DESPITE THE FACT that his sister had died of a lingering illness, Seaton had virtually no experience nursing a sick female. Fanny had insisted on having a nurse take care of her, and he’d only been allowed into her sickroom to visit. Seeing Lady Lark, someone he cared about far more than he was willing to admit, suffering with measles was his worst nightmare come to life. Someone as healthy as she was normally didn’t die from the disease, but terrible complications could occur, and one never knew who would fall victim to them and end up blind or crippled…or dead.
More than once during the past day, Seaton had been tempted to find someone else to care for his patient. But the grateful look in Lark’s eyes when he pressed a cool, damp cloth against her fevered face, and the need to provide a clean handkerchief for her runny nose and wretched cough, kept him sitting beside her bed. He’d even applied a baking soda concoction the doctor had recommended to the painful rash that covered her neck and arms and chest and belly. That had been a torment, because he could see how beautiful she would be without the spots, and experienced firsthand just how miserable she was because of them.
He thought it odd that Lark didn’t seem self-conscious when she’d been unclothed in his presence, but he decided that her illness kept her from being aware of the inappropriateness of the situation.
In between treatments she slept, tossing and turning so fretfully that he spent a great deal of time untangling the sheets and blankets and pulling them back up so her bare calves and ankles—and occasionally her naked thighs and buttocks—were decently covered.
Oh, he’d been well and truly caught in parson’s mousetrap. There was no getting out of marriage to the girl. The only question was whether he should manage the deed himself or wait for her brother to demand it. Seaton was physically attracted to Lark, of course, and he admired her spirit, which had been evidenced by a great many wild pranks he’d witnessed over the years, as she was growing up. But that was part of the problem. It would be all too easy to fall in love with her. And then where would he be?
He’d be a dead duck. A tortured, unhappy man, frightened to make love to his wife for fear of getting her pregnant and killing her. To make matters worse, Seaton felt sure that Lark would object to his keeping a mistress. He foresaw a long life of appalling celibacy.
And what about Lark? How did she feel about him? He knew she’d finagled that meeting on the train, but had she merely been hoping for an adventure? Or had she intended to lure him to the altar? Unfortunately, Blackthorne would likely be on the doorstep of the Black Swan before Seaton had a chance to speak to the sick girl about her feelings.
Lark moaned and turned over, twisting the covers down to her waist. Seaton rose from his chair beside the bed and rearranged the blanket to keep her from getting a chill, brushing her silky hair aside so he could feel the back of her nightgown to ensure it wasn’t damp with sweat.
Lark had been wearing a cotton gown when the doctor arrived that morning, but it had become sweat-soaked during the day, and it had been necessary to get her into something dry. Seaton had searched through her bags until he located another nightgown, while he sent the one she’d been wearing downstairs to be laundered.
He’d been shocked when he realized Lark was wearing absolutely nothing under her gown. He’d expected to be protected from seeing her completely naked by the presence of female underclothes. Apparently, she didn’t wear any to bed. He found himself imagining what it would have been like to discover that fact on his wedding night.
Seaton made a disgruntled sound in his throat. He was gaining far more intimate knowledge about his best friend’s sister than was good for his heart rate. Lark’s skin might be covered in a bumpy red rash, but it did nothing to conceal her figure, which was something out of the ordinary. He’d been forced to handle her hair to move it out of his way, when he took a cool cloth to her face and neck, and he’d marveled at its thickness and texture. He didn’t have to wonder how it would look spread out on a pillow, because he’d seen it so.
Seaton fed Lark soup, and since what went in had to come out, and she couldn’t leave the room, he’d provided a chamber pot, and given her a few moments of privacy to use it.
He wondered how soon Blackthorne would locate them. He was torn between wanting this interlude to continue and being desperate for it to end. He wondered how many more hours he would be alone with the girl, totally responsible for her well-being. He couldn’t help feeling protective. He couldn’t help caring about her, even though he didn’t want to feel anything. He wondered how much he was going to resent being trapped into marriage this way.
He suppressed his feelings of umbrage when he thought of what Lady Lark would have to contend with when she was herself again. How would she react when she’d recovered enough to realize that a single gentleman—her older brother’s friend—was the one who’d been nursing her? He somehow thought the grateful looks she’d been giving him would disappear in a flash. Would she be embarrassed? Ashamed? More likely, she would be angry. Finally, what would she think when she realized they were going to be forced by circumstances to marry?
