Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

H olly had been surprised, and not pleasantly, when her brother returned from Knavesmire with the injured Lord Thornton. She’d thought he would be long gone by that afternoon, and herself safe from his questions, but unfortunately that had proved not to be the case. At least he was confined to his bed. It should be simple enough for her to avoid him until he was recovered and on his way.

Late that night, a thump outside her door brought her from a fitful doze to full wakefulness. Her bedroom was dark, the coals a faint, ash-covered red glow on the hearth. For a heartbeat, she tried to convince herself that whatever she’d heard was simply the normal creaks and settling of Hartley House in the winter.

Then a muffled moan of pain came from the hallway, and she couldn’t deny that someone was outside her door. One of the maids, perhaps, suffering a sudden fit? Though it was inordinately late for any of the servants to be about.

Whoever it was, she must investigate. She struck a flame from the tinderbox on her night stand, lighting the candle in its pewter holder. By the flickering flame, she slipped on her silk wrapper, and went to open her door.

“Hello?” she called softly, lifting her candle and peering into the shadows of the hall.

It appeared to be empty, and she was about to turn away when movement near the floor caught her eye. She glanced down, horrified to see Viscount Thornton slumped against the wainscoting. His dark hair was disheveled above the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and his eyes were closed. For a horrible moment she thought he might have expired right there in the hallway, until she saw his chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths.

“Lord Thornton!” She knelt beside him, setting the candle down, and took him by the shoulder. His skin was feverishly hot beneath the long muslin nightshirt she belatedly realized was all he was wearing—but despite the embarrassment flooding through her at the sight of his strongly muscled calves and bare feet, this was no time for missish propriety. “Wake up, sir!”

He half-opened his eyes and squinted at her. “Lady Holly. Are you a wagering woman?”

Clearly the man was delirious, either from pain, or the laudanum the doctor had administered, or both.

“Whatever are you doing out of bed?” she asked. “We must return you to your room at once.”

“The tree,” he said with a distracted air. “Viola will have my head. Must go to Dovington, immediately.”

“The only thing you must do immediately is go back to bed. Stay here. I’ll ring for help.”

“Wait.” He caught her arms and stared intently into her eyes. “The tree. You must promise.”

“Really, Lord Thornton, now is not the time?—”

“Please.” He pulled her so close their faces were nearly touching.

“For heaven’s sake, sir, you are not in your right mind.”

“But…you’re beautiful,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice.

Then, before she could even fathom what was happening, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Startled heat flashed through her, as though the fever had leaped from his body to hers during that brief contact.

Then he did it again, pressing his mouth firmly upon hers. His lips were unexpectedly soft, and she leaned forward slightly, inhaling. It was like being plunged into a glass of champagne, her sense sparkling and fizzing?—

She pulled back with a jolt. Whatever was she doing? They could not be discovered in such a compromising position! No matter how her pulse raced or her lips tingled from his kiss.

“Wait,” he said, reaching for her as she rose.

“Nothing happened here, sir,” she said forcefully, scooping up her candle with trembling fingers. “Except that you collapsed in the hallway, and I just now discovered you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, praying he was so addled he would believe her. Then she whisked back into her room and yanked on the bell pull for her maid—as she should have done the moment she saw Lord Thornton in the hall. That, and roust her brother, which she intended to do forthwith.

On her way out of her room, she grabbed the lap robe draped over the armchair beside her hearth. At least she could tuck it about the viscount—for modesty as well as warmth.

When she reached the hall, she was relieved to see that Lord Thornton had tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. She draped the blanket over him, and he barely stirred.

Thank heavens. She could only hope that he’d think their kiss a fever dream.

Ash’s rooms were at the very end of the corridor where, he claimed, he had the privacy to relax without having to hear the maids fussing over his sisters at every turn. Holly rapped on his door, then listened. Hearing no signs of him stirring within, she knocked again.

“Ash,” she said, “wake up. Lord Thornton requires your assistance.”

After a brief time, her brother opened the door and blinked at her. “What is it?”

“Come and see.” She lifted her candle and marched back down the hall.

He followed, tying the belt of his robe. The narrow door to the servant’s stairs opened on the far side of the hall and her ladies’ maid, Abby, stepped out, bearing a candle of her own. She wore a plain blue wrapper, and her braid was somewhat haphazardly stuffed into her mob cap.

“What is it, milady?” she asked, then gasped when Holly directed her attention to the unconscious form of Lord Thornton slumped against the wall.

“Egad.” Ash pushed past them and crouched beside his friend. “Wake up, man.”

He took the viscount by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.

Lord Thornton opened his eyes. “Ash. Good—fetch the cartman and I’ll be off.”

“I don’t think so,” Ash said dryly, then looked at Holly, his brows raised

“When I found him, he was raving about taking the tree to Dovington Hall,” Holly said.

“Yes!” Lord Thornton sat up straight. “Nearly Christmas, isn’t it? I must depart immediately.”

It took Ash on one side, Abby on the other, and Holly behind him to lever the viscount up. He kept all his weight on his uninjured leg, and, one-footed, wavered back and forth, in imminent danger of falling back to the floor.

“How the devil did you manage to get here from your room?” Ash asked rhetorically. “Come on, Thorn, back to bed.”

Between them, they managed to limp Lord Thornton back down the hallway, past Rose’s room—she had a prodigious ability to sleep through anything, and this commotion was no exception—and finally back to his bedroom.

Despite his protests that he must make for Dovington Hall, they got him between the covers. Once abed, he subsided, to everyone’s relief.

“What if he gets up again?” Abby asked, giving the viscount a worried glance.

Ash blew out an exasperated breath and hauled a chair up beside the bed. “I’ll stay with him for the rest of the night. Hopefully, he’ll be more lucid tomorrow.”

Holly handed him the lap robe. “You might find this useful. Good luck.”

“Lady Holly,” Lord Thornton said suddenly emerging from his daze and grabbing her hand. “Don’t forget. The tree.”

He was clearly agitated, pressing her fingers intently. Until the matter was settled, it was plain he’d be unable to sleep.

“Rest, Lord Thornton,” she said. “I’ll see to it.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Yes. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said fervently.

Then, most unexpectedly, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His lips burned against her bare skin, and she pulled her hand away, breathless. Trying to conceal her reaction, she snuck a look at her brother. Could Ash see the brand of the viscount’s kiss blazing upon her lips?

Her brother gave her an exasperated smile and shook his head. “Ever the rogue, I’m afraid. You must forgive him, Holly. He’s not himself.”

“Of course.” She hoped Ash would attribute the color in her cheeks to the exertion of helping return Lord Thornton to his bed and not her flustered reaction to his attentions.

Abby saw her back to her room, then went to seek her own bed. As Holly lay in the dark, she tried to reason away the events of the night concerning Lord Thornton. He had been out of his wits, certainly.

Added to that, he was a rogue, as Ash had reminded her. If he’d been in full possession of his senses, Viscount Thornton would never seriously pay court to his friend’s sister.

No matter that his kisses kept said sister awake until the first light of dawn sifted through the curtains, as pale and soft as new fallen snow.