Drew wondered if there were reasons other than fear for her failure to trust Jem. He tightened his grip on her hand. "I've made a mull of our marriage."
She sighed. "The fault is not entirely yours. I shouldn't have attempted to educate you. A good wife does her duty and obeys her husband's every command."
"If you hadn't stopped me, I would have hurt you."
A flush spread above the neckline of her dress. "Grandmother told me that."
He swallowed. "She said you were quoting from some book."
"The Kama Sutra, an ancient book of India, written to help a person in the quest for enlightenment. Though I've studied the words, I fear I am lacking."
He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I misjudged you. Will you accept my apology?"
Her gaze met his. Waves of longing coursed through him. He felt certain he couldn't control his lust, but the throbbing pain in his head and leg reminded him that while willing, he wasn't able to aid her quest for enlightenment.
"I share the blame." She sighed. "There is still Cousin Fergus to consider. He has learned that we...we...did not...not..."
"Why did you tell him?"
She shook her head. "I believe 'twas one of the grooms. There was gossip."
He nodded and immediately wished he had remained still. A surge of nausea made him swallow. "Mr. Grey believes the letters Crawford has are forgeries."
"There is other trouble he can cause. I don't wish to bring scandal to you and Grandmother."
"Surely it can't be that bad. Tell me so I can judge."
She bowed her head. "Papa used a secret route to send gemstones to other countries. I helped by assessing the worth of the gems. Cousin Fergus threatened to spread tales in London, naming us thieves unless I agreed to an annulment and to return to India with him."
Drew squeezed her hand, "Crawford has no entry into society. He's but a merchant. The ton will laugh at his stories."
"I wish I could believe you. 'Twould have been easier to counter his threats if we had...had...done." Scarlet stained her cheeks.
He brought her hand to his lips. "There are ways."
The red coloring of her face darkened. "I've read about a woman taking the part of a man, but I don't understand how it can be accomplished. A woman...." She pressed her hand to her mouth.
Her innocent words made him want to laugh. "When I'm not so groggy, I will show you." Her obvious embarrassment removed his doubts about her experience with men. Damn the pain that now stabbed instead of ached.
The door opened and Bevel arrived with the tea tray. "My lord, that person from the stables requests to speak to you."
What did Jem want? Before he'd ridden off to find Nicola, he'd sent Jem on an errand. What? The answer had vanished in the clutter of thoughts. "Send him in."
"My lord, first you must have your tea and the dose of laudanum the doctor ordered."
Drew grimaced and swallowed the bitter medicine. Nicola helped him wash down the opiate with some overly sweet tea. Lifting his head brought a wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes. Moments later, he heard Jem's gruff voice.
"My lord, that Crawford person be gone from the inn. Took his belongings and rode off like old Nick be riding his tail. Some said he took the London road."
If only the man stayed there, Drew thought. "From now on, have a groom accompany my wards and my wife when they leave the house."
"Be just one groom, my lord."
Another piece fitted into the hours missing from his memories. "Hire men in the village."
"I be off then."
Drew yawned. Lethargy made his body unresponsive. Soft lips brushed his cheek. "I'll return later. Rest now."
Though he wanted to call her back, sleep beckoned. He carried the memory of her sweet kiss into his dreams.
* * * *
"Papa, no!"
Drew's cries woke Nicola. She reached for her dressing robe and rushed through the room that separated her bedroom from her husband's chamber. Three days had passed since the accident. This afternoon, he'd felt warm to the touch and she feared his wound had become purulent. Though she had ordered Bevel to remove the dressing, he had refused.
She opened the door. A disheveled Bevel pressed her husband's shoulders against the mattress. "My lord, you must drink this. The laudanum will take the pain away."
"'Twill do nothing for the fever," Nicola said. "We must remove the dressing. I'll call Prabha. She'll know what to do."
"I won't permit that heathen to touch the Earl." Bevel's green eyes glinted with determination. "My lady, Dr. Rodgers will be here in the morning. He'll decide what to do."
