“Smallpox? Yellow fever?”
“What are you going on about?” Ash dragged in a breath and lay back down. “A chill, Mrs. Courtland, nothing more.”
She turned in surprise. “Truly? I had it from your aunt—albeit in a roundabout manner—that you were at death’s door.”
“If my physician is putting that rumor about …”
“Surely he ought to know.” Helena opened a bottle and poured a dark, thick liquid into a glass. “He is a doctor.”
“A quack, you mean. He barely looked at me before he was opening my vein.” Ash coughed again, his sides aching with it. “If I die, then Lewis is duke. A physician can pry many fees out of those who’ll pay to keep the boy healthy.”
“Very cynical.” Helena brought the glass to him in bright determination. “On your part, and on the physician’s. Drink this, and you’ll be right as rain.”
Ash clutched the bedcovers, holding them to his chin. He wore a nightshirt and nothing else, and already felt his blush rising.
“What is that?” He eyed the glass in suspicion.
“All sorts of good things. Plus plenty of brandy to make it slip down well. I know how to dose a gentleman.”
“Oh? How many gentlemen have you dosed?” He felt a twinge of irritated jealousy.
“My father, gardener, butler, footmen, friends’ fathers and brothers and their servants. They all swear by my remedies.”
“Or swear at them,” Ash muttered.
“What was that?” Helena leaned closer. “I beg your pardon—I did not hear you.”
She should not bend over him so. Ash’s already unsteady heartbeat sped as her bodice sagged to show a sweet round of bosom. She smelled of mint with a touch of honey, making Ash want to pull her down to him and discover if she tasted of those things as well.
He had to have been mad to kiss her in the garden. And yet … The warmth of her lips, the brush of breath on his skin, the way she fit into his arms … The sensations had never left him.
Helena shoved the glass under his chin. The bite of brandy, mint, and whatever else she’d included burst through his clogged nose and made him wince.
“Drink up,” she said. “You’ll feel so much better.”
Ash doubted it. The physician had given him a purge after bleeding him, which had made him even more weak. His aunt had then shoved broth down his throat, followed by an extremely bitter tea. Ash had drunk all to be polite, but he balked now.
“Take that away,” he ordered. “And go. I truly do not wish to make you ill.”
“I told you, I never take sick. Don’t be such a stick, Ash. My remedies are far better than what a physician will give you. My patients get well.”
It was clear that Helena had great confidence in her potion. It was also clear she’d not leave the room until he drank it.
Suppressing a sigh, Ash raised himself on his elbows and reached for the glass.
“You are ever so pale,” Helena said, studying him. “Except for your red nose. I have another physic to fix that.”
Ash clenched the glass, held his breath, and drank.
She was right about the brandy, which made up about two-thirds of the concoction, sweetened with honey to take out the sting. Ash tasted more herbs under the mint, though he wasn’t certain what.
All in all, it was far more pleasant than what Aunt Florence or the physician had given him. More like a brandy punch, but Ash decided not to say that. The liquid soothed his throat—he decided to keep that to himself as well.
Helena plucked the empty glass from his hand and carried it to the writing table, before returning to shake out the bedcovers.
Ash jerked the blankets up again. “Have a care for your modesty, madam.”
Helena looked surprised. “My modesty? I am completely dressed. You are the one in your nightshirt. You are also flat on your back with illness—I doubt anyone would believe you’d leap up and ravish me on the spot.”
Ash went hotter than the fever had ever climbed. He was more awake now, and feeling stronger. If she continued to lean over him, smoothing the bedclothes, he might just drag her down to him and forget he was a gentleman.
He stopped himself because of his sickness—he truly did not want to pass it to her. Ash remembered how quickly Olivia had caught her fever, how she’d taken to her bed, still weak from bringing Lily into the world not a month before that.
“Please go,” Ash said, gritting his teeth. “These things happen rapidly—I was fine one moment, the next, quite ill.”
