“What?”

“You needn’t look so suspicious.” He stood up. “Well, actually, two. One, I get clean.”

Laura nodded. “I’ll send Owen in to help you.”

“And two, you will rest, as well.”

“Me? I don’t need to rest.”

“You do. You have done nothing but look after me for I don’t know how many days now. You need a change of scenery. Walk around the gardens. Go downstairs and have breakfast.”

“With your family?”

“They may be murderers, but they’ll take your mind off the sickroom.”

“James!”

“No arguments. We have an agreement.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You will. The only question is whether you say yes now or we stand here arguing about it until I fall into a swoon at your feet.”