Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) Page 8
“Nothing more,” Beth whispered under her breath, as if to reinforce the sentiment in her mind.
Still, she thought, as the tips of her fingers glided along a muscular ridge, it would be a pity to see any harm come to him on her account.
“I brought the water.”
Beth sucked in her breath, startled. She instantly dropped her hand to the bed, upbraiding herself that it had a guilty appearance to it where none was warranted.
She drew a breath to steady her voice. “Thank you, Jacob.”
The basin he carried was the same one she had used to wash Duncan’s wound. He’d filled it to the brim and somehow managed to carry it up the stairs that way.
“Set it here.” She pointed to the opposite night stand. There were still strips left from the rented sheet she had used for Duncan’s bandages. She took one up now and rose to wet it.
Jacob twisted his hands together. “Will there be anything else?”
She smiled at him as she drew closer to reach the basin. Jacob didn’t step back. “No, thank you, I can manage from here.”
He took a deep breath and thought he could smell something sweet, like flowers. He could stand here near her all night. “I could stay, spell you, perhaps.”
She appreciated his offer, but she truly wanted to be alone right now, to go about her task and gather her thoughts.
“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
When he didn’t move aside, she gently nudged him away from the basin.
Jacob nearly tripped over his own feet, attempting to get out of her way, yet remain close. “Need someone to talk to?” he asked hopefully.
She didn’t want to be rude. He had been helpful, but she did want him to leave. “I’m too tired to talk.”
He raised his brows comically in one last attempt. “To sit in silence with, then?”
“Thank you, but no,” she said firmly. Her words all but pushed him out the door.
With a huge, reluctant sigh, Jacob withdrew, easing the door shut behind him.
Finally.
Relieved, Beth soaked the strips of sheet in the basin. Carefully, she placed the first on Duncan’s forehead and then tied the other two about his wrists, hoping to lower his fever. Later, perhaps, if he was awake, she’d coax a bit of liquid between his lips, but for now it was best if he slept.
Impulsively, Beth cupped her hand to his cheek. A bittersweet sensation she took to be fathered by guilt flittered through her.
“You can’t die on me, Duncan Fitzhugh. I can’t have you on my conscience.”
He remained sleeping.
With a sigh, Beth rose. She turned her back on him, not seeing his eyes flutter open.
Renewed restlessness rushed through her. Beth wandered to the trunk and opened it. Temptation had her removing one of her simpler dresses, something her mother hadn’t deemed suitable for traveling. Beth, ever headstrong, had brought it with her nonetheless.
As she held the light blue garment against her, she remembered the last time she had worn it. She’d been in the garden at home, discussing her father’s proposed trip with him and silently imploring him with her eyes not to leave.
But he had.
And now she was here, in a foreign country, nursing a stranger in his bed. Beth glanced toward Duncan as if to assure herself that this was real, and not some fanciful dream.
But there he lay, in the grip of a fever.
Because of her.
She sighed and stretched. The dress she wore felt scratchy against her tender skin. Grime, blood, and dirty rainwater had stiffened it until it felt like the bark of a tree, rubbing against her.
Beth bit her lip, debating.
In all likelihood, it would be a long time before Duncan regained consciousness. And she did ache to rid herself of this filthy garment. If she moved quickly, she could have another on in a matter of minutes.
She glanced toward the bed again. There was no movement. She made up her mind.
Swiftly, with sure fingers, she undid the lacings at her back and shed the dress. It fell to the floor like a leaden weight. Stepping gingerly out of it, she kicked it aside.
She felt dirty down to the very core, but there was no remedy for that now. Fresh clothes would have to do until such time as she could adequately bathe herself. Hands flying, she unearthed undergarments and spread them out for herself.
Duncan, unable to move, not at all convinced that a heated delirium hadn’t seized his addled brain, still had the good sense to bite back the groan that rose to his lips as he watched the woman in his room begin to peel her clothing from her body a layer at a time.
Chapter Ten
He had died.
There was no question in Duncan’s mind. He had surely died and gone to heaven.
Or perhaps this was hell, with temptation pricking him, being just a hairsbreadth out of reach.
Heat consumed him.
God knew he was burning enough for this to be hell. There was a fire on his brain and another burning in his shoulder.
But neither was a match for the one he felt flaming in his loins.
He made not a sound, afraid to breathe, lest she vanish like smoke into the night; vanish like the apparition she was.
His eyes were fastened to her as if they had been created that way. Though she moved with grace and speed, he saw all that she did transpired slowly.
The chemise she wore left her torso, then floated down like a leaf in the summer breeze, until it touched the floor beneath her shoeless feet. The petticoats, the ones, he vaguely recalled, she had ripped for him, slid down from hips that made his mouth water. She wore no corset, no stays to reinforce a waist that was hardly more than a whisper and a prayer. Stockings followed, exposing calves that were whiter than milk.
She wore nothing now but a thin, translucent undergarment. White pantaloons, and something equally as thin covering her breasts. She was so close, he swore he could see the rigid profile of her nipples straining against the fabric.
Time hung suspended on a spider’s single thread.
Would she remove these last articles as well?
