28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Cassandra stood still, not daring to move, afraid that if she did, her husband would pull away from her touch—but he didn’t.

Five minutes ago, he had ranted at her for disrupting his drawing room, but now?

Seeing Jethro’s flushed cheeks, she had raised her hand on instinct, thinking he might have a fever. And she had been right. His skin was burning up.

Cassandra knew she should encourage him to retire, but she didn’t want him to go.

The heat building inside her had nothing to do with a fever. Her fingers tingled as they trailed across the stubble on his cheek, her eyes widening as he crooked his head to one side, causing his skin to rub against her palm as if he were revelling in the feel of her hand upon his face.

She could hardly breathe as Jethro stepped closer. Was he going to embrace her?

No. His feet were as unsteady as if he were on board a ship, and his body swayed, lurching toward her, almost knocking her over.

“Jethro!” she exclaimed, as she struggled to hold up against her husband’s weight. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”

He stumbled about as he regained his balance, refusing her assistance .

“It’s all right. I must have stood up too quickly, and I was momentarily disoriented. The dizziness has passed now. I can manage.”

“No, you’re not all right,” Cassandra said, pulling on the bell rope.

When the footman arrived, she asked him to summon her husband’s valet.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sending you to bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re ill, Jethro.”

“I’m never ill.”

“I hate to contradict you, but you have a fever. Why else do you think you almost landed on top of me?”

“I told you, it was a momentary dizziness, nothing more.”

A tiny chuckle escaped at his obstinacy. She shook her head. “Denial will not change the facts.”

Jethro’s man appeared.

“Take your master up to his room, please, Wilkes. He is unwell.”

The valet took a single look at her husband and, hooking one of his arms around his shoulders, he supported an unwilling Jethro upstairs.

When Cassandra entered her husband’s chamber, Jethro was already in his nightshirt and tucked up in his bed. He looked strangely vulnerable—and very ill tempered.

“The doctor will be here shortly—and you may as well save yourself the effort of arguing. If you so much as think of getting up before the fever leaves you, I’ll get Wilkes to confiscate all your clothes.”

Jethro’s scowl deepened. “Is this what it has come to? You are determined to rule my household? First my drawing room and then me? I must be misremembering our vows. I thought it was you who promised to obey me, not the other way around.”

Cassandra bit back a smile. His petulance could not upset her now, because she had the upper hand. Wilkes was on her side, and her husband would stay in bed until he was better.

“I vowed to love you in sickness and in health—and as you are far from well, it would not be very loving of me to allow you to plough on and make yourself worse.”

A knock on the door announced the doctor’s arrival. Jethro almost growled at Mr Cooper, but let the man examine him.

To her surprise, Cassandra was not dismissed from the room, and the doctor gave a commentary on his examination, talking as much to her as to Jethro .

“Your husband has a high fever, Mrs Hunt. It is as well you sent for me when you did. I’ve seen men fall prey to long-term complications because they refused to stop at the early signs of illness. That’s what a fever is—a sign that your body is fighting sickness—and you need to give the body all the help you can. Now, let’s have a listen to your heart.”

Heat rushed to her face as the man pulled open Jethro’s nightshirt and laid his ear to her husband’s chest.

Cassandra made ready to run from the room if Mr Cooper attempted a more intimate examination, but fortunately, the doctor seemed satisfied.

He stood up and rubbed his chin. “I need to bleed your husband. Are you squeamish?”

“No.”

“Good. Now—”

“That’s not what I meant. I do not wish my husband to be bled.”

Mr Cooper frowned. “But my dear Mrs Hunt, how else can we cleanse his body of infection?”

“No blood-letting.”

“But—”

“The doctor bled my father repeatedly in his last illness. The procedure did nothing to slow his decline, nor did it bring him any relief. All it did was weaken him, and I will not see the same thing happen to my husband.”

“The cases are quite different. I’m sure Mr Hunt would benefit—”

“No. I’ll nurse him myself. Tell me what I should do.”

“Very well. Careful nursing will be of some value, though I fear it is a mistake not to bleed him. I’ll give you a draught that will help bring down his temperature, and you must keep him cool, even if he tells you he is cold. He may eat if he feels like it, but no strong liquor. And persuade him to rest, at least until the fever breaks.”

The doctor gave her a long stare. “Your husband has a robust constitution. He should make a full recovery, but if complications arise, who can say? If his condition worsens, call me again. Maybe then you will listen to reason and allow me to bleed your husband.”

“Thank you. I will.”

The man shook his head from side to side as he packed up his bag, muttering under his breath about women who thought they knew better than doctors.

Cassandra showed him out of the room and then she was alone with Jethro .

“That was brave of you, to stand up to Mr Cooper.”

“It was necessary.”

“Thank you, I think. Though if I die, we’ll know it was a mistake.”

There was a half-smile on Jethro’s lips as he spoke, and Cassandra chuckled. “What an odd time to develop a sense of humour.”

As the evening progressed, Jethro’s condition deteriorated, and Cassandra feared she had erred in going against medical advice. The doctor sent over the draught as promised, but it did little to ease his discomfort.

She sat at Jethro’s bedside as he slept in fits and starts, mopping his brow with cold water and praying for the fever to abate.

Poor Jethro. How vulnerable he looked, tossing and turning and muttering incoherently. So weak. Not at all like the man who had ranted at her earlier.

Cassandra brushed a hand over his heated forehead, pushing back the hair that had stuck to his face. She trailed her fingers down the side of his jaw and along the line of his chin, but she fought the yearning to trace the shape of his lips with her fingertips and jerked her hand away.

What sweet torture, stroking her husband’s face, knowing he would not stop her, yet knowing she would not dare if he were well.

Would there ever be a day when he would welcome such attentions from her? Not if he didn’t recover.

It was only a fever. He would get well again—wouldn’t he?

She had married Jethro for security, but that wasn’t a concern anymore. Whatever happened, she would not be homeless, as he had provided for her in his will.

Something tugged at Cassandra’s heart as she gazed at Jethro’s fevered face, and she realised that was no longer enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.

How had this arrogant, opinionated, unpredictable man become dear to her? Was it love? She didn’t know—but she prayed she’d have the chance to find out.

Jethro must get well. She doused his forehead with cold water again. If only the fever would lessen. She bit her lip as an idea came to her. A way of bringing her husband greater relief.

Did she dare? Yes. She dared.

For Jethro’s sake—and her own.