Page 39 of The Devil and the Heiress
“Thank you,” Violet said, apparently satisfied with that and not understanding that they were not on the way to Windermere.
Mrs. Mitchell nodded and hurried out to retrieve the steaming jug of water she had left outside the door. Setting it on the washstand, she said, “I shall send the good doctor when he arrives.”
“What time is it?” Violet asked him when the woman had left.
Christian reached for his watch out of habit, but his clothing had been taken to be laundered and had not been returned to him yet. Their luggage—what had been able to be retrieved—was somewhere in another part of the Mitchells’ house. He had been too concerned with Violet to worry about the state of material possessions, except for her manuscripts. Those he had personally retrieved from herGladstone bag and set out to dry in the kitchen with Mrs. Mitchell’s assistance and assurance that she would not read them. Christian had tried not to read them. He really had, but he hadn’t been able to help himself from reading the odd sentence and paragraph. It was as if he thirsted for any knowledge of her he could find. He would take it and squirrel it away for the bleak days when she was well away from him.
A glance out the window confirmed his suspicions. The room had a view over a charming meadow with hills in the distance. “Early yet. Still a bit of pink on the horizon.”
She struggled to push herself up out of her nest of pillows, so he rushed to her side to help her. “Rest,” he said. “There is no need to rise.”
“There is need, my lord. Great need.”
Her tone was so insistent that for a moment he could not fathom what she meant. When she looked up at him with a sort of panic in her eyes, he understood. Glancing toward the narrow armoire in the corner, he vaguely remembered Mrs. Mitchell mentioning she had tucked some clothing away in there. “I shall retrieve a dressing gown.”
Several nondescript nightdresses in white cotton were folded neatly in a stack. A single dressing gown hung on a hook. It was faded yellow, but soft and thick. Hurrying back to her with it, he helped her put it around her shoulders and sat beside her. Once the belt was secure, he tugged the blanket away so it pooled at her hips. Trying diligently not to look at her shapely legs, he put his arm gingerly around her waist and helped her to stand. She wavered on her feet. Her left hand held tight to his shoulder.
The white edge of a porcelain chamber pot stuck out from beneath the bed. He pushed it toward them with his bare foot. “Hold on to my arm. I can help you—”
“No!”
Frowning, he said, “I can help you to hover—”
“Hover? Good God, no, I could not live with thehumiliation. You must leave!” Her face was red, and she stared at him as if he had suggested she run naked through the village. “I can do this alone.”
“Then at least allow me to retrieve Mrs. Mitchell. I am certain—”
“Go.” She pushed him with her left hand. “I can do this alone.”
He was not at all certain that she could, but when she refused to relent, he left her. Dr. Mitchell came up the stairs a few minutes later and found him hovering at the door.
“You appear as anxious as an expectant father, my lord.” Dr. Mitchell laughed. He had a shock of white hair on his head with a full beard to match. His cheeks and nose seemed to be permanently red. Unlike his wife, he was rail thin.
“She had to attend to her needs and forced me out of the room.”
Dr. Mitchell chuckled again. “ ’Tis a good sign, lad.”
Christian had to agree, but he did not like the idea of her being alone. “She does appear much improved today.”
Before the physician could reply, Violet opened the door. His heart clenched at the vivid bruise that bloomed on the right side of her forehead and cheek. Otherwise, she appeared deathly pale.
“I am very pleased to meet you, lass. We have met before, although I am certain you do not remember. My name is Dr. Mitchell.”
Violet glanced at Christian in concern, before stepping back to let them into the room. “Good morning, Dr. Mitchell. Thank you for seeing to my care.”
Neither the doctor nor his wife had commented on her American accent. That alone would raise suspicion if it were known that she was missing. His only hope was that the small village was isolated enough to allow them this respite. They exchanged pleasantries as Christian followed the man inside. A quick glance confirmed that the chamberpot had been pushed discreetly under the bed. “How did you fare?” He kept his voice low so as not to further her embarrassment.
She flushed anyway. “Fine, my lord. You needn’t concern yourself.”
He grinned at the spark of fire within her. The tight weight in his chest began to ease. She had to be improving if her spirit was firmly in place.
“Let me help you back to bed.” To his surprise, she nodded and allowed him to put his arm around her. Her ready agreement was a sure sign of how fatigued she was.
Once she was settled, Christian moved away to look out the window. A decent man might have left her alone with the physician to conduct his examination in private, but Christian could not stand to be away from her yet. Not when her condition was his fault. He stood, silently absorbing every moan of pain she uttered and wishing it had been him. It was the very least he deserved.
“Very good, Lady Rochester. Very good. We shall get you fit again in no time.”
Christian whirled. Aside from a quick mention that they were married, he had yet to tell her the story he had invented. She merely quirked an eyebrow at the name. “Thank you, Dr. Mitchell. Truly, I think the fuss is too much. I’ll be fine after a bit of rest.”
