Too Wicked to Tame by Sophie Jordan

beneath his breath, not sure what rattled him more. That she laid sick in his arms or that she—the girl he had never thought to see again—laid sick in his arms.
    “Satisfied?” Mina exclaimed. “You’ve killed her, Heath.”
    “Shut up, Mina,” Heath muttered, maneuvering one arm free to check for the pulse at her neck.
    There it was, slow and steady beneath the soft skin. He brushed the back of his hand against her brow, wincing at her fiery flesh. “She’s burning up.”
    “Quickly, upstairs with her,” Grandmother commanded.
    Heath readjusted Portia in his arms. Her head fell against his chest as he took the stairs two at a time, his grandmother and sisters fast behind, chattering nonstop.
    He proceeded to the Rose room, knowing Grandmother would have sent her things to the most lavish guest chamber.
    Mina jumped ahead to open the door.
    A copper-haired woman froze amid unpacking luggage, demanding, “What have you done to her?”
    Heath smiled wryly. The maid, he presumed.
    “Your mistress has fainted,” he explained, laying her on the bed.
    “Fainted?” The buxom maid murmured, suspicion in her voice as she eyed him up and down.
    “She isn’t the swooning type.”
    “I imagine not,” he replied, recalling her saucy manners from yesterday. “I rather suspect her fever has something to do with it.”
    “Fever,” the maid exclaimed, wringing her hands. “Oh, the old dragon will have my head if she up and dies.”
    “And that would be the real tragedy,” Mina commented, nodding in mock seriousness.

    “She’s not going to die,” Heath growled, annoyed at the maid’s histrionics. Turning, he spied the house keeper hovering near the door. “Mrs. Crosby. Would you send someone to fetch Dr.
    Manning?”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    As the house keeper bustled out of the room, he faced the maid again. “Can I trust you to see Lady Portia into her nightgown?” He motioned to her still form. “She’ll need out of her corset immediately.”
    “Course,” the maid bobbed her head and moved toward the wardrobe.
    Heath ignored his grandmother’s sniff of disapproval at his mention of a corset. Trust his grandmother to get her sensibilities offended at a time like this.
    With one last look at the girl stretched out on the bed, he left the room so that the maid could attend Portia in private, and he could struggle to make sense of his spinning thoughts.
    His grandmother followed fast on his heels, not about to let him escape so easily. “As soon as she awakens, I expect you to apologize,” she demanded.
    Heath felt a flash of annoyance at her automatic assumption that Portia would awaken. People perished every year from fevers and agues. Her large blue eyes, her milky skin, her slimness…all hinted at frailty, weakness.
    He stopped in the hall and swung around to confront his grandmother. “If anyone owes her an apology, it is you. You’re the one who dragged her halfway across the country. And for nothing.
    You know my position. I will not marry. Ever. Accept it.”
    Before she could respond, he whipped around and stormed off, too angered to abide the sight of her. For years, she had pestered him, tossing every eligible young lady in the district at him in the hopes that he would marry. But this? He shook his head. This time she went too far.
    He wouldn’t be his grandmother’s pawn. No matter that he found the girl strangely compelling, no matter that she had lingered in his thoughts longer than she should have. Longer than any woman before.
    He had responsibilities. Responsibilities that far outweighed his grandmother’s desires. Or his own.

Chapter 6
    Portia opened her eyes and blinked against the invasion of light. She stretched her hands out at her sides, luxuriating in the feel of soft sheets. Looking up, she studied a swath of rich plum-colored damask above her and tried to sort her scattered thoughts. Slowly, she sat up, her gaze sweeping over a large chamber dappled in soft