Page 83 of Wicked Rivals
“Believe me, Rosalind. We are cut from the same cloth. From the moment I met you, I could not get you out of my head. Even when you drive me mad, I still want you.”
She gazed into his blue eyes. There were no shadows there, no hints of deception.
Rosalind finally nodded and wiped her eyes. “We ought to go to dinner before we are missed.”
Ashton waited a moment longer before he pulled the curtain of the alcove back. “I never wish to see you cry, ever. Not because of something I’ve done.”
She held her head high. “Then do not give me a reason to.”
Ashton cupped her chin and brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I won’t.”
She wanted so desperately to believe him. He took her hand, and she let him lead her into the hall, her heart exposed and her soul shaking.
Can I stop myself from falling in love with him?
The fact that she did not know the answer right away scared her most of all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashton glared at Charles over his glass of wine. His friend cocked a brow in silent question, which Ashton only answered with a dark scowl.
Regina cleared her throat, attempting to dispel the growing tension in the dining room. “The tenant farmhouses start construction in a few days, I hear.”
Ashton set his wine down. “Yes, Higgins and Maple will be relieved. I’ve employed nearly every able-bodied man in the local villages to aid in the construction.”
Joanna was in animated discussion with Jonathan. Rosalind was picking at her food while Rafe stared into the distance, quiet and a bit pale. Ashton worried that the bullet wound might be giving Rafe trouble. That was something he’d have to see to later tonight, after he’d boxed Charles’s ears for being so free with his opinions.
“Well, that’s wonderful news indeed,” Regina said.
Rafe suddenly shoved his chair back from the table and stood.
“Rafe?” their mother asked.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t feel well and will retire for the evening. Please excuse me.” He dropped his napkin upon the table and left the room.
Given the already unsalvageable awkwardness of the dinner, Ashton decided now was as good a time as any to deal with Rafe. He rose from the table.
“A thousand apologies. I need to speak with Rafe.” He exited the dining room and chased after his brother, catching him by the stairs. Rafe was slowly climbing up, when he stopped and suddenly crumpled to the ground.
“Rafe?” He reached his brother seconds before the fall would have done him harm. “What’s the matter? Have you had too much to drink again?” Ashton slung one of Rafe’s arms over his shoulder.
“Ash, I’m sorry, I don’t—” Rafe began, his voice oddly breathless. It was not at all how Rafe sounded when deep in his cups.
“Nonsense. Let me help you upstairs.” He helped Rafe all the way to his chambers and settled him in his bed.
“I haven’t been drinking. I swear.” Rafe moaned and rolled over onto his side, his body trembling. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow.
Ashton sat down on the bed and placed the back of his hand on Rafe’s brow. He was hot to the touch. A fever? Rafe’s body twitched, and he clamped his jaw shut as his teeth began to rattle.
“I’m sending for the doctor.” He pulled the blankets up to Rafe’s chin and added more logs to the fire at the opposite end of the room.
When he glanced back at the bed, Ashton’s fear began to climb into his throat. He’d never seen Rafe truly sick. None of his siblings had ever had more than a cold. Whatever was wrong now was more than that.
As he descended the stairs, Charles was waiting for him. “Everything all right?”
“No, I must send for a doctor. Rafe is unwell. Where are the others?”
“Finishing the last course,” Charles said. “I thought Rafe looked a bit off. Shall I fetch the doctor? You could stay here and watch over him.”
