Page 54 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

“Open wide,” she said, her eyes fixed on his mouth, but her cheeks tinged with colour, revealing her embarrassment.

Jethro was too shocked to refuse.

“I expect Mr Hunt would like you to make him more presentable, now that he’s feeling better. Perhaps a shave—and a fresh nightshirt,” she said, as she whisked herself out of his room.

Jethro screwed up his face and looked at his valet. “Just how did I—”

“It was your wife’s idea, sir. She asked me to remove your nightshirt while she fetched some extra pillows from her bedroom.”

Jethro chuckled to himself. Perhaps his wife was not quite so daring as he had thought.

“Thank you. I believe it was the coolness of the water on my skin that eased the heat and allowed me to sleep.”

“Don’t thank me, sir. I had no share in the nursing, though I would have been happy to have relieved Mrs Hunt. It was she who spent the night by your side, not me.”

Jethro had plenty of time to digest his valet’s words as his man shaved and washed him.

It was his wife who had cared for him throughout his illness. Who had mopped his brow and kept vigil till the fever broke.

Had she also caressed his face with her hand, or had that been a dream? He didn’t know.

But her devotion in nursing him single-handedly was touching, and made him wonder. Did she care so much for him she could not bear to leave his side?

When Wilkes tried to slip a fresh nightshirt over his head, Jethro objected.

“I need you to help me get out of bed, not keep me here.”

“Sorry, sir. I can’t allow that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs Hunt suspected you would make a fuss and told me if I had any trouble persuading you to stay in bed, I was to fetch her. Are you going to let me put this nightshirt over your head, or shall I call her to do it?”

Jethro realised Cassandra had outmanoeuvred him. “Very well, but I want to see my wife as soon as you’re done.”

“Of course, sir.”

Jethro slumped back against his pillows, waiting for Cassandra to return. It felt rather pleasant after the exertions of his ablutions. He was reluctant to admit it, but it had been an effort to sit up for so long. He would just close his eyes for a moment.

It was more than a few moments later that Jethro opened them again.

Cassandra sat in the chair by his bedside, working on a piece of embroidery.

“Do you still think you’re fit to get up?” she asked, laying her needlework aside.

Jethro growled, but his wife didn’t flinch. She grinned.

“Would you like to try some broth? It’s my own recipe,” she said, holding the dish under his nose.

He caught a whiff of chicken and his stomach grumbled. How long had it been since he’d eaten?

“Smells good.”

With his valet’s help, Jethro struggled into an upright position against the pillows and held out his hands to receive the bowl.

“Oh no. I’ll not have my chicken broth spilled all over the bedcovers. I’ll feed you.”

“No, I’m not a child. I’ll do it.”