Chapter Fourteen

Hannah's arm was useless. Utterly useless. No matter how she tried, it would not work. She pulled and lifted, but it refused to do anything. How was she meant to carry the stone now? How was she meant to look after Red? She rolled and a grunting sound issued from somewhere. Peeling open her eyes, she waited for the sleepy haze to clear before focusing her attention on her arm. No wonder she had been dreaming such odd things. Red's head rested on her arm.

She blinked again in lieu of rubbing her eyes. Her lips curved. There was something ridiculously vulnerable about him when he slept. He was almost buried against her, tucked into the crook of her arm. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, and the creases around his eyes were relaxed. His hair was a wild tangle of chestnut.

In spite of his relaxed state, it was clear he was still sick. Sweat clung to his skin, making it sheen, and his hair was damp too. She pressed tentative fingers to his forehead. Still hot, but his breathing was steady and not rasping. Hopefully the cold had not gone down to his chest.

She attempted to wriggle her hand free again. He grunted and rolled onto his back. Hannah yanked her hand free and tried to avert her gaze from what this new position had revealed.

It was no good. She glanced down his body. His shirt gaped, revealing more of his chest. A faint dusting of dark hair spanned it. The tiny whorls were mesmerizing.

Would they be soft to touch? She would have thought they would be coarse but they looked soft. Before she could give into the desire to touch his chest, she shifted her attention down. That was almost certainly a mistake.

His legs were uncovered, his shirt hardly covering him. Strong, thick thighs, also covered in a similar amount of hair took up the majority of the bed. His legs were so different to her own that the contrast between them shocked her. It was not that she unfamiliar with a man's body or even unaware they could be so strong and hairy and...and...well, she wanted to say beautiful, but she had never really considered the male body to be beautiful before. But she had never seen one so close or so...naked.

She forced herself up before she did anymore studying. They would not be travelling anywhere today with Red sick so she would have to nurse him back to health. Hopefully they would only be delayed by a day or so.

Hannah completed her ablutions with haste, aware Red could awake at any moment, and put on yesterday's dress. She swiped a brush through her tangled hair and braided then pinned it up. The unsettled night and the awareness of Red next to her had left her body stiff and aching. She grimaced and rubbed the knot in her back. Some of the guests would be leaving today so she would see if they could get a new room with a bed each.

Of course, he might ask her to share his bed again. Some soft, squishy part of her had been flattered and entirely unable to deny him, not while he was sick. It was strange to see this strong man vulnerable. Part of her liked it.

She glanced over him to find him watching her.

"Have you been awake long?"

He shook his head. "I woke as you were doing your hair." His voice was hoarse and sleep-filled. "You're very good at it."

She lifted her brows. "You're a hair expert?"

"You're quick."

She shrugged. "My father never kept a lady's maid. I mostly did it myself. It's more practical to be able to do it by oneself anyway." She came to his bedside and touched his forehead, even though she already knew he was hot and clammy. But she liked touching him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been run over by a carriage."

"You do not look well. I was about to request some food be brought up. You could do with something hot and some tea or coffee."

"I can come down." He pushed himself up with a groan, but Hannah put a hand to his chest and urged him down. Had he been in better health, she knew he would not have let her, but he sagged back down.

"Damn head," he muttered. "I never get sick."

"Well, you are sick now, and if you want to get better quickly, you had better listen to me."

His lips tilted. "I have to be a good patient, is that it?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think I will not be?"

"Because I know you already, Red. You are as stubborn as they come."

"Takes one to know one."

She smiled. "Perhaps. Now lie still and do not get up until I've returned."

"Can I at least take a piss?"

Hannah narrowed her gaze at him. If he thought his coarse language would shock her, he was severely wrong. "You may," she said primly before breezing out of the room.

She arranged for them to move rooms after lunch as well as booking another night.

"He's not contagious, is he?" the Innkeeper asked.

She shook her head. "Merely a cold. We should only need an extra night."

The man swiped his grubby hands across his apron. "If you're after transport, there won't be another mail coach until Thursday."

Two days away. "I had feared that. Perhaps we will find room on another stage. Thought I am not sure if R—my brother will be better by then anyway."

"It's all this rain. Makes people sick."

"It's silly men who refuse to tend to themselves," she muttered. "Can we have some food brought up? Porridge and some soup if you have some? And some coffee and tea?"

The innkeeper didn't appear phased by her demands, likely because they had already been generous with their tips and he would have no concern over them settling their bill. She handed over a shilling to smooth things along and collected her cleaned and pressed gown before heading back to their room.