“You worry so, Ash. Perhaps that is why you are adamant about your schedules, fearing you’ll forget something if you don’t mark it down.”
More warmth flooded him as he realized she called him by the name his friends did: Ash. Not Your Grace or even Ashford. No one had ever used his given name, Augustine, not even his mother. Before he’d become duke, he’d had Lewis’s title, Marquess of Wilsdon, and had been called Wils.
“My schedule has gone to the devil with this illness.” Ash coughed again, but it didn’t hurt as much this time. “Pardon my language.”
“Well, the devil can enjoy it.” Helena busied herself at the table, and Ash heard another clink of glass and trickling liquid.
“There is nothing wrong with a timetable,” he argued. “I prefer it to chaos.”
Helena brought the refilled glass to the bed. “A little chaos now and then is not a bad thing. I admit I have a timetable as well, my dear Ash. During the Season, I must remember what invitations I have accepted and to what place I am going and when. But constant rigidness is not good for you. You’d never have taken sick if you were less unbending.”
Ash listened to the last in incredulity. “I am in this bed because I did not adhere to my schedule. I let my aunt talk me into hosting a ball, at which I grew frustrated and tramped about the garden in the freezing cold. This weakened my constitution so that when I went about without my coat the next day, I had no defenses. I’d have noticed it was cold in the garden and gone back inside if you hadn’t followed me …”
He trailed off. He knew good and well he’d not noticed the icy air because he’d taken Helena into his arms and kissed her.
Helena flushed. “I worried about you wandering in the dark …”
She too trailed off, her cheeks pretty with her rosy blush. Ash found himself reaching to stroke one.
Helena jumped. She mistook the reason he’d lifted his hand and pushed the glass into it. “This will ease your stuffed nose.”
She turned quickly away, agitation in every line.
Should Ash speak of the kiss? Or continue to pretend it hadn’t happened? That he hadn’t realized what a beautiful woman she was?
Helena, at the table, moved glasses and bottles purposefully, her movements graceful. The tapes on her cap caught in her golden curls.
Ash closed his eyes and sipped the next concoction. This one was not as sweet, but pleasantly mellow. Again, it soothed his throat, and its aroma drifted into his nose, clearing it a bit.
“What is in this?” he asked.
“Nothing exotic. Drink it all.”
Ash complied. He swallowed the final drops and thumped the glass to the bedside table. “I am not cured yet.”
Helena gave him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “Of course not, silly. You must take all my doses over the course of several days. Then you’ll be fine.”
She returned to the bed, more composed after this exchange, and set a plate of grapes next to the empty glass. “These will fill your stomach and lighten the humors.”
Ash ate a few grapes after she turned away, depositing the seeds on a clean dish she’d left for the purpose.
“I’ll not marry any of those ladies, Helena,” he said quietly. His voice sounded almost normal, without the scratch of the last two days.
Helena continued to fuss about the table. “We’ll talk of that when you’re well.”
“It is unfair to the young ladies. From the looks I caught, everyone at
that ball believed I’d hosted it to search for my next duchess.”
Helena faced him, resting her hands on the table behind her. “Because everyone knows you need a wife. Including your children, which was why they went to such lengths to compose that letter to you.”
“Lewis’s doing.” Ash couldn’t help a surge of pride. “He is growing up faster than I realize.”
“That is why this time with them is so precious. Lewis will go to school soon, and find his own friends, his own interests. Gracious, my husband barely knew his father and mother, only seeing them from afar until he was quite grown up.”
Helena rarely spoke of her husband, a good-for-nothing fop. If Courtland hadn’t managed to break his neck, he’d have broken her heart with mistresses, gambling debts, and duels.
“He was never good enough for you,” Ash heard himself say.
She stilled. “Pardon?”
“I know I should not speak ill of the dead, but your husband was not a good match for you. You need someone who will listen when you rattle on, who will match you in wits and sense.” And passion, he added silently. He’d sensed much of it in her when he’d kissed her.
