Chapter Thirty-Two − Vulnerable
“Give my regards to your sister and her husband,” Derek said as he embraced his friend before watching him step up into the carriage. “Enjoy Scotland.”
“We shall,” Tristan promised, his gaze travelling to Derek’s wife standing only a few feet behind him. “Tell her,” he mouthed, his gaze insistent as the carriage began to move. “Tell her.”
Waving goodbye, Derek felt the December sun’s heat burning on his cheeks as though a fire had been lit near him, and he did not dare turn his head and meet his wife’s eyes. Whenever she was near him, it was as though he could feel her. His mind became unfocused and dizzy, and although he had vowed not only to Tristan but also to himself that he would seize the next opportunity to speak to her, his mind was suddenly empty, and he had not a clue what to say and where to begin.
“I’ll go and chop some more firewood,” he stated before turning toward the barn and the logs stacked behind it. “I shall−” Dizziness seized him, and the barn blurred before his eyes. Up and down were no longer constants but seemed to float through the air randomly. The world began to spin, and Derek could feel himself swaying on his feet, fighting to remain upright.
Just as he was about to lose the fight, hands seized him, steadying him. “Are you all right?” his wife asked, not concern but fear in her voice as her hands gripped his arms, keeping him grounded.
Blinking, Derek looked at her, trying to focus his gaze, until her dark green eyes held his and he could see the sun’s rays reflected in them. “I’m fine. I…”
Her gaze narrowed before she touched a hand to his cheek and her eyes widened. “You’re burning up,” she accused as though it was his fault. “You have a fever.”
Frowning, Derek lifted a hand to his forehead, but did not think himself overly warm. However, his wife’s hand as it rested on his cheek felt heavenly. “Nonsense,” he mumbled and tried to free himself from her hold on him. “I shall−”
“You most certainly shall not!” she interrupted him, her gaze narrowed as she fixed him with a determined stare. “The only place you’re going is to bed.”
Unable to help himself, Derek smiled at her, his gaze no longer annoyed but rather tempted.
Realising the direction of his thoughts, his wife shook her head at him, a slight blush coming to her cheeks. “Maybe I should ask your mother to see you to your bed.”
Derek chuckled before a sudden coughing fit seized him.
Instantly, the look on his wife’s face changed, a dark frown drawing down her brows as she held on to him. “This is no longer amusing,” she stated once he had regained control of his breathing. “Up to bed with you.”
Derek could count on one hand the few instances of his life when he had been sick, and he had hated every minute of it. Always had it felt like a betrayal that his body would allow itself to be so weakened, so vulnerable. This time, however, there was a silver lining.
With her hands holding on to him, his wife escorted him back into the house and up the stairs. She led him into his room, helped him pull off his boots and jacket and then sent him to bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. All the while, she had a rather annoyed expression on her face as though it was indeed his fault that he had caught a cold. However, there was something in the way her hands touched him, ever so gently brushing over his cheek and forehead, sliding down his arms as she removed his jacket or smoothing down the blanket when she bundled him up like a child.
Watching her, Derek felt a new warmth spread through his body.
Not the feverish kind.
Nor one that spoke of physical desire.
No, the way she took care of him spoke of a deeper emotion. An emotion Derek had long since feared she would never come to harbour for him.
Before she turned away, Derek looked up at her face and thought to see a single tear glistening in the corner of her eye. Frowning, he watched her as she walked over to the fireplace and took the tinderbox from the mantle. Then she set about lighting the fire, her hands sure but far from steady.
“Are you all right?” Derek asked, unable to make sense of her vulnerable state. Usually she did her best to appear strong and unyielding. Only a handful of times had she broken down and allowed him to see a different side of her. However, these moments had always been brought about by rather unexpected, deeply unsettling emotions. Could it be that she feared for him?
As his head started to pound, Derek sighed. After everything that had happened−that had gone wrong−he wondered if it would be wise to allow himself to believe her affected by him in such a way.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, her back half-turned to him as she wiped a hand over her eyes. Then her hands moved with precision, and within minutes, a flame took hold, dancing over the kindling, slowly spreading until it grew to engulf the stacked logs in the hearth.
Rising to her feet, his wife looked at her handiwork for a moment.
“That was quite adept,” Derek complimented, trying his best to ignore the heat burning him up from the inside. “You’ve learnt a lot since…”
Inhaling a deep breath, Madeline turned toward him. “Since the day of Lord Kingsley’s ball?”
