Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

E mily could not deny that she had slept remarkably well. It was more than sleeping by her husband's side, for she had been doing so the last few nights back at Markham Estate. It wasn't just the sound of the waves and the calming ocean smell that had lulled her to sleep. It was the fact that they were finally here, away from that place. It was her chance to get him well again. She had to. And the relief that her plan had worked, at least that he had arrived without dying along the way, was a victory in her eyes.

She turned over in the bed, startling to find that Alex was already awake, eyes open and watching her. But he did not blink, and her worst fears immediately took root.

"Are you all right?" she asked, sitting up and leaning over to examine him. She did not even bother to cover herself as the blanket slid down to her lap. Surely there was nothing scandalous about a husband seeing his wife in her nightdress. And what were the chances he would even remember in his current state?

She touched the side of his face to gauge his fever, but instead of blinding heat, he felt clammy. Or was it simply a normal body temperature?

"I'm fine," he said, his strained voice the same it had been yesterday. But she was unconvinced, and she leaned over further to rest her lips on his forehead. Still, no heat. Could it have broken for good?

He stilled. "What are you doing?"

"Another method of checking temperature is using the lips against the skin, and it can have a calming effect." She leaned back, relief settling over her. "I worried the difficult travels would take a toll on you, but it appears you may have passed through the worst of it."

His hand reached for her, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "You put your lips on my skin again, and it might light another fire within me."

Emily's breath hitched in her chest, her heart skipping every other beat at the way his gravelly voice impacted her. Was it her imagination, or was there a certain clarity in his eyes that had been missing for nigh on a week? He could not have possibly recovered so quickly. Overnight after a long journey was impossible.

The way his touch traveled over the skin on her hand reminded her just how much of an intimate situation they were in. Sleeping in the same bed, dressed in their unmentionables. She might openly care for him and worry over him when his mind was half gone, but she didn't know if she was ready to have such a conversation with a fully recovered husband, even though she knew they desperately needed to.

She cleared her throat and moved the blanket off her legs. "Then clearly you're still feverish. I'll not fight you on your deathbed, so sleep, husband."

But before she could remove herself completely from the bed, he caught her hand again. "Wait. "

Emily forgot to breathe at his whispered word. She turned to face him again as he tugged on her hand. "Stay. Please."

She tried to keep her wits about her, but Emily would have willingly done anything he asked in that moment. "You need to rest, and I need to bring you breakfast, and have them bring tea for your throat."

He shook his head against the pillow and tugged on her hand once more, so she immediately returned to the bed, lying beside him. However, he had apparently decided it was not close enough, because he pulled her closer still, into his arms and against his chest.

"I'm not hungry," he said, one hand pressing against the flat of her back, the other gingerly resting against her hair. "And I'll rest better knowing you're with me."

Whatever chest pain Alex had spoken of before, Emily was certain to contract the same thing, for her heart pounded unrelentingly. She didn't know how clear his mind was, how conscious his actions were, but she desperately wanted to linger here, melt against him.

"How did you know?" he asked in a whisper.

Emily swallowed with difficulty, trying to find her voice. "Know what?"

"To remove me from the house. To bring me to the seaside." His hand brushed over her curls, in the same manner she'd done to him in the carriage, and it was as if he was coaxing the truth out of her.

"Your mother had mentioned it before. When she came to London."

He pulled back then, looking down at her from up close, their mouths close enough to touch. "You remember that? From all those weeks ago?"

His brown eyes, dark and golden like the color of her favorite tea, bore into hers, waiting for an answer, but Emily found she was speechless. She had no words as his eyes searched over the entirety of her face and settled on her lips.

That's when her mouth went dry, and she suddenly remembered with full force the last time she had been this close to him. It had been the night they'd met, unknowingly speaking and joking and teasing – and kissing – someone they'd never met before. It's what had forced them into marriage in the first place. So many times before she had cursed that day, and cursed him for ruining her life. And now, the only thing she could think of was how she could get him to kiss her again. Close the tiny gap that separated their lips so she could once again feel his mouth against her own. Maybe then she'd have words enough to voice her concerns. Maybe then she'd be able to change his mind about loving his wife. Maybe then she'd be able to confess her feelings.

But the word confess shocked Emily out of whatever trance he had led her into. There was still too much he didn't know. It wasn't just her developing feelings, nor was it just finding clarity in the living situation; her origin could be of great importance. That one's wife is actually the result of a noblewoman's affair could be infuriating to learn. Especially to someone like him who still depended on society's good opinion, who needed to find a good match for his sister. A familiar fear and dissatisfaction settled in her stomach, twisting and churning. She would have to find the right place, the right time, to tell him the whole of it, and not when he had barely started to show signs of recovering.

As if he had sensed her sudden detachment, he let out a sigh and pulled her close against him again. "You are an incredible woman, Mrs. Westcott."

Emily so wanted to know if he truly believed that, and if he would still feel that way when he knew the truth about her.

"Don't you mean infuriating?" she replied, resting her hand on his waist .

His laughter resulted in a light cough, but it thankfully did not escalate into a fit. "That too."

Since her husband insisted, instead of going downstairs to get him breakfast, Emily lay in his bed, in his arms. He was clinging to her as if she were dear to him, something precious that he didn't want to lose, so she allowed herself a moment's weakness to hold him, pressing herself against his chest. She did not know what their future would hold, and if he might someday regret these interactions when he regained his full physical health and mental clarity, but she would never regret them.