Tears welled in Nicola's eyes. By morning, her husband might be dead. Drew pulled at the covers. His head rolled from side to side. His cries sounded like those of a child. She looked at Bevel. "Then fetch some willow bark from Mrs. Bowen's stores for the fever and bring buckets of cold water so we can sponge him."
"My lady, the doctor left no orders for willow tea or a cool bath."
Lest she punch Bevel, Nicola held her hands stiffly at her sides. She couldn't permit the valet's slavish attention to the doctor's orders to hold sway while Drew's condition continued to deteriorate.
"No, Papa. Not Mama. Not again. Mama, do not cry. Go away. Go away." Drew screamed in terror. He waved his hands as though warding off blows. "Don't hit me. No! No! No!"
Nicola approached the bed. Large beads of perspiration covered Drew's forehead. She gently stroked his face. The scream died. His skin burned with the heat of a fire. She looked up and glared at the valet.
"Mr. Bevel, I'll take charge of my husband's care. When I return, you will go to your bed. I'm sure a rest will benefit you."
"The sick room is no place for a lady," he said.
"In this case, I don't want to be a lady." Nicola crossed the room. Once in the hall, she hurried to the servants' basement quarters and found Prabha's room. The amah roused at a touch.
"Young miss, what’s wrong?"
"My husband is fevered and talks in his sleep." Nicola thought of Drew's terror-filled screams and the things he'd shouted. Those words gave her clues to his reasons for not trusting many people.
"I come." Prabha rose and put on a sari. She lifted a packet from the dresser. "I mix these before doctor come. You make fever tea."
Nicola nodded. She woke Greene and ordered pails of cool water to be brought to her husband's rooms. Then she hurried to the pantry for a jar of willow bark. On her way upstairs, she stopped in the linen room and grabbed a tattered sheet.
When she opened the door of her husband's chamber, she stopped short. Bevel stood in front of the bed with his arms spread wide. "Be gone, witch."
"Mr. Bevel, go to your bed."
"My lady, if his lordship takes harm from this woman's treatment, I won't keep silent. It's my duty to see to his care."
His shouts roused Drew. "Papa, don't hit me. You are right. She is a witch. Bad Mama. Go away." His cries changed to racking sobs.
"See what you've done." Nicola grabbed Bevel's arm and pulled him to the door. "Go to bed. Tomorrow, we will discuss your inability to follow orders." She pushed him into the hall and closed the door.
"Hot water," Prabha said. "Need now."
The amah pulled aside the blankets covering Drew's legs. The sight of the soiled dressing and the stench rising from it caused Nicola to pinch her nose. She bolted past the bed and stood in the dressing room until her stomach settled. Then she filled a pitcher with hot water from the kettle hanging over the fire. Carrying the steaming water, she returned to Drew's chamber.
Prabha thrust the packet of herbs into Nicola's hands. "Put in water. Make a paste."
The door opened. Three footmen carried in pails of water. Prabha pointed to the two huskiest men. "You and you hold sahib. I clean evil from leg." She took the pitcher of water and poured a steady stream over the wound to wash away the foul matter.
Drew screamed.
"Prabha, no," Nicola said.<
br />
"Must be clean. Much evil here. Sahib be more sick if evil stay."
Nicola brushed tears from her cheeks. "But he suffers."
"First pain. Then healing. Do what I tell you. Make paste. Make fever tea."
Nicola retreated to the dressing room and followed the amah's orders. When the herbal paste cooled, Nicola steeped willow bark in hot water. She returned to Drew's chamber with the paste and the tea.
Prabha stuck her finger in the paste and sniffed. "Good. He be better soon."
Nicola stared at the now bleeding wound. One of the footmen held Drew's leg away from the soaked and soiled sheets. Prabha smeared paste on a clean cloth and bound the wound.
"We take to Missy's room. Burn sheets. Need new bedding."
Before long, the footmen had carried Drew to Nicola's room. After they brought the buckets of water, they left. Prabha rattled off directions for Drew's care. Several times she lapsed into Hindi and Nicola converted the orders into what she hoped were the correct English words.