“David?”
Seaton was surprised to discover Lark was awake and staring up at him. It was another sign of how sick she was that she’d addressed him by his given name. Although, to be honest, ever since they’d arrived at the inn, propriety seemed to have gone out the window.
“Yes, sweet—” He stopped himself just in time from calling her “sweetheart.” It was a term he might have used with an adorable child, but he knew in his heart that he’d been saying it in an entirely different context. How could she have slipped beneath his defenses so suddenly? When had she become someone special to him, when he was so determined not to care?
“What is it, Lady Lark?” he asked in a quiet voice appropriate for a sickroom. And why was he addressing her so formally, when she’d been merely Lark to him, every time he’d thought of her, all day long?
Her wary eyes searched the room. He saw her distress when she recognized it as the bridal suite at the Black Swan. He watched her pick at her cotton nightgown in confusion, as though she couldn’t understand why she was wearing it. Then she spied her hand and saw all the raised red spots on it. Her eyes closed, and she moaned before whispering, “Measles.”
“Yes, you have the measles.”
“So the sniffles on the train were more than the sniffles, and the cough was more than a cough.”
“It appears so.”
Her eyes opened wide in fright, and she tried to sit up. “How long have I been ill? My brother—”
He put a hand to her shoulder to force her back down. “Rest easy, my dear.” He gritted his teeth as another blasted endearment slipped out. “This is only the evening of the first day you’ve been ill.”
“How long does it take to get well from measles?”
“The doctor said perhaps ten days.”
“Ten days! I can’t be gone that long. My deception will be discovered, and my brother will kill me.”
After he kills me, Seaton thought. Lark still had not woken up enough to note, with inevitable maidenly alarm, that she was dressed in a nightgown and lying in a bed upon which a single gentleman—he, himself—was seated. Suddenly, she figured it all out.
Her eyes went wide with dismay. “Oh, lord. Oh, heavenly angels. Oh, dear.”
All in all, he decided, she was taking it pretty well.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Nursing you.”
“Without a chaperon? Or a lady’s maid? Or anyone to provide the proprieties?” she shrieked.
She wasn’t actually shrieking, but the anguish in her voice raised the hair on his neck like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“What were you thinking?” she railed.
“If you will recall,” he said in a calm voice, “we registered as man and wife. When you didn’t come down for breakfast, I came here and found you ill with a fever. I summoned a doctor, who assumed we were married. He discovered you have the measles. Since there was no one else in attendance, he gave me instructions on how to care for you.”
She put a hand up to stop him from saying anything more, a horrified look in her eyes. “Are you telling me that you’ve been in this room all day long, alone, taking care of me?”
He discovered his throat had swollen closed with some emotion, preventing speech. He swallowed over the painful knot, but that did nothing to solve the problem, so he simply nodded.
She closed her eyes and muttered, “I want to die. I want to fall into a hole and cover myself over with dirt and disappear forever. My grandmother. My brother. My sister! They’ll be so disappointed in me. I can’t bear it!” She wagged her head from side to side on the pillow. “What an idiot I am! How will I ever live this down? How did I let this happen?” Then she forced herself up on her elbows and asked, “Have you sent news of my illness to anyone?”
“Of course not.”
She let out a breath. “Then we should be able to carry this off without anyone becoming the wiser.”
“Carry what off?”
“You can arrange for my transportation to the Courts’ home, where I can recuperate on my own. I’ll send a note to Grandmama telling her that I’ve contracted the measles, and it will delay my return home. Problem solved.”
“Except that I’ve spent the day here alone with you.” He took a deep breath and added, “And have seen everything of you there is to see.”
He wouldn’t have thought one could see a blush on a face so full of puffy red spots, but he did. “So you see, my dear—” He paused, closing his eyes in mortification at his apparent inability to keep that sort of affectionate expression out of his speech to the chit, then continued, “We’ve been trapped. We must marry. Neither of us has any choice.”
He realized what he’d said and barely repressed a groan. Did he have to remind her that he felt “trapped” at the same time as he called her “my dear”? Had he really been so insensitive as to suggest that neither of them “had any choice”? That was no way to go into a marriage that he could see no way of avoiding.
