the maid to help me bathe him with cool cloths. Your Mr. Hopkins comes to help change his nightshirt—your nightshirt, my lord, thank you—when it is damp.”
“And his legs?”
“His legs do not matter now.”
They would to the boy, if he lived. Bui Ian saw no reason to mention that to the sister, who did seem to be competent in the sickroom, despite his misgivings. Hopkins and Mrs. Birchfield would never have left her on her own here otherwise, he was sure.
The heat in the room was stifling. “Did the physicians say he should be kept so warm?”
“The physicians said many things, all contradictory. I know the room should be kept hot, for chills are worse. Troy does not need pneumonia on top of everything else.”
That made sense, Ian supposed. He’d talk to the doctors in the morning himself, which, he realized, he ought to have done before. He took off his jacket and loosened his cravat.
“My lord?” she asked with a gasp of surprise.
“Excuse me, but I would swelter in here otherwise.”
Athena quickly averted her eyes from the earl’s undress. She was well aware that polite manners did not matter one whit here at Troy’s bedside, and she was relieved in a way that her own hurly-burly appearance was equaled by his lordship’s casual dishabille, but she was still embarrassed to be noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. She looked down—to see his bare feet. Goodness!
Her cheeks flooded with color, Athena said, “There is no need for you to stay.”
“I am staying.”
“But you have done so much already.”
If only she knew…
Ian supposed that he should have stayed and had dinner with the chit. Alone with strangers and servants,she had to be frightened. And worried about her brother, of course. “I have not done enough.”
The girl and the maid were sitting on the two upholstered chairs in the room, and he was not about to sprawl on the low pallet in the far corner. Ian found a wooden chair at the desk in the sitting room. It was small and looked uncomfortable, but ought to hold his weight. He brought it back to the bedchamber and placed it next to Miss Renslow’s. “I will just sit here, in case you need me.”
So close? “No,” Athena said. “Mr. Hopkins is waiting for you. He promised to return as soon as he had seen you to bed.”
Ian was beginning to grow weary of having the chit contradict his every word. “I am staying. Hopkins has a cot in my dressing room. Let him sleep a bit longer.”
Giving up in the face of his lordship’s kindness and admirable sense of duty, Athena nodded and turned away, feeling her brother’s skin.
“How does it feel?”
“Warm, but not burning.” She wrung out a towel from the nearby basin and started to bathe the boy’s face and neck.
“What can I do to help?” Ian felt foolish asking a little maiden.
“Help? Why, you can tell him about your horses, I suppose.”
“But he is asleep.”
“That is not really sleep, but a state halfway between sleeping and waking. He hears me, I know, and seems comforted by the familiar.”
“But I am not familiar to him.”
“Ah, but horses are. He adores highly bred cattle, and can recite the lineage of half the Thoroughbreds at every race.”
“I would feel foolish telling an unconscious boy about my stables.”
Athena clucked her tongue. “Would you rather I sing?”
“Diogenes Jim sired Lady Tiffany out of Sweet As Cocoa, who went on to win at Newmarket…”
Chapter Five
Women are weak. They need protecting.
—Anonymous
Women need protection from arrogant, autocratic, overbearing men. A well-placed knee is usually sufficient.
—Mrs. Anonymous
The boy grew warmer, weaker, then wilder, as he cried out and thrashed, as if trying to escape the pain that tormented him. Ian held him down so he did not injure himself worse. Athena spooned fever potions and herbal infusions into his unwilling mouth. They took turns wringing out sponges and towels and
“And his legs?”
“His legs do not matter now.”
They would to the boy, if he lived. Bui Ian saw no reason to mention that to the sister, who did seem to be competent in the sickroom, despite his misgivings. Hopkins and Mrs. Birchfield would never have left her on her own here otherwise, he was sure.
The heat in the room was stifling. “Did the physicians say he should be kept so warm?”
“The physicians said many things, all contradictory. I know the room should be kept hot, for chills are worse. Troy does not need pneumonia on top of everything else.”
That made sense, Ian supposed. He’d talk to the doctors in the morning himself, which, he realized, he ought to have done before. He took off his jacket and loosened his cravat.
“My lord?” she asked with a gasp of surprise.
“Excuse me, but I would swelter in here otherwise.”
Athena quickly averted her eyes from the earl’s undress. She was well aware that polite manners did not matter one whit here at Troy’s bedside, and she was relieved in a way that her own hurly-burly appearance was equaled by his lordship’s casual dishabille, but she was still embarrassed to be noticing the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. She looked down—to see his bare feet. Goodness!
Her cheeks flooded with color, Athena said, “There is no need for you to stay.”
“I am staying.”
“But you have done so much already.”
If only she knew…
Ian supposed that he should have stayed and had dinner with the chit. Alone with strangers and servants,she had to be frightened. And worried about her brother, of course. “I have not done enough.”
The girl and the maid were sitting on the two upholstered chairs in the room, and he was not about to sprawl on the low pallet in the far corner. Ian found a wooden chair at the desk in the sitting room. It was small and looked uncomfortable, but ought to hold his weight. He brought it back to the bedchamber and placed it next to Miss Renslow’s. “I will just sit here, in case you need me.”
So close? “No,” Athena said. “Mr. Hopkins is waiting for you. He promised to return as soon as he had seen you to bed.”
Ian was beginning to grow weary of having the chit contradict his every word. “I am staying. Hopkins has a cot in my dressing room. Let him sleep a bit longer.”
Giving up in the face of his lordship’s kindness and admirable sense of duty, Athena nodded and turned away, feeling her brother’s skin.
“How does it feel?”
“Warm, but not burning.” She wrung out a towel from the nearby basin and started to bathe the boy’s face and neck.
“What can I do to help?” Ian felt foolish asking a little maiden.
“Help? Why, you can tell him about your horses, I suppose.”
“But he is asleep.”
“That is not really sleep, but a state halfway between sleeping and waking. He hears me, I know, and seems comforted by the familiar.”
“But I am not familiar to him.”
“Ah, but horses are. He adores highly bred cattle, and can recite the lineage of half the Thoroughbreds at every race.”
“I would feel foolish telling an unconscious boy about my stables.”
Athena clucked her tongue. “Would you rather I sing?”
“Diogenes Jim sired Lady Tiffany out of Sweet As Cocoa, who went on to win at Newmarket…”
Chapter Five
Women are weak. They need protecting.
—Anonymous
Women need protection from arrogant, autocratic, overbearing men. A well-placed knee is usually sufficient.
—Mrs. Anonymous
The boy grew warmer, weaker, then wilder, as he cried out and thrashed, as if trying to escape the pain that tormented him. Ian held him down so he did not injure himself worse. Athena spooned fever potions and herbal infusions into his unwilling mouth. They took turns wringing out sponges and towels and
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