Helena moved her gaze to the window, sunlight catching in her dark eyes. “Many felt he was the perfect match for my wit—as in, between the two of us, we had little.”
Ash grew indignant. “They were wrong. You can certainly talk, but you aren’t a featherhead. You have much good sense, which you disguise by hedging around it. You hide your intelligence, though I cannot fathom why.”
“No one wants a clever lady,” Helena said. “Quite irritating, is a woman who claims to be intelligent.”
“Well, it does not irritate me.”
The smile she gave him lit fires in his heart. “How kind of you. But I’ve always said you were kind.”
Kind? The formidable Duke of Ashford, who demanded perfection of the entire world, was kind?
He wasn’t. He knew full well that Merrivale had suggested Ash retreat to Somerset because he was making everyone in the ministry spare with his meticulousness. His expectations were high, his disapproval swift.
“Very good of you to say so,” Ash said stiffly.
“You do not believe me, I see, but it is true. You adore your children and take every sort of care for them. Your servants are well treated and paid a good wage. You indulge your friend, Mr. Lovell, though he is as unlike you as another gentleman can be. And you’ve allowed me to come and nurse you without bodily showing me the door.”
“I couldn’t at the moment if I wanted to.” Ash cleared his throat. “I’m pathetically weak.”
“Indeed, no. Laid up, yes, but weak, never. You are the strongest man I know.”
They shared another look, Helena’s deep brown eyes lightened with flecks of gold. If Ash had been well, he’d have already pulled her into the bed with him to kiss her, drowning in her softness. Perhaps boldly rolling her over to the mattress and showing her what he’d dreamed of in the night.
If he’d been a well man, however, she would not be in his bedchamber at all. She’d only entered because at this instant, he was harmless.
Helena returned to him and smoothed the covers once more. Ash liked the warmth of her hands through the sheets, comforting and arousing at the same time.
She patted his arm, unaware of the incandescence she stirred within him. “Now then, you take four of these draughts a day—morning, afternoon, evening, and before you sleep—and that nasty chill will be gone in no time. I’ll tell Edwards.”
Ash suppressed a shudder. Edwards, who had a soft spot for Helena, would obey her instructions to the letter. Then again, the concoctions weren’t so bad. They were sweet yet with underlying vigor, like Helena herself.
“Sleep now, dear Ash.” Helena pressed a kiss to his forehead, her lips cool on his hot skin.
“Are you returning home?” Ash asked, trying to make the question casual. “At least, to the cottage of your friend?”
“Do you wish me to?” Helena also pretended nonchalance, but Ash caught the trepidation in her voice.
“No.” Ash realized the word was brusque, and softened his tone. “No. The children would love to see you.”
Her answering smile held relief. “Then I’ll stay. Give me a shout if you need me.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned away, straightened the bottles on the table one last time, and breezed out.
Ash imagined himself, well and strong once more, standing on the landing of the great hall and calling her name. Helena! Darling. I need you. Her answering voice, as natural as breathing. I’ll be there directly, dear Ash.
The picture was so heady he closed his eyes tightly to shut it out.
Helena remained at Middlebrook Castle for two days, at Lady Florence’s insistence. So good for the children to have her about, Florence said. Helena agreed and promised to stay until Ash grew better.
He healed in a remarkably short time. Ash spent only one more day in bed. The next, he was up and bellowing for Edwards to help him dress. He remained in indoor clothes—light suit covered with a banyan and slippers, and shut himself into his library.
Edwards assured Helena that Ash was taking the remedies as instructed, which the valet believed led to his quick recovery.
Ash ordered that Lewis, Evie, and Lily be kept from him until the danger of contagion had passed. The children were not happy about that, but Helena kept them busy writing Ash letters expressing good wishes for his health.
Lily showed Helena her finished letter, executed in stilted handwriting.