The amah patted Nicola's shoulder. "You do what I say. Then he be better."
For a short time after Prabha left, Nicola stroked her husband's face. The stubble on his chin sensitized her fingers. If his fevered cries were true, he had watched his father beat his mother and then turn on him. Though she wished she knew some panacea that would restore his body and his spirit, she knew none. She could help him on the physical plane but spiritual healing only came from within.
She reached for the now cool willow bark tea. Using a spoon, she coaxed him to drink. When the cup was empty, she tore the old linen sheet into squares and dropped the cloth into one of the water pails.
"Bathe him until his skin cools," Prabha had ordered.
Nicola stared at her husband. Where to begin? She hadn't realized there was so much skin to bathe. She reached into the bucket and grabbed one of the squares. The sleeves of her dressing gown trailed in the water. Small streams dripped onto the Axminster carpet. She dropped the cloth in the bucket and pulled off the robe. Then she retrieved the cloth and wiped his face.
In an instant, the linen square felt as though a maid had applied a hot iron to the surface. She looked down the length of Drew's body and wished she had several helpers. She reached for a second cloth and laid it on his forehead. There had to be a way to cool him faster.
She pushed the sheet to his waist. For a moment, she could do naught but stare. A tangle of dark hair covered his chest. She brushed the curls with her hand. The coarse texture intrigued her. She ran her hands over his chest.
He groaned.
Had she hurt him? Did the fever make his skin sensitive to touch? She reached for a new cloth and bathed his arms and shoulders. The muscles were like and unlike those she had seen and touched on statues of Siva. Those images had been carved from jade, alabaster and marble, cold and hard, not like the resilient and heated flesh she touched. Even without the fever, she knew his arms and chest would be as warm as his mouth and his hands.
A slow burning rose from her toes. Her cambric nightrail seemed as heavy as the woolen robe she had discarded. She shook her head and pulled her attention from her husband's body to her task.
As she sponged his chest, she discovered two small nubbins buried beneath the hair. When she touched one with her finger, it beaded the way her breasts responded to Drew's kisses.
He moaned. His tongue emerged and rubbed across his lower lip.
How would he react if she kissed him? Water from the cloth in her hand dripped on her nightrail and reminded her of the bath. She placed wet cloths on the area she had sponged and continued her progress along his broad chest toward his waist.
The dark hair tapered like an arrow. His abdomen was flat and taut. As she moved the cloth over his skin, she felt the muscles contract.
"Do not torture me," he cried. "Come, let me have you."
"What is wrong?" He didn't answer and she didn't understand what he wanted. Had he hurt his abdomen when he fell? Deciding her actions had caused him pain, she moved to the foot of the bed and uncovered his legs. A clean aroma rose from the herbal dressing and made her believe the amah's treatment would prevent a recurrence of the infection.
She wrung out a cloth and began to bathe his muscular left leg. When she moved the cloth above his knee to sponge his thigh, he groaned and made a guttural sound.
"What is wrong?"
He reached for the covers and pulled them away. "Do not be a tease."
His whispered words made no sense. She dropped the cloth in the water and looked at the area he had bared. Her eyes widened. Though she'd seen statues, she hadn't believed they had been correct. His member jutted from a mass of dark hair. As she stirred, his lingam grew larger. Words from the Kama Sutra filled her thoughts.
"Men are divided into three classes, hare, bull and horse." With these words in mind, she studied her husband. He was a horse. What if she was a deer and not an elephant? Their union would be unequal. She bit her lip.
The heat of embarrassment warmed her skin. How could she think of such things when her husband remained so ill? She fished a cloth from the bucket and began to wash his lower abdomen.
He grasped her wrist. "Witch, no more. Kiss me."
Nicola leaned across his body and touched her lips to his. His arms circled her waist. His tongue moved across her lips. Her body felt as fevered as his. His hands moved on her nightrail and pushed the fabric upward. Inch by inch, she felt her flesh touch his.
"Need you."
