by Amy Atwell
“I hope Derek appreciates his good fortune at having you.”
Reopening her eyes, a sad smile pulled at her lips. “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“He will.” Worthing squeezed her shoulder before dropping his hand. “Don’t leave him.”
She turned to look at him, but found he studied Derek’s haggard face. “What lies between the two of you?” she asked.
“The same thing that separates us.”
There was no mistaking the regret in his voice, which perplexed Johanna.
Derek muttered something in a dry rasp, drawing her immediate attention. She bent over to take his hand in hers while she considered potential remedies to fight his fever.
A soft rap heralded the arrival of Paget with a fresh bucket of cool water. Behind him Mrs. North carried Johanna’s saddle roll, and Mrs. Chalmers brought a welcome tray of food.
“Rory is taking the physician to town in the pony trap,” Paget announced.
“And good riddance,” murmured Mrs. Chalmers. “I never liked the way that man always cleared his plate but never made His Grace eat.”
“How is he, Johnny?” Mrs. North asked.
Johanna straightened and studied their solemn faces. They all awaited her leadership, and she knew she couldn’t depend on better people to help her.
“He has a high fever, and his breathing is labored and shallow, but we will save him. Do you understand me?”
They nodded, one by one.
“Good. Mrs. Chalmers, I’ll need some broth and milk. Also, find some mustard seed, flour, yeast and vinegar to mix a mustard plaster. Mrs. North, please leave my roll in my bedroom, then this room needs to be aired out. Paget, thank you for the fresh water—the duke will need more bathing. Cushing, I want you out of here until after dawn, and I expect you to sleep. You’ll be of no help to us if you go down sick. Take these things with you, and dispose of them.” She handed him the bowl of leeches.
Mrs. Chalmers set down the tray and left for the kitchens, Mrs. North in her wake. Cushing looked like he might argue, but Johanna quirked a brow at him, and he gave a silent nod and left.
Worthing stepped forward. “What, no commission for me?”
“I hesitate to ask.”
“You have only to name it.” The silver in his eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.
“Harry and Aunt Bess should be told—”
“I should have foreseen a ride to Tunbridge Wells,” he said with a curl of his lip that somehow wasn’t a grin. “Allow me a brief meal and a fresh horse, and I’ll leave at once.”
“You’ve had no sleep,” she said.
“Neither have you, and I doubt you’ll see a bed any time soon. Leave it to me. I’ll have them here as quickly as possible.”
“What will you say to Harry?” she asked, remembering that Harry didn’t trust Lord Worthing.
“I shall simply tell him Johnny needs him at Ambersley because the duke is ill. I suspect that will fetch him and his good mother.”
Johanna’s shoulders slumped. Yes, they’d definitely respond to that message.
“Fear not.” Worthing chucked her under the chin until she met his gaze. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“How shall I ever repay you?”
“Help Derek. He needs you.” Worthing released her. “And perhaps, one day, you’ll entrust me with the story of your past.” With that, he quit the room, leaving her with only Paget and the duke.
Johanna dipped a fresh handkerchief into the bucket and dribbled water into Derek’s mouth. The scar he’d received the day of the barn fire flared angry red from the fever.
Paget cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’ve come, Lady Johanna, I won’t deny, but if you’ll pardon me for—”
Johanna stopped him. “I won’t pardon you, Paget. Don’t bother to judge my actions, for I care not for your or anyone’s opinion. This is where I belong, and so I am here. Now, will you help me or not?”
Paget nodded. “I’ll do my best, Lady Johanna, but none of us know anything about nursing.”
“I do. Martha taught me. And for the time being, Paget, think of me as Johnny. It’ll be easier on all of us."
~
Johanna watched the full moon ascend in the sky. Over the past three nights, she’d formed quite a bond with the luminous disc. She’d ridden at a full gallop beneath its light, and this was the second night it had borne her company while she watched over her patient. Most people misunderstood the moon. It wasn’t cool and distant, shrouded in mystery. The moon waited in the sky and offered its friendship to the people below, but was often overlooked in favor of its brilliant rival. The moon encouraged silence. It kept your secrets. It presented your worst fears, yet it offered hope when the bright reality of day denied there was any hope left.
Throughout the day, Derek had thrashed about, muttering incoherently. By dusk he grew quiet, but his breathing was labored and uneven, his pulse raced, and his haggard face had turned ashen. Alone with her patient, Johanna felt her own panic rise. She feared she was losing him.
Throughout the evening she and Cushing continued to bathe Derek with sea sponges dipped in cool water. Whenever he was conscious, they lifted his head and spooned ale or broth into his mouth. Finally, Cushing convinced Johanna to get a breath of air and eat some supper. She took a crust of bread and a glass of wine to the window and marveled at the huge fiery orange full moon rising in the east. Never before had she seen the moon so large or brilliant, and she recalled Derek had once told her of the moon’s beauty in the wilds of India. She wanted so much to share this with him—
Cushing’s voice broke into her reverie. “Johnny, he’s shaking—come see!” Johanna rushed to the bedside to find Derek covered in perspiration and shivering.
