“I could wish he was closer to the steam,” she said worriedly to the valet and footman. The efficacy of herbs had been her foundation all these years, but sometimes—they were just not enough. She feared this was one of those times.
“Shall we call a physician, m’lady?” the valet asked anxiously.
“I’m right here,” Dare grumbled. “And I don’t want any more bloody quacks.”
“I’ll ask Lady Pascoe whom she recommends,” Emilia murmured to the servant. “For now, let’s see if the steam works.”
“Just let me rest. I’ll be fine,” Dare said testily as the servants departed.
“No you won’t,” she retorted, hiding her worry. “Your lungs are weak. You’ve poisoned your gut. And even physicians can’t tell you how to get better.”
But he was in pain and his coughing was tearing his lungs apart. How could she do nothing when she knew she could help? His agony was ripping her in two.
The better, stupider half won. Swallowing her fear, she finally admitted, “I can ease the pain.”
She waited for him to question. She had tried to tell him what she could do, but he hadn’t listened. It was time to show him, although killing herself to prove a point seemed the very definition of insanity. And then there was the problem of what he would do if she proved she was what the world called a “witch.” Best to find that out now.
“No opium,” he said through another cough.
“Not yet, no,” she agreed. Bracing herself for the pain, she sat on the edge of the bed. She slid her hands beneath his linen and placed them on Dare’s still powerful chest. He burned with heat. His lungs barely pumped. She had no idea what tubercles felt like, so she could not sense them. When she actually concentrated on her healing gift and not lust, she felt his pain sting like electrical shocks radiating up through her fingers. The healing energy responded to the shock , almost melding her to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked crossly. “Leaning on me won’t stop the coughing.”
His voice distracted her from the pain, but also from the healing. “You’d be surprised,” she said crossly. “Just be quiet for a change and let me experiment. It’s dangerous, so I’ve not dared to do this much.”
She didn’t have the words to make him understand, so she spoke as she would to her sisters. “I almost died healing Lydia’s asthmatic pneumonia, and that was only a partial healing. She still has asthma, but she recovered from the congestion. If you’ve contracted a pleurisy on top of the consumption, I might help that.”
He tried to object, but he couldn’t talk around the cough.
Closing her eyes, Emilia concentrated. She could not see inside him, but through her fingertips she received sensations similar to running her hand over a surface to determine its shape and texture. Some of the places she sensed seemed almost ragged. She reached through the muscular hardness of his chest, seeking the inner weaknesses that needed strengthening.
Conquering the cough enough to speak, Dare struggled for an upright position. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Shut up or I will use opium on you,” she said, irritated at being interrupted just as she thought she’d found a flaw. “If you won’t listen, you can at least be quiet and let me work. But if I go catatonic, push me off.”
“Catatonic!” He grabbed her wrists and pushed her away. Even in his weakened state, he was stronger than she was. “Have you lost your wits?”
“No, but I’m losing my patience.” Now that she’d made up her mind to do this, she refused to give up. She placed her hands on her hips and glared down at the beautiful tousled visage that concealed so much damage. “Could you simply be quiet and trust me for a few minutes? I won’t attempt more than that, if I can. Just lie there and pretend I’m trying to seduce you.”
He glared at her through eyes almost gray with pain. Emilia waited. She had no more words that would convince him. Her stomach tightened, realizing she was asking him to trust a woman he’d only known a few weeks. But she’d thought. . . she’d hoped they’d reached an understanding.
He chose to mock himself by laying back against the pillows and saying, “I doubt a siren could seduce me right now. Do your worst.”
Dare figured he couldn’t be any more humiliated than he already was. Why not let his lovely quack of a wife pretend she was performing magic by caressing his chest? He rather liked the soothing coolness of her hands against his over-heated skin. He wasn’t as fond of the stink her herbal steam was sending up, but he wasn’t in any position to argue with her knowledge.