His husky voice sent blood pulsing in her veins. He had told her lovemaking was possible even though he was injured. The things she'd read told of positions of the body she had been unable to imagine. "What should I do?"
"Your gown. Take off." His hands pulled at the nightrail.
His request echoed her desire. "Then you must let go."
"Never."
"But I must undo the buttons."
"Ah." His hands slid away.
Nicola stood beside the bed. Her legs trembled. She felt as though ball lightning had struck her body leaving every cell charged with energy. Soon she would learn the meaning of all she'd read. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Her yoni pulsed in tune with the rapid rhythm of her heart. She would practice the art of love with but one regret. Though her husband filled her heart, she held not even a tiny corner of his. She pulled the gown over her head and dropped it on the floor. Two steps brought her to the bed.
Drew opened his eyes. The fever glaze remained. When she touched his chest, his skin felt as hot as when she'd begin the bath. "Come to me," he said.
"I don't know what to do."
He raised his head from the pillow. "Nicola? Are you a dream?" He stroked her face with his fingers.
"I am here and real." She pressed her hands against his shoulders.
"Ah," he sighed. He pulled her so she lay across his chest. His hands stroked her back. His tongue licked her shoulder. "Sit astride."
She frowned yet did as he asked and placed her legs on either side of his waist. The contact with his fevered flesh nearly made her flinch until the heat and the touch of his hands on her breasts created a desire to move. She felt a wetness and didn't know if the moisture was from him or her.
"Astride, I said. What is the meaning of this torture? Have the Deacons designed this as a joke?" He slurred the words.
Nicola didn't understand. "This won't work."
"Foolish chit. It would if you had any knowledge. Come then and lay beside me. I don't understand why you were chosen."
Nicola slid to his side and lay on her back. "Papa wanted to protect his daughters."
"An odd kind of protection. Will your sisters join us?"
"Of course not."
He turned on his side. One finger circled her breast causing the nipple to tighten. He slid his arm beneath her shoulders and raised her until his mouth found her breast. He suckled and Nicola forgot everything except the sensations building to a peal of pleasure. Drew groaned.
; "Are you in pain?"
"Sweet, sweet agony."
His fingers slid into the cleft between her legs. She hovered between pain and pleasure as his fingers moved in a steady rhythm.
Then he was atop her. His lingam plunged into her yoni. He caught her cry of pain in his mouth. He moved inside her, rocking her body until she found herself moving to the same tempo. Exquisite sensations swept her into the heat of her husband's body. Great spasms shook her. Drew raised his head and cried aloud. Then he collapsed and pinned her to the mattress.
For a moment, she panicked. Slowly, she wiggled from beneath him and rolled him on his side. She stood and reached for her nightrail. When she turned back, she saw a spot of bright blood on the sheet.
"What have I done? She clutched her gown and checked the dressing on his leg. No blood oozed through the bandages. Trying to puzzle the meaning, she pulled her gown over her head. Drew's skin felt a little cooler than it had earlier. She should continue the bath, but a strange lethargy made her too tired to continue. She crawled into the bed beside her husband and fell asleep.
"Missy wake."
Nicola rolled over and opened her eyes. The amah stood beside the bed.
"Get up. Evil flee from the sahib. Fever burn away. Must wash him. Change sheets so evil will not enter again."
Nicola touched Drew's chest. His skin, though covered with sheen of perspiration, felt cool. She slid out of bed and reached for the robe she'd discarded when she'd begun the bath.
Prabha chuckled. "Sahib be much man. You are wife."
Heat rose from Nicola's toes. "Yes."
"I keep sheet. Sahib horse. Bring much pleasure. You have hurt?"
Nicola shook her head. She thought about the pleasure she'd found and wondered how long she would have to wait for her husband's powers to be restored.
“Now Bhujang not take you. Husband keep safe."
Nicola wasn't sure the amah's prediction would come true. Cousin Fergus was as tricky and as evil as the cobra Prabha had named him.
The amah returned with a bucket of hot water and the soap. She began to wash Drew's feet. Nicola reached for a second cloth.
Gemstones Page 19