Page 65 of She Tempts the Duke
“I think he got out of bed too soon, exerted himself too much.”
Because of her. Because of suspicions. Because of his uncle.
“You can’t stay, Mary.”
She nodded absently. She knew that.
“I’ll send word once the physician has seen him. Let you know how he fares.”
Once again she nodded, just before sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching into the bowl of water and lifting out the cloth nestled in it. She wrung it out.
“Mary, you can’t stay,” he repeated.
“Yes, I know.” She pressed the cloth to Sebastian’s brow. She had a dinner party to attend. Fitzwilliam was going to arrive at her residence at half past seven. She needed to be ready. She patted the cloth along Sebastian’s neck over the scars. She’d promised Fitzwilliam that she wouldn’t approach Sebastian, that she would never again be alone with him.
Only she wasn’t alone. Tristan was here.
“Mary—”
“If I remain wet, I’ll catch my death. Will you please see if a servant has a dress I might borrow and find one willing to assist me as I change?”
“You don’t always have to save us, Mary.”
But this time, she wondered if she might be saving herself as well.
Chapter 18
He’d abandoned Pembrook. He’d left Rafe at the workhouse. An orphan. They would put him to work but they’d feed and clothe him. He’d sold Tristan to a ship’s captain. He could excuse his actions then because he’d been a boy. Now he was a man and he would not abandon a fellow soldier on the field of battle. He would never again abandon anyone.
The battle raged. The heat consumed. It shouldn’t have been so hot. The Crimea was cold, ghastly cold and miserable. But in the thick of battle he sweated. He had to get to his fallen comrade. He ducked low. Shells landed, exploded. Cannons boomed. Men cried out. Horses screamed. Blood splurged over him, burned. Something sharp pierced his side—
His torturous yell brought him from the depths of hell.
“Shh. Shh.”
Breathing heavily he found himself gazing into familiar green eyes. He wanted to touch the softness of her cheek. Surely it would be cool. Would cool his fever. But when he reached for her, his arms wouldn’t obey the command. He realized he was bound. He tugged. “No!”
“Shh,” she urged again. “Your wound. It needs to be treated. It won’t be pleasant, Sebastian.”
“Release me.” His voice sounded as though it had been scraped raw.
“We can’t have you thrashing about, Brother.”
Tristan. Dammit. He’d expect this of Rafe, but not Tristan. Rafe would no doubt relish the agony his helplessness brought.
“The doctor’s going to give you ether,” Mary said quietly. “You should sleep through the worst of it.”
He rolled his head from side to side. “No, don’t send me back there.” Not to the nightmares, not to the regrets.
“I’ll hold your hand. I won’t let go.”
“No.” Something obstructed his vision of her, clamped down over his face.
“Breathe, Your Grace,” someone ordered. “Breathe deeply.”
He didn’t want to sleep. He hated to sleep. When he slept he dreamed. All his regrets, all the nightmares welled up—
He fought to keep his eye open, to remain with her, to not succumb...