If he lay here and conjured images of Emilia naked and on top of him, he could almost enjoy the massage. Had he planted his seed yet? He wanted to live to see her growing ripe and round with his heir. Or his daughter. He was used to having women around him and liked the idea of a daughter, but he really wanted to shove his cousin’s nose in dirt by creating an heir.
Soothing heat seemed to wrap around his lungs where Emilia rested against him. The urge to cough lessened. Maybe she would move her marvelous hands further down as she had this morning, and he’d be aroused and ready for her. He could probably manage a good rutting if she stayed on top.
Lost in erotic daydreams, he didn’t know how much time had passed. Only when her hands stopped moving did he recall her strange warning about catatonic. He forced his eyes open to watch Emilia swaying above him, looking strangely pale and unfocused.
“Blast it, woman! You’ll lose my heir if you’re making yourself sick!” He grabbed her wrists and yanked her down on top of him.
She collapsed without so much as a whimper. It wasn’t like his intrepid wife to be so silent and unmoving. Terrified, Dare lay her back against the mattress. Her eyes were closed, but despite her almost bluish pallor, she breathed.
“Emilia?” He hastily unfastened her gown and corset so she could breathe easier. She didn’t stir. “Emilia!” he almost shouted.
He could shout. Just a little while ago, he hadn’t even been able to drag air into his lungs.
She didn’t move.
“Emilia!” Panicking, he rolled out of the bed, opened the door, and shouted, “Bessie! James! Get in here now.”
The servants came running.
The stinking concoction continued to boil and steam. Bessie used smelling salts to no avail. When neither of the stinking vapors woke Emilia, Dare panicked and sent Ashford’s footman with a message to Bridey.
“Does she faint like this often?” he demanded, while fear added to the pain in his gut.
“Never, m’lord,” Bessie whispered, looking as frightened as he felt. “I’ll fetch cold compresses.”
By the time Bridey arrived, Dare had positioned himself on the bed so Emilia could rest between his legs and lean against his shoulder. He was trying to pry water between her lips but she lifelessly resisted him.
“What did she mean, she goes catatonic!” he yelled the instant Bridey entered the room.
Still as regal as the countess she’d once been, Lady Pascoe raised her eyebrows. “Are you coughing?”
His wife was lying nearly dead in his arms, and she asked about his health? Dare couldn’t bring himself to respond but merely glared.
Bridey rolled her eyes and reached for Emilia’s wrist. “She’s quite alive. This is the reason she does not use her gift as she ought. She puts far too much of herself into it.”
She what? Remembering talk of gifts and healing, Dare glared at the imposing baronetess. How much of this folderol should he believe?
The part where his wife passed out was real enough. “Explain,” he growled with impatience.
“Explain the circumstances in which this happened,” Bridey countered, taking the glass from him and dipping a cloth into it. “And for now, I’d advise releasing her.” She put the cloth to Emilia’s lips and squeezed drops of water into her mouth.
Dare didn’t want to release her. He had this irrational belief that if he held her, she wouldn’t leave him. “She told me to let he
r work and not to let her go catatonic. What the devil is that supposed to mean? She wasn’t doing anything!” Except pressing her hands against his chest, but that was a little personal to speak aloud.
“Pascoe said you were coughing so badly that he refused to go into Harrogate and took the carriage directly here. He was worried about you. From the smell of asafetida, I gather Emilia started the steaming kettle. Then what did she do?” Bridey poked him. “You’re in my way. Move.”
He gritted his teeth and gently lay Emilia back against the pillows so Bridey could reach her. “What does it matter? Will she stay like this? What can I do?”
In his man’s world, he was competent and efficient and knew how to get things done. He should be able to cope with women and their foolish vulnerabilities. But he needed to know how. And why. That last part was causing him cold shivers as he released Emilia and moved to the edge of the bed. She looked so pale.