Please God, I’ve been good. Well, fairly so, he amended, praying fervently that this dream that pulsed through his brain would not end abruptly, depriving him of the last look, the last bit of paradise.
And then, with her face turned toward the fire’s glow, the angel within his room carefully slipped the last of it from her body, first the pantaloons, then that last shred covering her breasts.
She was nude.
Her limbs were golden, gleaming invitingly in the fire’s light. Fresh perspiration rose on Duncan’s brow. As she turned now to reach for the garments she had spread out, he greedily filled his gaze with her. His loins pulsed as if they would burst. She was the most beautiful woman God had ever created.
The moan had Beth starting. She snatched up the last garment she’d cast off, pressing it against her. It did a woeful job of covering her.
Turning wide, accusing eyes in Duncan’s direction, she saw that his were still closed.
He was still asleep, she thought in relief. It was just the wind, she realized. Only the wind moaning mournfully.
Beth tossed the garment on top of the heap of discarded clothing and stretched. There was a horrid ache in her neck, in her very body.
Duncan pressed his lips together, barely able to withstand it as he saw her thrust her ripe breasts forward through slitted eyes. It was as if she was offering herself to him.
And he longed to take the gift.
His eyes traveled slowly, longingly over the length of her body and he ached.
Haze began to blot out his mind again, creeping in like a low-lying fog at sea. If this was the netherworld, he was glad to be here, even if there was to be no fulfillment. Just to gaze on her was enough.
But the next moment, she was slipping on accursed clothing, hiding her supple body from him, and Duncan knew that he had been pitched headlong into hell, deprived of that which he sought most desirously.
Beth dressed as swiftly as she could, afraid that at any moment Samuel or someone else in his stead would be knocking. Or worse, walk in unannounced. She hastily kicked aside the clothing she had shed, then thought better of it. Gathering it up in her arms, she deposited the soiled, stained garments in her trunk. She would wash them when she found the time.
Or perhaps, she mused, as she drifted once again to the casement and gazed out, she would merely set them outside in this accursed rain. It was falling in sheets now, blotting out the very land from her view. It gave no sign of ending soon.
Murmuring a lusty curse that would have turned her mother’s hair white, Beth crossed to Duncan’s bed. With a light sweep of her hand, she removed the compress and then touched his forehead. She hesitated, then leaned over and pressed her lips to it in her hand’s stead. It was still hot.
She shook her head, knowing that she was being anxious and getting ahead of herself. Fevers didn’t vanish instantly, they ran a course and his had just begun. Dipping the compress into the water, she then rung it out and placed it upon his head once more. Though it was useless and foolish, she silently wished his fever away.
With a sigh, she settled into the chair, determined to wait out the night at his side, should he wake. The soup remained where it was, forgotten.
“Mistress.”
There was a persisted buzzing about her head, an annoying fly that refused to go away.
Beth’s eyes fluttered open.
Disorientation greeted her as it had each morning she had been on this journey. A moment later, she remembered where she was. And why.
Duncan’s room.
An ache speared through her shoulders, working its way to her neck. She had fallen asleep, she realized ruefully. With a sigh, she ran her hand through her hair. It loosened from its pins, tendrils raining down at will.
As her eyes cleared, she saw that Samuel was hovering over her solicitously. Instantly awake, she sat upright. “Duncan?”
Had he taken a turn for the worse? Had she slept through the night and not heard his cry?
Samuel smiled, his lips exposing faintly yellowed teeth and reddened gums.
“Seems to be better.” He was well pleased when he had slipped into the room barely two minutes ago and touched Duncan’s forehead. It was cool. “You slept here all night with him.”
It would have been a lie to say he wasn’t surprised at her vigilance. He had been sure that she would have sent for one of them during the night to take her place. Her dedication pleased him.
The ache in her back attested to the fact that she had spent the night in the chair. She rotated her shoulders, seeking to shed the stiffness.
“Yes, apparently I did.”
And what would her mother say when she heard that piece of news? Beth had no doubt that the woman would hear. Sylvia would make a lengthy report as soon as they returned, and perhaps even write of it before they ever reached France. But she had no time to dwell on that, or on the effect it would have on her mother.
Beth moved forward and touched her hand to Duncan’s forehead. The compress had slipped down and was about his chin now.
“It’s cool as a witch’s—“ Samuel stopped himself with a gulp. “As a baby’s bottom,” he amended for her sake with a sheepish grin.
She withdrew her hand, greatly satisfied. “The fever’s broken.” She said the words to hear them aloud.
Samuel beamed at her as if Beth had performed some sort of miracle. “All Duncan needed was the laying of your hands.”
She merely laughed, thinking that he jested with her. “Sylvia?” She suddenly remembered that the woman’s welfare was her responsibility, or at least, that was the way it had evolved.
“She’s well, mistress.” Samuel’s smile widened, so much so that it aroused her curiosity. “Very well, indeed.” His eyes swept over her, approval registering in them. The morning dress became her. “You’ve changed your clothes, I see.”
She recalled the eerie feeling that she had had last night when she was changing, a feeling that she was being watched. “Yes.”
