The Louise Allen Collection. Louise Allen

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ She broke off as a jaw-cracking yawn seized her. ‘I must go to bed.’

      Adam filled hot water cans and carried them up while Decima lit the way. ‘I could make a reasonable hand at being a footman, don’t you think?’ He grounded one can on her washstand and paused by the door as she came in. ‘Good night, Decima.’ The kiss he dropped on her forehead was so swift that she was still blinking in shock as the bedchamber door closed behind him.

      ‘Goodnight, Adam,’ she said blankly to the expressionless panels of the door. That was not quite the kiss she had been fantasising about. With a little smile at her own foolishness, Decima turned back her bedcovers and began to undress.

       Chapter Five

      Decima managed two hours of sleep before sounds from the adjoining bedroom dragged her back to consciousness. She had expected it, leaving the interconnecting door wide open so she could hear Pru, but even so it seemed a bottomless pit that she had to haul herself out of before her eyes opened.

      ‘I’m coming!’ But Pru was not calling to her, simply talking loudly in her fever. Her forehead was burning hot as she tossed and turned, moaning and coughing. Decima worried that the fact she did not wake herself up meant her fever was very serious, but she had nothing to judge it against.

      All she could do was sit by the bed, sponging Pru’s burning face with cold water and talking soothingly to her. She vaguely recalled hearing that it was serious if the patient was not sweating, but as the memory contained nothing about how one could induce this, it left her anxious but no further forward.

      Trying to support Pru’s head in an attempt to get her to drink was fruitless, but eventually Decima hit on the idea of dipping a clean handkerchief in the water, then trickling it between the maid’s parched lips. That seemed to help; Pru even sucked feebly at the moisture and, after several redippings, became quieter and calmer.

      Out on the landing Decima could hear the sound of soft footsteps and the murmur of voices. His lordship was up and occupied with Bates. She hoped that did not mean the poor man was in too much pain, but it was reassuring to know that others were awake in the cold, still house.

      She sat gazing into the fire, suddenly struck by how very lucky she was that Adam Grantham was the sort of man he was. An out-and-out rake, bent on seduction or worse, was one danger, of course, but she had never been in any real fear of that since the first moment she’d met those steady grey eyes with their intelligence and humour.

      But she could never have hoped for a gentleman—a nobleman—who coped with unclouded good humour with housekeeping and sick nursing, or who could so cheerfully disregard his own comfort and convenience. Charlton might, if absolutely desperate, light a fire or scavenge in the larder for a snack for himself, but as for him happily consuming a makeshift meal or washing up afterwards, that was beyond her powers of imagination.

      When the clock struck three the water was almost gone and the fire burned very low. Outside the door, all seemed quiet again. Decima stretched stiffly, went to make up the fire, then picked up the water jug. Best to refill it now while Pru was relatively quiet.

      Opposite, Bates’s door was open, the branch of candles within throwing strong bars of light across the shadowy passageway. She peeped in, but the groom was lying quietly, flat on his back, eyes closed. Of Adam there was no sign. Decima tiptoed to the landing and froze at the sound of approaching footsteps, then Adam appeared from what she was beginning to think of as the Privy Corridor, carrying an object discreetly shrouded in a towel.

      He smiled at the sight of her, his teeth white in the half-light. ‘Good morning, Decima.’ She averted her gaze from the disguised chamberpot, instead taking in the full glory of the quite splendid brocade dressing gown Adam was wearing. It must be Oriental silk, she realised; dramatic black dragons writhed across a background of scarlet, jets of gold issuing from their mouths. It was luxurious, exotic and masculine in the extreme.

      ‘How magnificent!’

      ‘Why, thank you, Miss Ross.’ Adam’s smile was quite blatantly flirtatious.

      ‘I meant your dressing gown,’ Decima retorted repressively, managing not to stare at his bare feet. Why the sight of a man’s bare feet should be quite so disturbing she could not imagine. And in any case, they’d be very cold and in bed that would be—She caught herself in this utterly improper thought and dropped her eyes, only to realise with horror that she had not stopped to put on her dressing gown and the only thing between her and the viscount’s interested gaze was a thin nightgown.

      ‘How magnificent,’ he echoed, his voice an appreciative purr. ‘You know, under normal circumstances the bedroom corridors of a country house at night would be busy with the guests swapping rooms on some amorous errand or another and here we are, each laden with an article of domestic chinaware, with nothing on our minds but sickroom nursing.’

      From the glint in his eyes his mind was on almost anything but the sickroom. Decima felt her colour rising and realised in horror that her nipples were peaking under the thin cotton. It must be the cold, nothing else would make them react like that, but she was sure Adam had noticed.

      ‘I must get some more water,’ she squeaked, scuttling downstairs with more haste than dignity.

      ‘Could you put the kettle on?’ he called as she reached the hall. ‘I’ll come down for it in a minute.’

      ‘All right,’ she called back.

      She filled her jug, dealt with the kettle, and stood for a moment, bathing in the heat from the range. Her nipples were still showing no sign of calming down, however warm she got. It was baffling.

      Upstairs there was, thankfully, no sign of Adam. She pulled on her dressing gown, although it felt poor protection, for it was a thin cotton garment she had selected specifically to take up as little room as possible in her valise.

      Pru sucked thirstily at the freshly wetted handkerchief and this time cooperated when Decima pressed a cup to her lips. Encouraged, she stirred a little of the headache powder into the water, then, when Pru would take no more, settled down to soothe her brow with lavender water.

      Behind her the door opened and, before she could turn, the soft, heavy mass of a silk brocade dressing gown settled gently around her shoulders.

      ‘What…?’

      ‘Shh.’ It was Adam, leaning over to set a cup of tea on the bedside table. ‘I have two, use this one. Look, if you just slip your arms into the sleeves, I am sure we can roll them up.’

      He showed every sign of helping her do it, so Decima got to her feet and shrugged on the garment, its heavy amber silk decorated in a dizzying pattern of orchids and lilies in ivory, gold and browns. ‘It is lovely,’ she breathed. The robe pooled around her feet and her hands vanished into the deep sleeves.

      ‘Let me.’ Adam’s hands were reassuringly brisk as he folded back the sleeves until her hands appeared again. ‘There. Now, if we just do up the sash…Where has that vanished to?’ And then things were not so reassuring after all. His hands went round her waist, searching for the dangling sash ends, and Decima was suddenly close against his chest, silk-covered breasts brushing against him in a manner that sent quivers of awareness through her body. And this time she was left in no doubt at all what was making her nipples hard.

      ‘I’ll do it!’ She snatched the ends from his СКАЧАТЬ