“He’s sweating, Cushing. The fever’s broken.” Tears stung her eyes.
Cushing laughed in response as he grabbed a quilt to toss over his master. Johanna fetched two more blankets while Cushing went to bank the fire. Their tasks complete, he led her to the fire and lowered her into a chair. “One thing is certain—we wouldn’t have saved him if you hadn’t come. I was never so surprised to see anyone as I was to see you the other night.”
“Why should you be surprised?” she asked as he handed wine to her. “You knew if you sent word Derek needed me, I would come immediately.”
“No, I didn’t. You and the Master must have had one hell of a row. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you at Ambersley again.”
Johanna bowed her head. “’Twas but a foolish argument, Cushing. I said things I shouldn’t.”
He nodded. “That explains it. The Master has been mighty grim ever since he returned. Now, you should get some sleep.”
“No, Cushing. I slept some last night, and you made me nap this afternoon. You should sleep now because in the morning Derek will need you. Come, help me make him comfortable before you go.”
After the servant left, Johanna snuffed all but one candle. She glanced Derek’s way, but his steady breathing was less labored than the previous night. She left him to his rest and quietly tidied the room. Wiping her hand down her waistcoat, she glanced over her clothes. She still wore the same breeches and shirt in which she’d arrived, and until now hadn’t spared them a thought. While she longed for a relaxing soak in a tub full of hot water, she pragmatically opted for a sponge bath. For years she’d taken sponge baths at the little cottage, and since she’d revived her role as Johnny, it seemed fitting.
She doffed her clothes, and sponged her lithe body by firelight. She twisted her hair up and out of the way—washing it would have to wait until the morrow. Soon she was scrubbed and glowing, and only a little chilled as she dried herself by the hearth. Too late, she recalled asking Mrs. North to take her saddle roll to the bedroom down the hall.
Pushing her hair back, Johanna convinced herself Derek wouldn’t mind her borrowing one of his shirts. She quietly rifled his wardrobe and donned a white shirt with full sleeves that covered her t
highs halfway. The fine linen felt soft against her skin, and she was grateful for anything after the three-day-old clothes.
She checked once more on Derek, who slept with only the faintest of wheezing as he breathed. His cheeks were still flushed with fever and overgrown with black stubble. Johanna had never imagined him with a beard, and it was all she could do not to trace the outline of its growth across his normally smooth skin. She reached a hand toward him, then pulled it back to stroke her own neck instead as she recalled how intimate she’d become with Derek’s body while nursing him. She’d seen every inch of him, and every inch was magnificent. He’d be angry about the impropriety of her behavior, but she’d been a good nurse and never thought of anything beyond making him well. Only now could she afford to let her mind wander back to that fateful kiss he’d given her in Grosvenor Square. The memory left her yearning to feel his touch again.
Johanna turned a wing chair so she could watch over Derek as he slept. Dragging a blanket around her hips and legs, she curled up in the chair and tucked her bare toes under her. She watched over his prone form and considered her impetuous action of coming here. Harry would have rushed to Derek’s side as quickly as she had, she knew. But Harry was a man, and Derek’s devoted cousin. Johanna found it demeaning that Harry could travel about unquestioned while she would have to recite a litany of answers. She preferred not to consider those answers too closely just yet. With a last glance at Derek, she resolutely closed her eyes and courted sleep.
~
Derek awoke with a crushing headache and parched throat. It took him a moment to gain his bearings and realize he wasn’t feeling the ill effects of a night of drinking but was simply ill. Slowly, he raised his head. A single candle glowed, and the fire burned low in the grate, but neither shed enough light for him to focus on anything. Overheated, he couldn’t summon the strength to throw off the heavy bedcovers.
A soft rustle stirred the darkness, and suddenly Johanna was setting the candle beside the bed. In the soft light, Derek noted dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her competent hand smoothed his forehead and he almost groaned with pleasure when she bathed his cheeks with soothing cool water. It was a compelling fantasy he’d entered with Johanna, clad simply in one of his shirts, ministering to him. Only when she tilted a glass to his lips and he tasted barley water, did he doubt his fertile imagination. With effort, he raised his hand to touch the cool glass and her warm fingertips.
“Johanna?”
“Shh,” she replied with a little smile. “Johanna’s not allowed to be here. I’m Johnny.” She tried to withdraw her hand.
“Don’t go.”
“I must heat up the broth. You’ve eaten very little these past few days.” She eased her hand from his.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat anyway.” When he started to disagree, her tone became firm. “Don’t argue with me. I’m much stronger than you for the moment. Let me put another pillow behind you.”
