by Penny Jordan
It was evening before Yorke’s temperature broke in a fever which shook him with fits of trembling shivers, and the sweat poured off him.
He had been asleep most of the day, but awoke while she was sponging his heated flesh, his eyes narrowed and unseeing as they stared at her.
‘It’s me, Yorke,’ she told him gently, ‘Autumn. ‘You’ve got ‘flu, but you’re going to be all right. Now just turn over for me. See how cool and nice that is…’
She talked to him softly all the time she was sponging him, her manner instinctively that of a mother towards a very small child, and to her amazement although his features did not register her presence he obeyed automatically, repeating her name several times as thought it were unfamiliar.
After that she didn’t leave him again. She felt she daren’t, except for trips down to the kitchen to make fresh drinks. Thank goodness Mrs Jacobs had ordered so much fruit; at least she was able to make him proper drinks, although to judge by the way he gulped down the refreshing liquid, water would have done equally well. She was worried about the amount of fluid he was losing in sweat. She had changed the bed twice, and by midnight it was soaked again. Her back and arms ached with the effort of moving and turning him, and as she went to the bathroom for a fresh bowl of tepid water, she slumped tiredly, wishing that she had asked the doctor for some sort of sleeping pill to give him at night.
When she returned to the bedroom he was moaning restlessly, his head thrashing from side to side, soaking with his sweat. When she tried to push him back against the pillows, he grasped her wrists with surprising strength, his eyes wide open.
‘Autumn? Autumn, is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me, Yorke,’ she soothed. ‘Now just lie still and I’ll bring you some fresh cool sheets.’
‘So hot,’ he moaned restlessly, turning from side to side, then suddenly shaken with a fit of shivers. ‘So cold, Autumn… I’m so cold.’
His skin felt icy, clammily damp, and she wished she knew whether such a sign was good or bad. Had the doctor said anything about him feeling cold? She put her head to her forehead, trying to think. Keep him warm, he had said. Keep him covered up.
‘Oh no, Yorke, don’t!’ she implored anxiously as he threw off the covers, shivering violently.
It seemed a long time before he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Autumn went downstairs to let the dog out, realising as she did so that she hadn’t eaten all day. She made herself an omelette and forced herself to eat it, little though she wanted it, then made up some fresh lemon juice and poured it into a large vacuum flask. She could take it upstairs with her and there should be enough to last through the night. By tomorrow the fever should break. Please God it did.
There was no point going to her own room; she knew she would not sleep. Instead she dragged the coverlet off her own bed and wrapped it round herself, propping herself up in Yorke’s armchair.
His skin was abnormally pale and despite the covers she had heaped over him he was still shivering. She drifted off to sleep at last, and seemed to have done little more than barely close her eyes, when Yorke’s voice, ragged and imploring, came reaching through the exhausting mist to claim her.
She was on her feet and at his side immediately, her fingers touching his frozen skin.
‘Autumn… Autumn… where are you?’
‘I’m here, Yorke,’ she said softly, stroking the hair back from his forehead. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Not a drink. You,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘I want you, Autumn… I want you…’ His eyes closed as though the effort of speaking had completely exhausted him. ‘Don’t leave me, Autumn,’ he muttered urgently. ‘Hold me… please hold me…’
There was a huge lump in her throat. He looked so pale and defenceless that her heart went out to him. He didn’t know what he was saying, of course, but even so his fingers were tightly clenched round her wrist, and it would do no harm to lie down beside him for a while…
The way in which he turned blindly into the warmth of her body almost stopped her heart. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to open her arms and draw him close to her warmth. His breath stirred the lace of her nightgown and as his body relaxed into sleep she was overcome by a surging wave of tenderness. For now their roles were reversed, and if she stole these few precious moments from him who would it harm? Not him. And the hurt it might cause her? She closed her mind to it, revelling in the heavy warmth of his head against her breast, and smiling tenderly.
She slept until dawn, awakening to the heavy weight of him against her, his face relaxed and younger in sleep. The high flush had left his skin, but when she tried to move he muttered something unintelligible, opening his eyes to stare up at her face.