Red must have relieved himself and sprawled back on the bed because she found him snoring, his arms spread above his head and his legs wide apart. She shifted the blanket just enough to conceal the dark shadows between his thighs that were only just covered by his shirt. It was not that she could see anything but she did not want the temptation to peek.

What a terrible person she was.

Hannah contented herself with peeling open the covering on the stone and drawing out her notepad. She began copying what she could, though there was so much text it would take some time.

Red's snores rattled through the room. At least he was resting and she was doing something useful. Once the stone was in the hands of those at the British Museum, it would be hidden away and studied by experts until it was—hopefully—deciphered. If they could understand this stone and its translations, they could unlock the key to hieroglyphs. But it did mean she might never see it again, and she would not mind her chance to study it.

A knock on the door forced her up from her position on the floor and stopped Red's snores. He muttered and tossed onto his side. Hannah rolled her eyes at the sight of too much thigh. The man was determined to reveal himself entirely to her, she was sure of it. She shifted the blanket again and opened the door to take the tray of food from the serving maid.

At the thud of the door shutting, Red awoke fully. He peered at her through half-lidded eyes. "Food?"

She nodded. "Food. You no doubt need some." Lifting a palm, she motioned for him to stay. "Tea or coffee? And there's soup and porridge as well as some bread."

"Coffee, I think."

"You should have tea. You could do with some more sleep, but it will soothe your throat."

A lone brow rose. "Tea it is then, I suppose."

"What food would you like?"

"Some bread will do for now."

She shook her head. "Eat the soup while it's hot. You can dunk some bread in. I think you should try the porridge too if you can. You need sustenance."

He eyed her. "Fine. Soup it is."

Pouring a dash of milk into the cup, she lifted the lid of the teapot to check it had brewed and added it to the cup. "Sugar?"

"No."

"You ought to. It will give you energy."

"I don't like sweet tea."

"It's not about what you like." She added a spoonful of sugar. "It is about getting you healthy." Hannah brought over the cup and ignored his stubborn scowl. Her father was the same when he was sick. Men wanted to be looked after but at the same time did not want to be told what to do. Well Red could not have it both ways.

"Drink that and then you can have the soup."

"Of course, milady, anything you say, milady."

She frowned at his mocking tone. "This is for your own good."

"I'm a grown man, Hannah, I can make my own decisions." He wrinkled his nose, and Hannah snatched the cup from him just before he sneezed and nearly spilled it everywhere.

"You are a grown, sick man. Let someone else make the decisions for a change." She handed back the cup and pulled out a handkerchief so he could blow his nose.

"I'm not sure I trust you to make my decisions. You would choose a damn stone over a man anytime."

"What makes you think I need to make such a choice?"

"I am willing to bet you have chosen studies over a man many times."

She shook her head. "I have chosen not to entertain men who do not interest me, for certain, but that does not mean I have chosen one over the other. If a man cannot interest me enough to draw me away from my studies, he must not be worth it."

He smirked. "You have many of these types of suitors I suppose."

"Hardly. I am too busy, and as you so pointed out, I am cast as a bluestocking. We do not tend to fight off men on a daily basis."

"I am sure your father entertains some interesting men."

She lifted a shoulder. "None were that interesting to me. Or they were extremely old."

"So you have fended off some suitors?" He took a long gulp of tea and handed it back to her.

Hannah retrieved the soup and waited for him to sit up. She passed him the bowl and added a chunk of bread to it. "There were one or two men who thought I would make an excellent wife, perhaps because of what I do for my father."

"Ah. To an intellectual, you are probably the perfect wifely material."

She tried not to be offended at the indication that he did not think her perfect wifely material for anyone else, but why should she care? She had no intention of marrying and leaving her father.

"I have little idea of their motivations to pursue me. Nevertheless, I would not marry so easily. I think I would rather not marry at all."

"They want a pretty little thing to nod and agree with their theories and be willing to follow them about as they dig for stones or whatever it is these men do."

He was not wrong. Her intellect and interest in the past had appealed to a couple of her father's friends. It was not that she did not enjoy their conversation or their interests, but she could never envision being their wife. Those sorts of men were never willing to share. They wanted all the glory for themselves and would never listen to a woman's viewpoint—not really. They simply wanted someone who would not be utterly bored by their interest in history and wouldn't complain if they were gone for months on end. They saw what she did for her father and wanted it for themselves, but the difference was, she loved her father. She had certainly never loved any of them.

"I have little idea why you are so interested in me getting a husband. Surely it is you who should be worrying about marriage? You have yet to sire an heir." She paused. "Or have you?"

He laughed, which turned into a coughing fit. Hannah patted him on his back until the fit ended. "Not at all. No children to my name," he said, his eyes watery. "Damned soup is trying to kill me," he muttered.

