Page 31 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

Keith kept his fingers on Celia’s neck, ignoring the feel of her soft skin. He was taking her pulse. “It’s fast. Her heart rate is too fast. What else happened?”

“She wouldn’t settle. She kept marching up and down, saying how hot it was. Then I think she was dizzy. She fell to her knees.” Diana pointed to a different spot in the room. “Then she just… collapsed. I couldn’t get her to the bed in time.”

“Aye, right. We need a physician to look at her. Ye said she was limping?”

“Her right leg.” Diana pointed at the leg.

Though Keith couldn’t see it from this angle, for it was hidden by Celia’s gown, a suspicion took root in his mind.

When Celia had run away from him in the garden, she had gone through long grass. There was a chance that something had been lurking there, something that had the capacity to cause an injury.

“She said she thought she had been stung by stinging nettles. She must have been outside.”

Keith leaned back, staring down at Celia as he noted again her red complexion.

“I fear I know what this is.” He leaned down. “Aye, step back a little.”

“What? What are you going to do to her?”

“She can hardly spend the night on the floor, can she, Duchess?”

“I’d feel more comfortable if you stopped touching her.”

“Would ye like to be the one to carry her to the bed?” Keith challenged.

The Duchess of Rowley blushed harder and then nodded reluctantly.

Keith reached down again and slipped his hands underneath Celia. It was not the first time he had lifted her, having done so that first night to carry her out of the water. She was light, easy to carry, but now her head lolled back, and she looked more… vulnerable.

He didn’t like it. He wanted Celia to be awake, vivacious, full of her usual boldness again.

Slowly, he laid her down on the bed. Diana fussed around them, tucking pillows behind Celia’s head and under her injured leg. Keith reached for her feet and slipped off her shoes.

“Just stop touching her,” Diana said in panic. “This is inappropriate enough as it is.”

“I won’t tell if ye won’t.”

Keith wondered what the Duchess would have made of the knowledge that he and Celia had been touching much more intimately just minutes ago outside on the terrace.

He busied himself with lighting a candle and placing it on the bedside table next to Celia. With the light bathing her face, he could see the sweat on her brow more clearly. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and sat on the edge of the bed, using the handkerchief to mop her forehead.

“Oh, you do not listen, do you?” Diana said begrudgingly, her voice quiet as if she feared he would snap at her.

“Never,” he assured her.

He continued to dab at Celia’s forehead and then down her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, and she turned her head, her lips nearly brushing against the heel of his palm. He was rather glad Diana had moved away and not seen this action.

“Lass?” he whispered, for Celia’s ears only.

Her eyes shot open. “You again?” she said in alarm.

“Celia?” Diana cried and ran toward the bed.

Celia tried to sit up but nearly fell off the bed.

“Easy, lass. How about we take things slow?” Keith took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back down on the bed.

“What in God’s name are you doing in my room?”

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