Page 19 of Bedding the Marquess
At the start of their second week at Bray Castle, Gideon collected Caroline at the door to her bedchamber as usual. She greeted him with her usual smile, but it wobbled almost immediately. All color drained from her complexion and she scrambled away, practically diving for her porcelain washbasin before she tossed up her meager accounts. Gideon hurdled his shock to follow her. He hadn’t known such sounds could come from such a fragile body. He rubbed soothing circles along her back as she heaved and groaned. He felt helpless and lost as he asked, “Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can send for? Does this call for the physician? Are you in pain?” His questions grew progressively more alarmed as her illness continued, and his mind ran in circles.
Caro shook her head as she attempted to regain her composure, breathing in slowly through her nose and outthrough her mouth. “It is…normal.” She spoke in carefully modulated words as if speaking too loudly or rapidly might set her off again. “Expected.”
“Expected,” he snorted, feeling the worst sort of bastard that this was something she was simplyexpectedto endure as a part of pregnancy. It bothered him to no end that this was the case while he suffered not one bit—his sympathetic nausea notwithstanding. “Is there anything to be done?”
She closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “Ginger. The doctor suggested sucking on candied ginger or sipping ginger tea might help with—”
“I will find you some ginger,” Gideon said with all the gravity of a Holy Crusader. She slackened against him, drained, and he easily scooped her up and settled her on her bed.
“Don’t,” Caro groaned in mortification when he went to take the washbasin.
“Please,” he scoffed, offering her his lopsided smile to disarm her sensibilities. “I’ve dealt with far worse on an average evening. D’you remember that night with the brandy and the acrobatic dogs?”
“And Blackwood thought he could walk on his hands, too?” Caro chuckled and groaned, holding her abdomen. “Please do not make me laugh; I don’t think I can bear it.”
“Very well. I will return shortly.” Gideon slipped from the room, taking care of the washbasin and summoning the proper staff to have a fresh one brought to Caro in case she required it, and every other set of hands was sent to locate as much ginger as existed in their corner of Kent.
It wasn’t long before Gideon returned to Caro’s chamber bearing a tray of ginger tea, candied ginger, ginger biscuits, dried ginger leather, even a fresh, raw hunk of ginger—anything he could think of to help her. Some maids had returned bearing other home remedies for nausea; Gideon accepted them all andbegan a list. He was determined to tick them off one by one until Caro improved.
She was sleeping when he ducked back into her bedchamber, her breathing even and comfortable though she looked pale. He hoped she would not miss her fruit and her walk that day, and that his offering would be recompense enough. Quietly, he set the tray on the table beside the bed and was pleased to note that a fresh basin was already waiting, as was a damp cloth to replace the one already resting across her forehead. After carefully testing its dampness, Gideon decided to change the cloth on her forehead, gently swapping it for the fresh one. She purred and turned into his touch. The sound was as if she’d run her finger down his spine, a delicious chill traveling in its wake.
He could not resist dipping his head and brushing his lips against her cheek, running the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. Before he did something stupid, he forced himself to straighten and exit the room.
Caroline’s eyes flutteredopen at the sound of the door latch clicking shut. Her fingertips grazed the fresh, cool cloth on her forehead, and the scent of ginger drew her eyes toward the tray laid nearby. Beneath the powerful spicy aroma was the familiar fragrance of the man whom she longed for with every ounce of her soul.
His nonjudgmental care of her that day had shown her a new side of him. She’d always suspected he was putting on a bit of a show whenever they were out with their group of friends—exaggerating his behavior a bit for laughs and shock—but this more relaxed Gideon, this quietly caring and thoughtful man, was even more endearing and attractive to her. As wonderful as he’d always been, “Gideon in the country” was something else entirely. It was easy to be with him…and it was even easier to fall more deeply for him.
The last thing she’d expected that morning was for him to comfort her while she was ill and then immediately jump into action to tidy up and do what he could to make her feel better.
She pressed her hand to the cheek he had touched, telling herself that they could either ache separately or make the most of this marriage.
Chapter Nine
The evening foghung heavy and low that evening, making the air thick with moisture and filling Oliver’s lungs with the dankness of the streets. He knew from experience that the scent of mildew and refuse would cling to his clothing long after he’d returned home.
He walked with purpose and confidence—the biggest deterrent to pickpockets and thieves—but he was not foolish enough to traverse Covent Garden unarmed. A man with a past like his was never caught so unprepared, nor did he possess such hubris to believe himself unapproachable by those living desperate lives in London’s slums. Not for the first time, he was grateful Emily had remained home that evening. Of course, they would have hired a hackney rather than travel by foot, and Oliver never would have left her side, but he was still more at ease with her safely ensconced within the walls of their home rather than deep in the heart of Covent Garden on a night such as this.
Earlier that day, Emily and Oliver had shared a late luncheon and then went about their usual preparations for an evening at Lady Night’s. It was immediately apparent to Oliver that his wife was not up for the long hours necessary to fulfill her obligations. He witnessed her yawn no less than three times as he helped her unlace her dress in preparation for donning another to wear to her mother’s brothel. The quality was slightly less than her usual wardrobe and the color was much more muted—anythingto avoid drawing attention to herself should she need to leave behind the books and see to other business within the building. It had taken Oliver a long time to come to terms with his wife flitting through the brothel and managing the employees, but she’d proven time and time again to him that her mind craved the stimulation and her skills with Lady Night’s employees were unsurpassed. She was unfailingly kind and nonjudgmental. It was part of why he loved her so.
It did not take his keen observation skills to recognize the drowsiness in her doe-like eyes, the fatigue furrowing her brow, the slight slump to her shoulders.
“Why don’t you remain at home this evening?” Oliver had presented it as a gentle suggestion, though he took his time fiddling with the laces of her gown to delay her dressing.
“Because my mother has been feeling poorly. She could use the extra set of hands and eyes once I finish with the books,” Emily insisted, barely managing to swallow another yawn.
“And that is why I will go. The books will keep for another time, and I will lend myself wherever it is needed.” Oliver could see in her impossibly blue eyes how tempted she was by that, so, in an effort to clinch her decision, he added, “I will return and crawl into bed with you where we will sleep however late we desire tomorrow morning.”
Emily had narrowed her eyes at him. “Will you be nude?”
Oliver chuckled and shook his head at her incorrigibility. “Would you have me sleep with you any other way?”
“Never.” She slung her arms around his neck, stood on the tips of her toes, and pressed her lips to his. “Very well, I shall remain home this evening. I do not know why I am so exhausted—”
Oliver had dropped the garment he held and scooped Emily into his arms. Her little trill of surprised laughter unfurled atendril of warmth low in his belly, like it always did. He carried her to bed in three quick strides.
“Because you work too hard,” he’d said flatly. “You know you needn’t do that.”
“I enjoy it, and I enjoy spending the time near to you,” Emily replied with a sigh as he tucked her beneath the coverlet.