"I do not think you can rightly blame the soup. Now finish it up."

"Yes, milady. Whatever you say, milady."

She shook her head at the faux country accent and concentrated on her own morning meal of some coffee and a slice of bread slathered with honey. Red finished his soup before she had swallowed the last morsel and held out his empty bowl proudly.

"Are you proud of me, Hannah?"

She snatched the bowl off him. "What a ridiculous notion." And now she wished he was not using her name. It made the situation all the more intimate, as though she might be his wife nursing him. He certainly played the role of stubborn husband well. "Will you have the porridge too?"

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry." Red held up both palms. "And before you try to bully me into it, I am feeling a little revived, but I cannot stomach anymore food. If you want me to eat it, you'll have to force feed me."

"I do not think we have to go to those extremes." She placed the back of her hand to his forehead. He shuddered at the touch. "You are still warm. Perhaps I should see if there is an apothecary."

"I don't need any damned potions."

"Had anyone ever told you that you are a terrible patient?"

"Never." He stared up at her. "But no one has ever nursed me through sickness before. And you are a terrible nurse."

"I'm an excellent nurse." She lifted her chin. "You are making this much more difficult than it needs to be." She frowned. "Did your mother or your nursemaid never care for you while you were ill?"

"My mother died when my brother was born, and I was never sick. I'm as strong as an ox. Always have been."

"Well ox or not, you are not at all well. Stay in bed and sleep if you can. I shall inquire as to whether there is a local doctor or apothecary. At the very least, a tincture would help."

"As long as you do not bring someone here to let my blood, I'll take all the tinctures you want—much good they will do."

"I cannot fathom why you would think bloodletting might help, but I can promise you, I have no intention of letting that happen." She pulled on her bonnet and did up the ribbon.

"I've seen too many doctors turn to bloodletting as a treatment. Too many deaths from it too."

She nodded. "As have many, I'm sure." She offered a smile. "Trust me, Red. I do know what I am doing. I've nursed my father through illness, and he is a far more difficult patient than you."

"Oh." He raised his brows. "I shall have to try harder then."

Hannah chuckled as she left the room. That man could likely be on his deathbed and would still be trying to rile her.

She asked one of the serving maids about finding a physician and discovered there was indeed an apothecary, but the nearest doctor was five miles away. Red was not on his deathbed yet so she did not think they would have to send for anyone. She opted to visit the apothecary and came back with several tinctures that were promised to help, along with a salve for his chest to help his breathing.

When she returned to their room, Red was asleep, his snores as loud as ever. Sweat clung to his brow, and Hannah eyed him closely. His skin had taken on a pale cast that it had not held before. His skin was clammy but cool. Goodness, she hoped she had not misjudged it and he was sicker than either of them thought.

She remained at his bedside, damping him down as he heated up and covering him when he began to shiver. It was not until late afternoon that he finally stirred properly. He peered at her.

"Have you been there the whole time?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were. I could sense you. I'm glad you were." He tried to push up to sitting but quickly gave up.

"You are quite sick, Red. Rest, if you please."

He shook his head. "Never get sick." His words were almost mere puffs of air and she had to lean close to hear them.

"You are more sick than we thought," she said softly, not wishing to disturb him. "Will you take some tincture?"

"You're the boss of me, Hannah. Do with me what you will."

Had the circumstances been different, she could have thought of a few things to do with him. Throw him off a cliff...or kiss him. Either had run through her mind several times during their brief acquaintance.

She helped him take the tincture and unscrewed the lid of the salve. "This will help you breathe."

He eyed the yellowy goop as she put it on her finger. "I am not eating that."

Laughing, she pushed opened the neck of his shirt. True to his word, he let her do with him what she would, lying back and giving her full access. "This is for your chest. It will help you breathe better."

He closed his eyes and for that she was grateful. She did not want him watching her while she touched him so intimately. The hair on his chest was indeed soft—soft over hard muscle. What a contradiction he was.

Her skin heated while she spread the salve. A knot gathered in her throat. If she peered down, she could see the ridges of his stomach under his shirt. Red fell asleep while she tended to him, seeming to settle into a more peaceful rest.

Hannah took the chance to clean her hands and give herself some space from him. Though she could not help but sit on the chair and watch his profile and the rise and fall of his chest until supper time. It seemed that no matter how much she studied him, he would always take her by surprise. He had liked that she was here tending to him, remaining by his side. This dangerous smuggler had wanted her by his side during his sickness.

And she wanted to be here. What a mystery this all was. She pressed fingertips between her brows. History—and even the artifact—was easier to decipher than he was. Would she ever fully understand him?