“Wait. Keep her lips moist. She’ll come around eventually, I hope.” Even Bridey looked a little worried. “She’s not really used her gift in years, so it’s difficult to say.”
Dare kneaded his brow and tried to sort out this nonsense. “She told me she and the duke share a gift. Explain.” He didn’t know if he was ready to hear this, but he needed to know.
“They’re Malcolm healers. We don’t have many, for rather obvious reasons.” Bridey nodded at Emilia’s prone form. “So we have no one to teach us. Emilia has only told me a little, but I know she brought her little sister back from death’s door and nearly died in the process. But if she was attempting to ease your cough, it’s possible the energy she expended has simply left her exhausted. Let her sleep. Shall I stay to watch over her this evening?”
Remembering Emilia had told him the lady was in a delicate condition, Dare knew he should send her away. But he couldn’t bear to lose Emilia. The realization stunned him. He didn’t need more women in his life to worry about. She was supposed to take care of herself!
But if she’d made herself ill helping him. . . Dare rubbed his head in confusion. “I do not understand. What energy? All she did was help me undress and order servants about. I’ve seen her accomplish far more than that without falling asleep.”
Bridey looked upon him with more patience than he felt. “Healing energy. It comes from inside, not from ordering servants about. You’re not coughing any longer. How do you feel?”
Putting her hands on him had somehow made him better? That was not logical. “Be damned with how I feel! It’s Emilia I’m concerned about! Have I done something to harm her? If she’s with child, have I harmed the child? Tell me what to do!”
But he was feeling much better than he had when he’d arrived home. He’d barely been able to walk, and now he was breathing well enough to shout and rage. . . And he needed to do something.
Bridey raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in thought. “Interesting question. Could her use of her healing power harm a child she carries?”
Instead of giving him an answer, she widened her eyes and looked into the distance as if she’d left her body. Dare could swear her eyes glowed. He feared he’d have to catch her before she fell. Pascoe would kill him of a certainty if his wife keeled over dead in his presence.
Just as he feared he’d have to make the effort, Bridey shook her head and returned to herself. “Her aura is quite healthy. She has an enormous potential for compassion which will get in the way of her scientific work, so we need to keep her out of the infirmary as much as possible. I cannot tell at this early a stage if she’s with child. A child needs a soul before it becomes visible, and since she’s not at Wystan with its plethora of spirits waiting for new life, that might take time. If you’re eager for an heir, though, you might want to take her to Wystan.”
He might as well be talking to a mad hatter. Dare stared at this intelligent woman with incredulity. “I do not understand a word you’ve said. Are you saying she’s well, just asleep?”
“As far as my abilities are able to ascertain, yes. Let her sleep through the night. If she is not better in the morning, then perhaps we need to visit Wystan. Ashford and his wife are there, but they shouldn’t mind the company. Wystan is healthier for Malcolm women who are carrying babes.”
With a plan he might follow, Dare allowed himself to relax a fraction. “I just let her sleep, nothing more? And if she’s not better, we go to Wystan on the morrow? And then she’ll be well?” Which made no sense, if he thought about it, but neither did bottles of medicine composed of arsenic. At least a change of location wasn’t poisonous.
“Life is full of uncertainties. We can never make promises, but yes, that nicely sums it up. I’ll go home, tell Pascoe we may have to leave for Wystan sooner than expected, and we’ll wait for word from you.” Bridey tilted her head and looked at him askance. “Your ambition endangers your well-being, as well as that of others around you. Your aura says you’re not a bad man, but you’re consumed with a lust to succeed. Life is about more than success.”
His aura. He would not ask what that meant. The lady let herself out, leaving Dare sitting beside his comatose bride and terrified out of his wits—provided he still had all his wits after that seriously strange conversation.
Chapter 16
Emilia woke slowly, trying to orient herself. She felt oddly empty. Her head rested on a muscled shoulder, so she knew she was with Dare. But she’d been angry with him. How had she ended up in bed? She couldn’t remember.
