Page 66 of A Duke for Stealing
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry quietly replied.
He glanced back inside, at his exhausted wife.
“Another thing,” he added, “I know the Duchess has her maid wake her up rather early each day. I want you to find her maid before you retire for the evening and inform her that she is notto disturb Her Grace tomorrow morning. I believe she is in need of more rest.”
The stern housekeeper’s eyes softened, and she whispered her agreement. Once Mrs. Mulberry had Leah pulled gently away from Rose’s side, Everett slid his arms beneath her and picked her up with great care. Rose sighed and nestled her head into his shoulder, but did not open her eyes.
As he carried her down the hall, Everett found himself unable to look away from Rose. He studied the creamy complexion of her clear skin, her dark, long lashes that swept almost to her cheeks, and her soft, plump lips, which were a perfect pink. Cosmeticians could work their entire lives to try to achieve such a perfect color, and they would still fail. Nothing, no one, he realized, could be like Rose.
With care, he opened her door and took her inside. He gently laid her atop the bed and pillow and began to remove her pins. When he finished, he tenderly brushed her soft tendrils from her cheeks. It was then that he noticed an intense heat radiating from her. His brows drew down, robbing him of the smile that had almost touched his lips, and he moved his hand to her forehead.
A fever.
A small whimper parted from Rose’s lips, and she stirred beneath him. Her delicate brows drew down as if she were in pain, and she turned on her side, reaching for her back.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Everett whispered, moving his hand down to hers.
Rose’s lashes fluttered, but it was as if she was too tired to open her eyes.
“Corset,” she whimpered, reaching further toward the back of her dress. “Too tight. Too hot.”
“I shall get it,” he soothed, and helped her turn onto her stomach.
As he gently freed her from her dress and corset, Everett’s mind spiked with worry. They’d had fun in the rain, and they had recovered, in a way, from their time at the lake. But being drenched so much in the short span of time seemed to have caused her to catch a cold.
Rose sighed as he pulled her corset from her body, looking a bit more relaxed. Everett placed her clothes on the nearby chair and went in search of a clean nightgown. When he found one, he eased her into it and then gently laid her back in bed. He panicked for a moment, trying to decide whether or not blankets would make her fever better or worse.
When she shivered, he chose the covers and eased them over her. Everett stroked her hair back from his face again, his touch lingering. Before he could think whether or not she was contagious, he lowered his head and gently kissed her lips. Rose then reached for him, and as her hands tightened weakly aroundthe lapels of his shirt, he gave in to her and himself and kissed her deeper.
His hands roamed over her through the nightgown; his palms itching to take the thing off. He would have, perhaps, if he were not so worried, and that worry was what made him stop. Everett pulled away from the kiss, gave her lips one more peck, and then sat up.
“Rest now, my Rose,” he gently commanded, stroking his hand down her hair and over her back.
He lifted his hand away, but before he could take a step, Rose reached a hand toward him and grabbed around his wrist. Everett looked back at her. Her eyes were hazy and full of fatigue, but they were open and directly on him.
“I wish you were not so confusing,” she murmured, her voice full of drowsiness. “I want to.”
Everett felt a shred open in his heart as he saw the raw pleading in her eyes. He swallowed, finding the motion difficult.
“You want to what?” He rasped.
Then Rose’s lashes fluttered down, her grip on his wrist dropped away, and she fell back to sleep without answering his question.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Her fever is broken, but His Grace has insisted we let her rest. Quietly now, quietly.”
Rose slowly awoke as she heard whispers around her. She opened her eyes, feeling surprisingly well rested, and looked around. Her maid, Edie, and Mrs. Mulberry were in her room. One was setting down a tray on her bedside table; the other was collecting vials of what looked like medicine.
“Who has a fever?” Rose asked.
Both maids startled at her voice, then genuine smiles broke across their faces.
“You, Your Grace,” Edie answered.
“My, it is good to see you open your eyes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry crowed in a rare bout of excitement.
Rose’s brow furrowed, and she sat up. The last thing she remembered was reading the twins their nightly bedtime story.