Derek had a dozen questions, but he didn’t raise a single one as Johanna leaned over to adjust the pillows. He recognized a faint familiar scent of lavender when she put a capable arm behind his back. The curve of her breast pressed against his shoulder and he smiled at the unexpected pleasure. She padded barefoot to the fireplace, candlelight playing across the backs of her calves. Derek didn’t care what good fortune had brought her to Ambersley, he only knew that already she’d dispelled the bleak loneliness he’d felt since returning home. In moments, the smell of simmering beef and sage filled the room and Johanna returned with a small bowl.
“I can feed myself,” Derek croaked as she raised a spoonful of dark broth.
Her brow quirked but she passed him the bowl. “Fine, but you’ll wear yourself out.”
She pulled the blankets back and Derek was grateful to lose their heavy weight. He spooned the watery stew carefully into his mouth and heard his stomach growl its thanks. Johanna moved about the room, adding another log to the fire, lighting a candelabra on the table, folding a blanket and laying it on the chair.
She returned to his side. “Tired now?” She took the bowl from him and, seeing it still half full, shook her head. “Weak as a kitten, but at least you won’t waste away overnight.”
Derek met her gaze squarely. “I would have rather thought you’d prefer me out of the way.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” she protested.
To his surprise, a single tear traced its way down her soft cheek. “Here, now. What’s amiss?” Derek pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed.
“I feared you might die before I could apologize for the awful things I said in London. You were very provoking, but I was wrong to behave so.”
“I fear you provoked me as well.”
“I should never have wished you dead.”
“That was the most provoking of all,” he admitted.
“You know I didn’t mean it.”
Derek gently wiped her damp cheek with his thumb. “Ahh, but at the time, you see, I thought you might.”
“Oh, Derek, don’t say that. You must know that I’ve…come to count on you—your counsel—ever since I was a child.” She lifted aqua eyes to gaze directly at him. “I’d be lost without you.”
She locked her fingers with his and gave his hand a squeeze to add evidence to her statement. It was a gesture she’d often used as Johnny, but Derek saw no traces of the gardener’s son. She was the daughter of a duke, beautiful and unobtainable. Yet she was here in his bedroom sharing confidences with him.
Johanna smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, her cool hand soothing his brow and even more his soul. When she finally withdrew, he snatched her wrist midair and pressed a kiss against her palm.
Instead of pulling away, she leaned forward.
Encouraged, Derek traced his fingers up the collar of her shirt to stroke her nape in a slow caress. Her hand dropped softly to his bare chest, and with a moan, he pulled her to him and hungrily captured her lips in a lingering kiss. Her tentative response, the splaying of her fingers on his ribs, the opening of her mouth beneath his gentle onslaught undid him. He plunged his hands into her loose hair as if afraid she would withdraw from his lips even as he branded her with their sensual warmth.
He wasn’t sure whether a moment or an eternity had passed when a noise at the door made her pull away from his viselike grip. He released her with reluctance and even more reluctantly she lifted her head.
Derek looked up into her dilated eyes. Her lips, red and moist from his kisses, parted as she tried to catch her breath. His gaze roamed over her features, down to her white throat, pausing to wonder how it would taste, and further to where the linen gaped open. He caught his breath—until now he hadn’t realized she wore not a stitch of clothing but for his shirt.
“Well, well. Isn’t this a cozy picture?” Rosalie Vaughan stood in the open doorway and removed her gloves. “I’m so glad I told Curtis and Olivia to await me at the Dower House, for this scene would scarcely be fit for their eyes.”
Johanna deftly slipped off the bed and would have retreated, but Derek still held her by one hand. She clutched her shirt collar close to her throat and stared back with wide eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from utter ruin, apparently—or is that what you want?” Rosalie stepped into the room and tossed her gloves onto a stool by the wardrobe. “Here I thought I was rushing to protect Derek from the misguided notions of that stable boy, Johnny. Now I see the truth. I’ve been very stupid, haven’t I? To think you’ve been enjoying each other under our very noses all this time.” She smiled darkly.
Cold fury brewed within Rosalie, but at last, she held the power. To think that bastard stable boy Johnny had metamorphosed into Lady Johanna—they’d played her for a fool. But now she had them cornered, and she would exact her revenge. “Congratulations, my dear. You’ve been very discreet—until now.”
Derek squeezed Johanna’s hand then released her before trying to sit up.
Immediately, Johanna pressed his shoulders back to the pillow. “No, you’ll bring on the fever again. Lie still.”
Rosalie watched their tender interaction but noted the fatigue etched in Derek’s features. “In truth, you don’t look well at all.” She reached toward his forehead. “Perhaps we should fetch a physician.”
“Stay away from him!”
Rosalie recoiled, biding her time to strike. “Watch your tone with me, young lady.” Sarcasm laced her final words.
The distraught little chit stepped between Rosalie and the bed. “You won’t touch him while I’m here. I’ll throw you out myself if I must.”
Rosalie allowed herself a small laugh as she stepped to the foot of the bed. “The kitten has discovered her claws but I warn you, my dear, do not sharpen them on me. If indeed you nursed Derek back from death’s door all by yourself, I’d be the first to commend you. Were your methods not so painfully obvious,” she added with a sniff.