The air still held the stench of asafetida, and she recalled his coughing spell. But he seemed to be breathing normally now. She must be getting used to him—immunizing herself in some way. She didn’t notice his pain, although lust was always a factor. Curled up against his side, she brushed her fingers over his chest and tested his lungs.
Oh, yes, that’s what had happened. She’d used her healing touch too long. Again.
But she’d survived! She hadn’t died from her efforts. Had her bold insanity actually helped him?
With cautious eagerness, she confined herself to just testing to see if Dare’s lungs worked better. Running her fingers over his sculpted chest, she could tell the injury was still there. She hadn’t healed the damage. But he was breathing more as he ought, she realized with relief. Perhaps she’d stopped the pleurisy that had fevered him.
He had such a fascinatingly wide chest. . . She yanked her fingers back when he stirred.
Morning light was creeping across the bed. She’d slept all night? No wonder she was empty. She was hungry.
That Dare hadn’t fled at her fit deserved a kiss. She pressed one against his bare shoulder. He stirred more, drawing her closer. She snuggled into him. His intake of breath said he was awake.
“You’re alive?” he asked in a dubious whisper.
“Quite,” she assured him, waiting with a lump in her throat for his reaction. She’d never used her gift outside family before, and they were prone to hysterics when she collapsed. Dare. . . She couldn’t imagine what he’d thought. “I apologize if I worried you.”
He squeezed her tight, and she could feel his heart pump. “Worry is putting it very mildly,” he complained. “You scared the devil out of me. Don’t do that again, whatever it is you did. I’m not worth it.”
She didn’t know if she could make that promise. She was proud that she had overcome her fear of pain and death. She was even more gratified that her gift had helped.
Relieved that he didn’t call her witch and shove her away in disgust, she kissed his handsome chest. “I truly try not to use my gift, but I don’t seem able to resist when it comes to you. I’ve not been able to touch anyone else as I do you. With others, it’s painful, so I just gave up trying. But even though I can feel your discomfort, you do not drown me in it. It’s not refreshing, precisely, but I like touching you too much to stop.”
“I’m afraid I’m losing my mind,” he admitted. “I cannot understand half of what you and Bridey are trying to tell me. I used to have an exceptionally fine mind,�
�� he said in regret. “I hate thinking you’ll be left taking care of a drooling imbecile.”
For his peevish complaint, she laughed and pinched his taut skin. At least he wasn’t calling her crazed. “You lack knowledge and experience, that is all. If you had studied Malcolm abilities as Bridey and I have. . . Wait, Bridey was here?”
“What else was I to do? You wouldn’t wake up.” He hugged her tighter, as if he really cared enough to worry about her, which thrilled her more than it should. She knew her family loved her, because they had to. She had not expected Dare to care what happened to her one way or another—especially after he’d so carelessly dismissed her yesterday.
“Sorry to cause you such inconvenience,” she said dryly.
“You were passed out cold and looked like hell,” he continued, sounding aggrieved.
“Thank you for the flattery.” She knew she ought to be insulted, but she thought she preferred his frustration to her mother’s tears. “I will attempt to look like a sleeping princess next time.”
He glared at her for her facetiousness. “Whatever you did, don’t do it again.”
She thought about that—and rejected it. “I’ve been avoiding my gift all my life, substituting with studying healing herbs in hopes I can be more useful without risking my own well-being. I’m thinking that was a mistake. I should have been experimenting, looking for ways of touching that will not cause me to drain my energy.”
He punched a pillow and sat up, looking stubborn. “I don’t want you risking your life on anyone, even me. I prefer your studies.”
Smiling, she stroked his masculine chest as she might rub a dog. “See, this does not hurt me. I’m not sure why yet, since I’ve not experimented. It may just be you or it may be my physical reaction to you. I have no way of knowing.”
He growled deep in his throat. “I don’t want you touching other men to find out.”
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