Maddy whirled around, just in time to see Lucy climb onto her stool and disappear behind the bed curtains.
“Lucy!” She made a dive for the little girl and dragged her out. “You little wretch, I told you—”
“Too late,” Lucy crowed. “I kissed him and now he’ll wake up.” Over Maddy’s shoulder she looked expectantly at the man in the bed, but he didn’t move.
“Soon,” Lucy added.
A little later Lucy explained, “He probably needs a little rest first.”
It was early afternoon. Lizzie had gone home and Maddy had persuaded Lucy to take a nap upstairs. The children would return from their lessons at the vicarage in an hour or so.
She was about to go outside and do some work in the garden when she heard movement from the bed, and a sort of croaking sound. She hurried across the room.
He was awake, his eyes open. “Water,” he croaked.
“Yes, of course.” She ran to fetch water and grabbed the medicine the doctor had left with her.
He struggled to sit up but kept keeling over. The doctor had warned her he might have difficulty with his balance so she slipped her arm under him and levered him up, supporting him first with her body, then stuffing some pillows around him.
He leaned heavily against her and closed his eyes. He was pale, the skin under his eyes papery and bruised looking. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth, and his jaw was tight, gritted against pain. She gave him the water first. He swallowed it gratefully.
“And I need . . .” He scanned the room, then met her gaze with an agonized look.
“Ah,” she said, understanding, and fetched him a large jar.
A few minutes later she poured some hot water into a cup and added the drops the doctor had left. “Now drink this.”
He swallowed once then pulled a face and tried to push it away. “It’s just medicine the doctor left,” she told him. “It will help with the pain.”
“S’vile!” he muttered.
“Of course it tastes vile, it’s supposed to—it’s medicine. So don’t be a baby, just drink it.”
He opened his eyes at that and gave her a look, but he drank it down with no further complaint.
His eyes were so blue.
He finished drinking and subsided heavily against her as if exhausted by the small effort of sitting up. He sagged slowly, his bristly jaw sliding down her body until it rested in the place between her shoulder and her breast.
She made to move away, to let him lie down again, but his arm came up and held her tight.
“Stay.”
She had work to do, but he seemed so helpless, in such pain. She sat there quietly listening to the sound of his breathing and the twittering of the birds outside. Bird were always noisier after rain.
A lock of thick brown hair tumbled over his forehead. She smoothed it back with her free hand.
No sign of the fever remained; even his hair felt cool against her fingers. It was soft and thick, and unlike most men she knew, he used no pomade or scented oils. She found herself stroking his hair, like a cat, soothing him as he rested.
Poor, lost man. Whatever his destination had been, he was now several days overdue. There would be people worrying about him. Somewhere a wife, a sweetheart, a mother was fretting, imagining the worst. Or maybe a mistress.
A man like this would not be alone.
His face was graven, shuttered against the expression of pain, his jawline tense and his mouth tight and thin lipped and . . .
Beautiful.
She swallowed. How strange it felt to know nothing about him, yet know his body, his mouth so intimately. She knew the feel of it against her lips, had pressed her own lips against his to form a seamless bond, until he’d opened for her. She’d given him precious fluids. He’d left her with the taste of him on her lips, in her mouth.
