Daring Romance

Chapter 19

By the next day, Ethan's temperature had gone up to one hundred and three degrees, and the day after that, it reached one hundred and five. He had fallen into delirium, his fevered mind prowling through memories and blood-haunted nightmares that left him weak and agitated. He spoke gibberish, tossing and turning, and not even a dose of the strongest opiate could ease him. At times he would sweat profusely, burning up from the heat, but soon afterward would shake with bone-jarring chills.

Garrett left the sickroom for only a few minutes at a time to see to her own needs. She slept in a chair beside Ethan's bed, dozing with her chin on her chest, waking instantly at the slightest noise or movement. She trusted only Mrs. Church to help her change the sheets and bathe Ethan's body with cool antiseptic-soaked cloths. When his temperature skyrocketed, they packed him in waterproof bags of ice wrapped in linen. Garrett drained and cleaned his wound frequently, and bullied him into taking sips of water and purifying tonic. His injuries appeared to be healing, but even so, toward the third evening he seemed to retreat to a place where she couldn't reach or soothe him.

"I've nine devils in my skull," he muttered, struggling to rise from the bed. "Cast 'em out, don't let me—"

"Hush," Garrett said, trying to apply an iced cloth to his forehead, but he twisted away with a desperate sound. She was terrified that all his violent movement would start a hemorrhage. "Ethan, lie still. Please." As she tried to press him down against the pillow, he shoved her in his delirium, and she staggered and fell backward.

But instead of careening to the floor, she found herself neatly caught from behind, a solid arm closing around her.

It was West Ravenel, his clothes scented of outside air and forest greenery and an earthy whiff of horses that Garrett ordinarily wouldn't have liked, but at the moment seemed agreeably masculine and bracing. After steadying her, he went to the sweating, thrashing figure on the bed. "Ransom," he said in a firm tone, instead of a quiet sickroom murmur. "No devils here. They're gone. Lie back and rest, there's a good fellow." He put his hand on Ethan's forehead. "Hot as hellfire. Your head must be splitting. Mine always is during a fever." Reaching for a waterproof ice bag that had been dislodged from Ethan's chest, he carefully set it against the top of his skull.

To Garrett's amazement, Ethan subsided and began to breathe more deeply.

"Did you wash your hands?" she asked West.

"Yes. But believe me, any bacteria I may have brought in are no match for his." His frowning gaze remained on Ethan, whose features were pallid and sharp. "How high is the fever?"

"One hundred and five," Garrett said dully. "He's in the worst of it now."

West's attention moved to her. "When did you last eat?"

"I had bread and tea an hour or two ago."

"Twelve hours ago, according to Mrs. Church. And I'm told you haven't slept for three damned days."

"I have slept," Garrett said curtly.

"I meant the kind in which one applies the body to a horizontal surface. It's not sleeping if it's in a chair. You're about to collapse."

"I'm perfectly able to assess my own condition."

"You can hardly focus your eyes. You've worked yourself into a state of exhaustion, when there's a bevy of female servants who've been waiting impatiently for a chance to soothe Ransom's fevered brow. If we don't let the head housemaid at least give him a sponge bath, she'll hand in her notice soon."

"A sponge?" Garrett asked in weary outrage. "Do you know what kind of harmful bacteria a sponge contains? There are at least—"

"Please. I already know far too much about bacteria." West watched with exasperation as she headed toward the bedside chair. "Doctor, I'm begging you—with no lascivious intent whatsoever—go to bed. Just for an hour. I'll look after him."