Guilty Passion by Laurey Bright Page A

repeated, reaching down to adjust the cloth, which had slipped. “You’re obviously not up to discussing it. Just stay there for a while. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
    Too weak to do otherwise, she obeyed him. When he had brought the coffee, Ethan stood by the window, his hands thrust into his pockets. Celeste sat up on the bed, against the pillows he had adjusted for her, and sipped at the cup, then suddenly put it down and rushed out of the room and across the passage to the bathroom.
    When she had finished being sick and rinsed her mouth with water from the basin, she found Ethan beside her, holding her arm as she straightened. Fleetingly glancing at his face, she saw that he was pale and tight-lipped.
    â€œI’m all right,” she said, making a halfhearted attempt to evade his hold, but she swayed in the doorway. He picked her up, carried her to the other room and deposited her on the bed again.
    Celeste raised a hand to a clammy forehead. The room was whirling, but it gradually steadied, and she could see Ethan frowning down at her. “Lie still,” he commanded. “You’d better stay in bed for the day. Where’s your nightgown? You do wear one?”
    â€œUnder the pillow.”
    He found it and turned down the bed, moving her gently over to do so. Then he slipped the canvas shoes off her feet, and sat on the bed and began unbuttoning her blouse.
    â€œI’ll do that,” she said.
    â€œSure you can manage?”
    â€œYes.”
    He stood. “You don’t want any more of this?” He picked up the coffee cup.
    â€œNo, thank you.” She shuddered.
    â€œI’ll come back in ten minutes,” he promised.
    When he returned she was lying in the bed with her nightgown on and the sheet up under her arms. She felt frail and exhausted but mercifully uncaring. She knew what Ethan thought of her, and it didn’t seem to matter.
    He left the room, and she lay quiet, and even dozed, waking up to realise it was late afternoon.
    She went to the bathroom, and Ethan must have heard her moving about, because when she returned, with her wrap loosely over the nightgown, he was in her room. Automatically, she drew the edges of the wrap together.
    â€œHow do you feel?” he asked.
    â€œA little dizzy, still.” She sat down thankfully on the bed, and he helped her off with the wrap and pulled the blankets over her.
    â€œCould you eat something?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œFruit juice, then. Diluted, perhaps. You musn’t get dehydrated.”
    â€œAll right.”
    She drank the juice but refused anything else. Later he brought an omelette, and she managed a few mouthfuls, followed by weak tea, and afterwards cleaned her teeth in the bathroom. By the time Ethan looked in on her again, she was fast asleep.
    When she woke it was full daylight, and she knew she had slept for hours. She lay there for a time, reluctant to leave the bed, even though her watch told her it was after eleven o’clock. Then, with a sigh, she got up slowly and, finding that she could stand without dizziness, had a shower, dressed in a blouse and skirt and made her way carefully down the stairs.
    Ethan came out of the kitchen, his face quite expressionless. “Feeling better?” he queried.
    â€œYes, thank you,” she answered stiffly. “Ethan, I think it would be better if I left.”
    â€œYou only just got here,” he reminded her. “And anyway where would you go? You’re obviously in a poor state of health. This is the only place you can rest and recover, which is what you badly need.”
    She moistened her lips. “How can I do that, if you. . . if you’re going to be accusing me of. . .” A hand wavered to her temples. She felt perilously close to tears.
    Ethan came swiftly forward, taking her arms and shoving her gently into a chair. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t have a choice. I’m the only one