Her jaw jutted, and she tipped her chin up. “You may feel trapped, but I don’t.”
He was shocked into blurting with blunt rancor, “For the past several hours, I’ve been handling your body as though I had the same rights to it as I would if you were my mistress. You are compromised beyond redemption. You must marry me.”
The blush was back but her chin was still tipped up and a martial light gleamed in her bleary blue eyes. “I’m sorry for your discomfort.”
He snorted.
She continued doggedly, “But no one who knows us is aware of the situation. Why should we be forced to do something that would make us both unhappy?”
“You would be unhappy married to me?” He was aggrieved that his offer was being so soundly rejected. And, he admitted to himself, a little hurt. She should be grateful, not argumentative, when he was willing to give up his freedom to save her good name.
“I don’t believe you would be happy in a marriage not of your choosing. And I certainly would not.”
He made a face. He was the one who’d used the word “trapped.” He had no one to blame but himself for her resistance. “You do see how impossible it would be for you to go on, if we didn’t marry?”
“Why? Because you’ve seen my body?”
It was his turn to flush. He’d never heard such plain speaking from a gently raised female. He was learning things about his intended bride’s backbone that he’d never suspected.
“You’re too sick to be traveling anywhere. And I can’t believe the Courts would welcome someone with the measles into their home.”
“Nevertheless, that is where I’m going, as soon as it may be arranged. Don’t you see? We must salvage what we can from this disaster. Once I’m back home in London, if you have any desire to seek my interest or affection, you’re free to do so.”
Seaton scratched at the day’s growth of itchy beard on his chin. Had he ever encountered such a pestilential female in his life? He didn’t think so. He watched her shoving the covers aside, as though she intended to get out of bed and get dressed. “What are you doing?” he asked to confirm his suspicion.
“I must dress.”
“You’re sick. You should be in bed.”
“I confess I don’t feel at all well. But I think I can manage to dress. Once I’m in a carriage on my way to the Courts’ home, I can stretch out on the seat and sleep.”
“You intend to travel alone?” He heard the concern in his voice, but it seemed there was no stopping himself from caring about her.
“I couldn’t very well show up on the Courts’ doorstep without a maid and in the company of a single gentleman. What would the servants think?”
“It’s a little late to worry about appearances.”
“Please, David. Don’t argue. I’m not feeling well enough to do battle with you. Leave me alone to dress—”
“You will need help,” he said. “You’re not well enough to manage by yourself.”
“I can call a maid to help.”
“You have the measles. No one will come near you. Sweetheart— Damn and blast!” he muttered, disgusted with himself for addressing her so familiarly, and then, realizing that he’d compounded his mistake with profanity, he snarled, “Just let me help you dress!”
She crossed her hands over her breasts as though she’d suddenly noticed how thin the cotton nightgown was. Her modesty had arrived far too late to keep him from remembering quite clearly the delicate pink nipples he’d seen with no covering at all.
“I would be mortified to have you see me in a state of dishabille.”
“It’s too late for embarrassment. I’ve already seen every inch of you. Make up your mind.”
“Very well,” she said, her lips forming a petulant pout that only emphasized how kissable they were. “But you may not use this encounter to force the issue of marriage. Promise?”
He gritted his teeth so hard a muscle in his jaw jerked. She wanted him to promise that he wouldn’t pursue marriage after he’d helped put clothes on her naked body? Surely he was destined for Bedlam. “After you’re dressed, I’ll be happy to send you on your way without another thought to your reputation, if that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
He saw her arms, which she was using to hold herself up, begin to shiver. “Are you all right?”
“I’m feeling a little woozy. I just need to lie down for a moment.” As she slid back against the pillows, her eyes drifted closed. “Give me a moment,” she murmured. “And I’ll be fine.”
Seaton saw the flush on her face and knew the fever had returned with a vengeance. Her plan might have worked, if she’d been well enough to dress, well enough to travel. But Lady Lark wasn’t going anywhere tonight. He rose to find the cool, wet cloth he’d been using to ease her fevered brow, then seated himself beside the woman he was somehow going to have to convince, for her own sake, to become his wife.