For a long moment, Derek held her gaze, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished,” he finally said, detecting a touch of doubt in her dark green eyes. “It is not easy living in a world unlike your own. I know because I still feel out of place in yours, and I am relieved whenever I am free to retreat back into my own.”
Moments passed, and his wife simply stood there, her gaze distant as her thoughts carried her elsewhere. Was this the moment? Derek wondered. The moment when he would find out if she could ever be truly happy here.
In this life.
In his life.
“I can only imagine,” Derek began, praying he would not regret this, “how you must feel as you cannot return to yours.” He swallowed. “Do you wish to? Do you wish you could?”
Another minute passed before Madeline blinked, her gaze focusing before she turned to look at him. Her dark green eyes held his, searched his. Then she drew in a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
And before Derek could object, the door closed behind her.
Leaning back, Derek felt a dull ache spread through his body as the fever continued to burn in his veins. His head throbbed, and his throat felt almost raw. Sleep began to pull on him, and yet, he forced his eyes open, unable to surrender before his wife had returned. For a reason he could not name, he needed to see her.
Needed to know she would return to him, and suddenly, Derek realised that deep down he was still waiting for the day she would finally decide to leave for good.
That thought had been nagging at him ever since she had first arrived at Huntington House.
And he could not seem to shake it.
With a loud bang, the door flew open, and Derek would have jumped out of his skin if he had had the strength to do so. “What on earth−?”
The words died on his lips and his eyes flew open when his mother and sister rushed in, each carrying a jug and a bowl. Setting down the bowl near his bedside, they poured hot water from the jug into it, steam wafting into the air.
“What on earth are you doing?” Derek demanded, hating how raspy his voice sounded. “I don’t have pneumonia.”
“Dr. Rosen said to watch for symptoms,” his mother objected, fixing him with a determined stare. “He said it was highly contagious.”
“I don’t have pneumonia!” Derek yelled before another coughing fit seized him.
“Please be reasonable,” Kara pleaded when he sank back into the pillows, exhausted. “Even if it’s just a cold, this doesn’t hurt.” She looked at him imploringly, her hand gently squeezing his.
Derek swallowed, “How’s Collin?”
“He’s fine.” A soft smile came to her face. “He is still weaker than before and sooner out of breath, but he’ll be fine.”
Derek nodded. “Keep him away,” he whispered to her. “At least for a while.”
For a moment, Kara closed her eyes, and a tear ran down her cheek. “I shall,” she promised him before stepping back. “I’ll fetch more water.”
As Kara and his mother returned downstairs, his wife walked back into the room, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.
“Why did you tell them?” Derek demanded, remembering that what he hated even more than being sick was being treated as such. It was his job to take care of others, not the other way around.
A determined set came to her jaw as she placed the tray on his nightstand. Then her gaze met his, and Derek knew that he had lost. “They’re your family,” she said in a calm and steady voice, and yet, it felt like a slap in the face. “They, too, have the right to take care of the people they love.”
Derek drew in a startled breath. Not once before had he thought of it as a right to take care of others, but maybe she was correct. “Then why are you taking care of me?”
Before he could stop himself, the words flew from his lips, and he saw her flinch as though slapped. What were they doing to each other?
With her lips pressed into a hard line, she poured tea into a cup and held it out to him. “Drink this.”
“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbled, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. Then he took the cup from her hand, careful not to touch her, and sipped the hot tea, enjoying the liquid as it soothed the ache in his throat. A mere moment later, he lay back down, feeling exhausted as though he had spent a day chopping wood.
Rounding the bed, his wife approached the window. “You need to sleep,” she stated simply before pulling the curtains closed and bathing the room in a dim light.
With his sight all but gone, Derek found it impossible to keep his eyes open. Feeling sleep claim him, he finally surrendered, only dimly aware of the soft sounds his wife made as she stepped back up to the bed, the warmth of her presence touching him even as he slept.
How long his mind remained lost to the world Derek could not say. However, when it finally did return to a wakeful state, he found that he was not alone.
Seated beside his bed was his wife, her face barely visible in the dim glow from the fire. “How do you feel?” she asked, her voice no longer laced with anger.
Derek swallowed painfully, his throat sore from lack of use. “Water,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible.
