Page 34 of Better Off Wed

“Lady Sterling?”

She had not heard the door open or the sound of footsteps crossing the floor. Startled, she jerked upright, struck the back of her head on the bed frame, and saw stars. To cap off the absurd scene, the silk counterpane slid obligingly off the bed to smother her.

“Good God, what’s happened? Are you all right, darling?” Jeremy was kneeling beside her. “Did you fall out of bed?”

“No.” Her voice sounded weak, muffled, even to her own ears. Experimentally, she shook her head, which only made the room spin harder.

With the care and strength and decency she had come to expect, he disentangled her from the counterpane and guarded the back of her skull from another encounter with the solidly made bed as she slowly wriggled her way back to freedom. At last she could sit up, eyes closed, and rest her head against the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t fall,” she explained. “I had an attack of…ennui.” Lord, what an embarrassing confession. “I wanted to know the time, so I hobbled my way over here to fetch that blasted watch. But then I—I dropped Miss Godfrey’s letter and it…” She gestured vaguely with one hand.

“And I startled you.” Jeremy’s voice was comfortingly contrite. “Can you look at me?”

After a few blinking attempts, she opened her eyes and brought his face—his handsome, worried, altogether too-perfect face—into focus. What was it about that face that looked so familiar? His blue eyes searched hers from just inches away as he crouched beside her. “I don’t think you’re concussed. But say something clever so I’ll know for sure.”

“And what makes you a suitable judge of my cleverness?”

That cross answer earned her a lopsided smile. “See? Right as rain.”

She meant to smile back. Or perhaps offer a skeptical, scolding frown. Instead, more tears sprang into her eyes and, to her utter humiliation, this time began to leak from the corners of her eyes and trail down her cheeks.

“Oh, my dear, don’t cry. You’re all right.” He produced a handkerchief and swiped away the evidence of her humiliation. The warm square of linen carried that same subtly spicy scent. Perhaps it wasn’t his shaving soap. Perhaps it was just…him.

“I’m fine,” she agreed, snatching the handkerchief from his hand and blowing her nose. “If you don’t count my ankle, or my head, or my complete inability to do what I came to Thornton Hall to do. Lady Sterling may never live down this ridiculous—”

Rather than listen to her complaints or try to coax her out of her near-hysteria, he rose and disappeared from view. In another moment, he returned bearing a glass of water. “Here.”

She accepted it from him with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “I’d rather it was brandy.”

“I know.”

She groped toward the bedside table. “Where’s Phelps’s tonic, then?”

With damnable effortlessness, he snatched up the little glass vial before she could reach it. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“It’s for pain, is it not? Well, I have a headache.”

His gaze narrowed, and his dark brows knit together. After a long moment, his reluctance plain, he uncorked the little vial, then cupped her hand to steady the glass as he tipped two measured drops into the water. She watched, mesmerized, as the two liquids swirled together, while he stoppered the bottle and slipped it into his pocket. “Go on, then. And when you’ve had another moment to rest, I’ll help you up and call for a maid to—”

“No!” Caught mid-swallow, she spluttered out the refusal. “Lady Sterling has a reputation to protect, and I would not let Dinah or one of the others see me in a moment of weakness.”

Something like humor twitched at the corner of his mouth at the mention of Lady Sterling’s reputation. “But isn’t the whole purpose of this ruse to keep them from suspecting you’re that Lady Sterling? I expected you to seize on this opportunity to garner sympathy—won’t they assume your awful husband has said something to break your heart?”

“N-n-no one thinks you’re awful,” she sobbed as the tears welled up again, and the glass tumbled from her nerveless fingers.

He caught it before the last drops spilled. “Well, then, I suppose I shall have to try harder,” he teased as he set the tumbler on the tabletop. “I daresay Thornton’s little house party will provide ample opportunity.”

She hiccupped. “You got another invitation?”

“It wasn’t difficult. Thornton seems downright eager to show off the depths of his depravity. Now,” he said, reaching for her, “let’s get you up and into bed before that laudanum takes hold.”

“I c-c-can’t sleep in this,” she said, gesturing toward her already disheveled gown. “It’s the only thing I have that isn’t mud-stained. You’ll have to help me undress first.”

The humor fled from his eyes. His pupils flared, and his hands stilled. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“We left wise behind in a pub east of Dartford. Now, let me just undo my stockings before I stand up.” When she leaned forward slightly, a wave of dizziness washed over her, forcing her to lay her hands palm down on the prickly carpet. “Oh. Well, never mind. I can—”

“I’ll do it.”

Was it her imagination, or had that reply come through gritted teeth? She could no longer see his face as he bent to his task, made easier by the fact that her skirts were already rucked up to her knees.