Samuel looked around for the pile of discarded clothing. “Might I have the others washed for you?”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t intend on staying that long.”
Samuel nodded toward the window to bring her attention to the rain.
“The weather intends otherwise, I’m afraid.” He looked at the sleeping man in the bed. “And Duncan is not full well yet. I know he’d want to thank you himself for what you’ve done.”
She didn’t want to waste time, waiting for thanks. And she had an uneasy feeling that she had no desire to be around Duncan when he was at his full strength and well.
“There’s no need,” she assured Samuel.
He eyed her knowingly. “Just as there was no need to repay him for saving your life.”
He had her there.
“I see your point.” She sighed, frustrated. “Well, given the weather, I suppose we’re not going anywhere just yet.” Beth hesitated, then opened her trunk again. Scooping up the garments she had bundled on top, she handed them to Samuel. “Here.”
Samuel tucked the lot of them into a ball under his arm. “A wise decision. They’ll be cleaned and ready for you when you leave us.”
She nodded as she turned toward the window. “Does it always rain like this, for days at a time?”
“Sometimes weeks.” His comment had her looking at him sharply. “But not now, I’m sure,” he added hastily, lest she decide to leave while rivers ran from the sky. Duncan, he had a feeling, wouldn’t forgive him if he let the young woman leave before he had a chance to speak with her.
With the clothes tucked safely under his arm, Samuel quietly removed the untouched soup. “I’ll be sending breakfast up to you shortly. Or will you be taking it downstairs?”
It sounded like a very good idea. She’d spent too much time sitting here, looking at that face last night. A change would do her a great deal of good.
“Send someone to stay with him,” she instructed. “I shall be eating downstairs.” Her first order of business, she decided, was to ask Sylvia the meaning of Samuel’s broad, satisfied smile.
“Right away, mistress.” Arms loaded down, he began to back out of the room the way one would in the presence of a ruler.
“One more question, if you please?”
Samuel came to an abrupt halt. “Yes?”
“The driver. Have you—?”
Samuel nodded. There was no need for her to continue. “Donovan’s gone to fetch his widow even now. Will that be all?”
She nodded. As he backed away, Beth laughed to herself. What a curious place this was! One moment Samuel was eyeing her as if she were an interloper, the next he was treating her as if she had raised Duncan from the dead.
“You are real.”
Beth gasped as she swung around at the sound of his voice. Duncan was sitting up in bed, weakly propped up on his good elbow. His long, flowing golden hair fell riotously about his rakishly handsome face, brushing against the tops of his bare shoulders. Beth felt a tightening in her chest the likes of which she hadn’t experienced while he lay unconscious. Awake he was twice the man he was when he lay sleeping.
Her mouth felt as if her father’s cottonseed had fallen into it. She coughed and cleared it, or tried to. “Excuse me?”
He smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other. Her stomach turned to undercooked porridge. “Last night, I thought I dreamt you.”
She thought he was speaking of when she was trying to probe the lead from his shoulder. The words he had heaped on her head returned to her and she smiled. “Do you always curse your dreams?”
Feeling weakened, he was forced to lie back against his pillow again.
“Curse you?” he echoed, confused. “If I remember correctly, I was completely lost in worship.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to
be confused. She stared at him. “Sir?”
Trepidation created uncertain ripples within her. His smile was too familiar, too unsettling. Apprehension began to consume her.
The smile widened further as the memory returned, vivid and clear. “I have never gazed upon a woman as perfect as you.”
“You hardly saw me last night,” Beth pointed out nervously.
Anxiety dried her mouth. She remembered the moan she had heard when she was changing and vehemently denied the source, clinging to her belief that it had been the wind.
“You were out of your head most of the time as I was removing the ball from your shoulder. And then,” she insisted in isolated, measured words, “you slept.”
“Aye.” Duncan’s eyes touched her body as if he knew what it looked like without her morning dress on. “And dreamed.”
“Of what?” she barely whispered.
Please God, don’t let him say what I think he’s going to say.
“Of a wondrous, supple-limbed woman in my room, as unclothed as the day she was created.” The familiar smile grew only more so. His eyes held hers. “Like a goddess rising from the sea, ripe and beautiful.”
Though she thought herself far beyond it, Beth blushed from the roots of her hair to the bottom of her soles. Fury seized her. After all she’d done for him… .
Her throat was hoarse when she spoke. “You, sir, are no gentleman. You are a rogue.”
“Aye, perhaps,” he agreed. “But I’m a very blessed one.”
Chapter Eleven
She didn’t know which inflamed her more, his words, or the wide grin upon his face. In either case, she whirled on her heel, wanting to put distance between them as quickly as possible.
“Wait,” Duncan called after her.
Against her better judgment, she stopped. Curiosity, she knew, would one day be her undoing. She stood still, not deigning to face him, feeling that he deserved no more than to talk to her back.
“Stay. I meant no harm.”
The man meant more than harm. He was a heathen. She had no idea why she even bothered to converse with him. She would have fared better talking to her horse.
Still, Beth fisted her hands at her side and turned around. “If you meant no harm, why didn’t you close your eyes, or give me a sign that you were awake, instead of watching me like some blackguard pirate?”