Dearest Papa, Please grow well so you can read to us again, and do not leave the exciting bits out anymore. I am old enough for them now. The very best wishes and tender feelings from your dearest Lily.
“If you married Papa, he’d never be ill,” Lily declared after Helena had praised the letter.
Helena gave her a startled look. “Gracious, I do not believe your papa would be happy with that idea.”
“Why not?” Evie put in. “The only lady he ever speaks of is you. And you fit all our requirements. First of all, you are tall.”
“Perhaps.” Helena could not find the words to argue with her and tried to turn them to other activities.
Lewis, a bit older than his sisters, said nothing, but he looked morose. His scheme for getting his father married off was failing, and he knew it.
The next morning, Helena told herself it was high time to leave. Ash had dressed to go out riding, hale once more, his schedule resumed.
Helena could not stay without causing scandal—any more than she already had by rushing to his bedside the moment she’d heard he was ill. Thank heavens she had the reputation for being a busybody and pushing her remedies on all and sundry. No one believed her to be a scheming seductress—which was a bit insulting when she thought about it.
Ash politely saw her out to Millicent’s waiting carriage, and began to hand her up into it. Helena felt his strong fingers on hers, looked down into his gray eyes, and knew she did not want to leave.
She longed to stay in his house, have him return after riding his lands and tell her all about what he’d done that day. They’d sit by the fire while he sipped brandy and she did his mending.
Helena wanted this so much she put on a frozen smile. “Good day, Your Grace,” she said, the words stilted. “I will have your aunt call on me at Millicent’s to continue discussing your potential nuptials.”
Ash stiffened, his grip tightening. “I remember telling you to give up the idea.”
“Indeed, no. I made a promise to Lewis, and I never go back on my word.”
Ash’s eyes blazed with sudden fury—his vigor had certainly returned. He pushed Helena up into the carriage, and to her amazement climbed in with her, slamming the door and ordering the driver to start.
Chapter 6
Ash was quite elegant in his greatcoat, riding togs, and tall hat, Helena thought as she faced him across the small space of the carriage. He skimmed
off the hat and slammed it to the seat beside him, his hair pleasantly mussed. No longer unshaven and flushed with fever, he looked most civilized, yet robust.
He was handsome either way, Helena reflected, even when he had a drippy nose.
The nose today was perfectly dry and no longer red, his eyes glittering over it.
“I will speak to Lewis,” Ash said. “You must drop this nonsense.”
Yes, he was feeling much better. “You are going to upset your children, are you?” Helena asked, more abruptly than she meant to. “Tell them they must adhere to your plans without any regard to their feelings? I’ve been acquainted with you for years, Ash. You used to be far more carefree—you laughed, you danced, you played with your children. Now you are out of temper if you don’t walk a rigidly straight line down the road or if Edwards is thirty seconds late with your coffee. I wager even your sickness fled according to your schedule.”
“For heaven’s sake, woman, I was ill. I had no control over it.”
“The heart of the matter, I believe,” Helena said, trying to look wise. “You are so very angry if you do not control every person and event around you. All must behave as you wish, when you wish them to.”
“You exaggerate,” Ash answered tightly.
“Do I? You were severely polite to your guests at the ball, tried to hide in the card room, and fled into the garden at your first chance. I imagine no one was dancing evenly enough for you. Or was it because you tripped over your feet during our dance? Embarrassed that the perfect duke was the slightest bit imperfect?”
“You know nothing at all.” Ash’s rumble filled the coach. “Damn and blast you, I know why you hurried to my home when you heard I was ill—so you could control me. I could scarcely fight you when I was flat on my back, too weak to move. You dosed me so we could race back to this absurd scheme of getting me married.”
“Good gracious, your bellowing might convince me to give up the matter. I feel sorry for your bride already.”
“Excellent, then we will hear no more about it.”
Duke in Search of a Duchess: Sweet Regency Romance Page 5