“Tea,” his wife corrected, pouring him a cup from a presumably fresh pot as it was still hot.
Savouring the soothing warmth as it ran down his throat, Derek sighed and closed his eyes. His body still burnt, and even the smallest movement sent pain radiating through it. Then a gentle cold settled on his head, and he looked up, finding his wife placing a wet cloth on his forehead. “That feels good,” he whispered, trying to hold her gaze.
Although he felt like hell, there was something in the way she took care of him that did not make him feel vulnerable and exposed. In fact, he felt safe and cared for, and he wanted her to know how much this meant to him.
Still, his mind could not find the words as it barely had enough strength to ward off the tempting call of slumber. Before he knew what was happening, Derek’s eyes closed once more, and he sank into a deep sleep.
The next time he awoke, Derek noticed that no light seemed to stream in through the gaps between curtain and wall. Only the soft glow of the embers in the hearth allowed him to see his wife laying hunched over on the side of his bed, her eyes closed.
Despite the sickness that still plagued his body, Derek could not help but smile. Then his gaze drifted over her peaceful face, and he finally felt a soft weight on his right hand. Looking down, he realised that Madeline’s hand was wrapped around his, the tips of her fingers gently resting on the pulse point in his wrist as though she needed confirmation that he was still there.
Over the course of the next two days, Derek slipped in and out of sleep. Sometimes he awoke only for a few minutes, and sometimes he stayed awake long enough to drink some tea and nibble on a biscuit. However, no matter what, his wife remained by his side. Sometimes awake. Sometimes slumped over and asleep.
But she was always there, holding his hand.
Derek had felt never so at peace in his life.
“How do you feel?” Madeline asked yet again when he opened his eyes presumably three days after his friends’ departure.
Concentrating, Derek tried to take stock of all the pains and aches that had been assaulting him for much too long now. However, to his astonishment, the greatest pain radiated from his stomach. “Hungry,” he finally said, a somewhat victorious grin coming to his face as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Quite honestly, I’m famished.”
At his words, the tension dropped from her face, and a deep smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her hand squeezed his, and she rose to her feet, coming to sit beside him on the bed, her other hand reaching for his face. “The fever is down,” she whispered as though afraid her words could make it return.
“I suppose it is a mere cold after all,” Derek whispered back, his gaze travelling over her face as he inhaled her scent, suddenly so close after the long distance that had been between them before.
Her gaze narrowed; however, she did not move away. “Do you wish to discuss who was right and who was wrong?” she challenged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that Derek had missed for too long.
Smiling, he shook his head. “There is something else I wish to do.” Unable to restrain himself, he grasped her chin and pulled her into a kiss.
Startled, she tried to pull back, but his hand snaked around to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Her resistance instantly subsided, and she leaned into him, her hands gliding over his body, touching his skin, rejoicing in the fact that it felt warm, heated, flushed.
But not burning.
“You need to eat,” she gasped as she managed to tear her lips away from his. Placing a hand on his chest, she kept him back as he tried to pull her forward once more. “No,” she said, her voice insistent. “I shall go and find you some food.”
Reluctantly, Derek relinquished his hold on her, his gaze sliding over her face…taking note of the dark circles under her eyes and the pale tinge of her skin. “You need to sleep,” he replied, no humour in his voice as he finally realised how demanding his care had been for her. For days, she had sat at his bed, watching over him, only catching a wink of sleep here and there.
In short: she was exhausted.
“Ask my mother to bring up some food,” he told her, knowing that it would be impossible to get her into bed without assuring her that he would eat. “Then go and lie down. I’m fine.”
Holding his gaze, she finally nodded. “All right.” Squeezing his hand one last time, she stepped back from the bed.
When the door closed behind her, Derek sank back into the pillows, realising to his great dismay that his strength had not fully returned yet. In truth, his limbs felt as heavy as lead, and he doubted very much that he could even walk to the door and back.
No, he would have to be more patient.
With his recovery.
As well as with her.
But he would not walk away.
For a short moment, she had been in his arms tonight, and it had felt familiar and utterly fulfilling. In that moment, it had been as though the chasm between them had never been.
That thought gave Derek hope.
Settling back into the pillows, he gazed into the soft glow of the embers in the hearth as the wind howled outside and rain spattered down onto the roof and against the windows. It truly was a turbulent night.