‘You are here.’ He shivered deeply. ‘I thought it was just a dream, but it wasn’t. Autumn… Autumn…’ His hands trembled over her, pitifully weak, and she swallowed back tears.
‘Don’t leave me, Autumn,’ he whispered throatily. ‘Not again… I couldn’t stand it a second time. Promise me you won’t!’ he demanded urgently, surprising her by his sudden strength as his hands gripped her arms.
His eyes were fever-bright and remembering what the doctor had said she guessed that he was rambling in some unreal world where she was just part of his fantasy.
‘I won’t leave you, Yorke,’ she promised softly, touching him tenderly. ‘Now just relax and try to sleep.’
‘Sleep… how can I sleep?’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘If I go to sleep you won’t be there when I wake up.’ His eyes darkened suddenly with remembered pain. ‘My father wasn’t there when I woke up…’ He shuddered uncontrollably. ‘Oh God, Autumn!’
At first she thought the dampness was his sweat and then when he raised his head and she saw what was in his eyes, the lashes spiking wetly together, her compassion rose up in a tidal wave and she took him in her arms as she might have done a child, soothing him with soft love words and reassurances until he started to relax against her.
‘Promise me you’ll never leave me, Autumn,’ he begged throatily, his eyes vulnerable. ‘Promise me… please…’
Her heart seemed to stop beating as a sudden strange compulsion took hold of her. What if Yorke meant what he was saying? What if during his illness his emotions had overcome his reason, and for the first time in his life since childhood he had allowed them to speak for him?
It couldn’t possibly be true, she told herself achingly. She was letting her own desires overcome logic. Of course Yorke didn’t mean what he was saying. He had shown her often enough what he really thought of her. But what if he had meant it? What if he did want her? The thought tantalised her unbearably, staying with her all day while she watched over her patient. By evening the fever had gone completely, and when he opened his eyes there was true recognition in them.
Autumn crossed over to the bed and placed her hand against his cool skin. ‘Hello,’ she said softly.
For a moment Yorke did not reply, and when he did she had to bite hard on her lip to prevent herself from laughing hysterically.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he swore viciously. ‘Aren’t I safe now even in my own room?’
‘More than you think,’ she replied dryly, thinking of their night together. ‘You’ve been ill, Yorke. You’ve had ‘flu.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ He swung his legs to the floor, wincing as he tried to stand up and found that his legs could not support him. His expression of ludicrous dismay made her stifle her laughter and hurry to his side.
‘Don’t you dare get up,’ she scolded him. ‘I’ll go downstairs and get you something to eat.’
‘For God’s sake stop fussing over me,’ Yorke gritted. ‘I can’t stand being fussed Over!’
Exhaustion and relief combined in a sudden rush of temper and Autumn snapped back.
‘You didn’t say that last night.’
For a long moment they stared at one another, each assessing the other. Yorke had gone very pale and stil
l, his eyes wary and shuttered.
‘People say a lot of things they don’t mean when they’re delirious,’ he said at last.
‘So they do,’ Autumn agreed. A plan was taking shape in her mind; one that was so desperate that she hardly knew if she had the courage to follow it through. Too much was at stake for her to be fainthearted now. Her mouth went dry with apprehension. What if she was wrong, and Yorke’s ramblings were nothing more than just that, and not the dammed-up emotions suppressed for years?
‘Now that we know you’re getting the K there’s not much point in me staying,’ she commented casually.
‘None at all.’
There was no reaction in the clipped voice.
‘Well, I’ll go and get you some food.’
She made him an omelette, taking it upstairs on a tray and refusing to allow him to get out of bed to eat it.
‘The next thing I know you’ll be wanting to spoonfeed me,’ he grunted acidly as she placed the tray on his knees. ‘I don’t need mollycoddling.’
‘Of course you do,’ Autumn replied calmly, bending to tuck in the corner of the blanket. ‘Everyone needs spoiling at times. Didn’t your mother ever spoil you when you were ill?’ She was watching him closely, otherwise she would not have seen the faint flicker of his eyelashes, the clenching of his jaw.
‘I never was ill.’
Was probably never allowed to be, Autumn thought on a sigh.
‘Well, you are now,’ she said inarguably. ‘The doctor is coming to see you tomorrow.’
‘And then once he pronounces your nursing duties over, you’ll leave me,’ he said sardonically.
He had barely touched his food. Autumn had her back to him, and she asked softly, ‘Is that what you want, Yorke? For me to leave you?’
Would her words remind him of what he had said to her the previous night? If they did he gave no sign of it.
The doctor returned late the following afternoon, and having examined his patient thoroughly pronounced him well on the road to recovery.
‘You’re very lucky in your nurse, young man,’ he told Yorke, smiling at Autumn. ‘Very lucky!’
Yorke was asleep when Autumn went back upstairs. She straightened the bedcovers, longing to touch him but denying herself the pleasure.
The phone rang while she was preparing supper, and she was surprised to hear the doctor at the other end of the line.
‘It’s Sir Giles,’ he explained to her tersely. ‘He seems to have picked up the bug, and he’s all alone in that damned great barn. I was wondering…’
‘You want me to look after him?’ Autumn guessed. She didn’t really want to leave Yorke, but on the other hand she could hardly ignore such a plea for help.
‘Only for a couple of hours until I get a nurse to him,’ the doctor explained.
Backing Yorke’s Jensen out of the garage half an hour later, Autumn prayed that the nurse would not be too long. Yorke had been asleep when she went upstairs and she had left without disturbing him, knowing how much he needed his rest.
Sir Giles was not as ill as Yorke had been, but in no state to be alone nevertheless. The nurse arrived just as it was growing dark, and thanked Autumn for standing in.
‘You drive carefully in that powerful car, won’t you?’ she cautioned. ‘We don’t want any more patients on our hands!’
The snow had melted slightly during the day, but with the sinking of the sun the ground had started to freeze and Autumn drove very slowly back, unsure of the roads and the powerful car. She garaged it carefully, opening the kitchen door to be greeted by an ecstatic Samson.
‘Did you think I’d forgotten you?’ she laughed at the dog as she got his dinner. ‘Silly boy!’
She didn’t feel much like eating and went up to her room to have a shower, not bothering to dress properly afterwards, simply pulling on a silky robe and sitting down to brush her hair. She was just about to return downstairs when the communicating door was suddenly flung open and Yorke was leaning against the door jamb, his face white and strained.
‘Autumn!’ He stared at her with a curious hunger, she had never seen before her name gritted between his teeth. ‘I thought you’d gone!’ When she looked puzzled he flung at her, accusingly, ‘You said you were going to.’ He swayed slightly and she moved automatically towards him, but he thrust her away, his face a dull red.
‘Don’t touch me, for God’s sake,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘Or do you enjoy tormenting me? Is that how you get your kicks? Oh God, Autumn!’ His eyes closed on her name, his breath fractured and strained.
‘You’ve got to leave here,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t stand any more. I should never have tried to get you back. I should have learned my lesson the first time, but I didn’t. I wanted you so badly then that I forced you into marriage long before you were ready for it. Don’t look at me like that,’ he groaned huskily when she stared at him. ‘Don’t you think I don’t know what manner of man I am? Don’t you think I haven’t hated myself just as much as you did?’
‘Yorke,’ Autumn interrupted uncertainly, ‘you were the one who didn’t want to marry me. You had to because there might have been gossip. All you wanted was a brief affair.’
‘Like hell!’ he said grimly, his lips twisting. ‘I wanted to possess you body and soul even then. I couldn’t function normally without you, but you were so young; so innocent and unworldly. I couldn’t even bring myself to make love to you knowing how untouched you were. And then Julia arrived, and it seemed like the answer to a prayer. I couldn’t get you legally tied to me fast enough, and yet at the same time part of me was despising me for what I was doing. Then when you started withdrawing from me, it nearly drove me crazy. The only way I could reach you was physically. I told myself that it was enough, but it wasn’t, and it drove me mad to know that while I could make you respond sexually, I couldn’t touch your heart.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me how you felt?’ Autumn said gently.
‘I couldn’t.’ The harsh words were dragged out of him, his face white again. Overcome with remorse, Autumn took a step towards him. Of course he could not. Somewhere deep inside him was that child still, who had learned from its mother not to ask for love.
‘Don’t touch me, Autumn,’ he said harshly, ‘or I won’t be responsible.’
When she placed her hand on his arm he flinched back.
‘I don’t want your pity, damn you! Leave me alone.’
‘I can’t,’ Autumn told him calmly, her self-confidence returning. ‘You’re asking the impossible. I can no more stop wanting to touch you than I can stop breathing. I love you, Yorke, and I have done all along. I love you and I’m begging you to make love to me… Begging you, Yorke,’ she said huskily, pressing her palms against his chest and arching against him, her lips against the dark column of his throat.
She felt him swallow convulsively, his arms suddenly clamping round her, his eyes fever-bright with doubt and pain as they searched her face.
‘It’s true,’ she told him gently. ‘I love you, Yorke, and always have done. I wanted to tell you before, but I thought you only married me because you had to. In London you were so remote. We were worlds apart, our only point of contact in bed, and the more convinced I became that you didn’t love me, the more I grew to resent your domination of me sexually. That’s why I left you. Because I couldn’t trust myself to live with you any longer, without betraying how I felt.’
‘God, if only you had!’ Yorke breathed against her skin. ‘Oh, what fools we’ve both been! I wanted you so badly that I snatched like a greedy child and then instantly regretted my selfishness. When you left me I employed detectives to give me reports on everything you did. When you came out here and things seemed to be getting serious between you and Alan I couldn’t stand any more. I had to get you back.’
‘But the knighthood…’
‘Do you really think I cared about that? No, it was just an excuse to get you to come back to me. I’d told myself that I would just talk to
you, try to get you to start again, but the moment I saw you the old sickness possessed me and I knew I couldn’t leave St John’s without you.’
‘But when we came back you were so cold. All those nights when you weren’t here…’
‘All those nights when I had to drive round aimlessly exhausting myself so that when I did come back I would be able to keep my hands off you. I’d already forced myself upon you once,’ he reminded her, ‘and we both know what happened then. I knew I could still arouse you physically, but with you hating me the way you did, it brought me no satisfaction.’
‘I was hating myself,’ Autumn told him wryly. ‘Because you only had to touch me and my pride disappeared.’
‘I should have let you grow up before I married you,’ Yorke said sombrely, ‘but I couldn’t wait. I daren’t wait in case I lost you.’
‘I was grown up,’ Autumn interceded gently. ‘There was never any doubt about that, but I was naïve.’
Under her palms she could feel the heavy thud of his heart. ‘Did you really think I’d gone?’
‘Really,’ he said grimly. ‘I looked for you…’
‘In your condition?’ Autumn demanded, scandalised. ‘You shouldn’t even be out of bed!’
‘I agree,’ Yorke said wickedly. ‘But I’m tired of sleeping alone.’ His eyes asked a question and Autumn smiled into them.
‘Me too,’ she murmured on a sigh, pressing her lips to his skin. ‘I thought perhaps you were going to make me beg—again?’
For a moment they stared at one another in mutual pain. Yorke went very still, and then his hand shot out, forcing her chin upwards, the look in his eyes telling her that he was well on the way to recovery.
‘Would you?’ he asked softly.
‘Would you?’
She held her breath, wondering if he would ever find it easy to put his feelings into words. She no longer doubted that he wanted her, but would he ever be able to voice his need?
‘I thought I had already,’ he said at last in an exceedingly dry voice. ‘Or were those hallucinations I’ve been having for the last couple of days just that? I seem to remember making some pretty revealing con-fessions—and not just in words.’