Page 51 of The Defiant One
She turned, the look in her eyes almost hopeful, but no, he was imagining it.
"You can take one of my greatcoats if you want," he offered. "You wouldn't want anyone to see you wearing" — he jerked his chin to indicate her breeches and stockings, just visible beneath the short blanket — "that."
"Thank you," she said, slipping off the woolen throw and putting it across the back of a chair. He went to the wardrobe, retrieved a heavy woolen coat, and gently settled it around her shoulders, letting his fingers linger longer than they should as he adjusted it.
"There." He swallowed and drew back, rather reluctantly. "Until tomorrow, Lady Celsiana."
"Until tomorrow, Lord Andrew."
There was an expression in her eyes that he couldn't quite read. Something like sadness. Or hurt. He couldn't quite discern which. He didn't want to discern which. He had to get this woman out of the house, out of his life, before his anger broke down even more.
He turned away so he wouldn't have to see her disappear, when something outside the tall window that looked down on the street caught his eye. His curiosity aroused, he took a few steps toward it and froze.
"Dear God . . ."
The street was glowing with an eerie amber light, but where the cobbles should have been, there was only a broad, flat ribbon of grey bracketed by lines of bright yellow and white. Strange, frightening noises filled his head. Strange, frightening lights dazzled his eyes. Andrew stared, the hair on the back of his neck rising. Holding his breath, too afraid to move, he slowly raised his gaze, trying to locate the source of the eerie light . . . and saw that the full moon, riding so high above the city, was repeated over and over and over again the length of the street, in a perfect, unbroken line of amber moons all glowing down on the scene beneath him.
He shut his eyes and gripped the sill of the window, his knees shaking, and when he opened them a heartbeat later, everything was as it should be.
Only one bright moon, riding high in the night sky above. Cobbles, over which the iron wheels of carriages, gigs, and coaches were rumbling and rattling. Smart-stepping horses, pedestrians on foot, a dog sniffing around in a gutter.
And Celsiana, who had come up behind him and put a concerned hand on his arm.
"Andrew?"
He gave his head a good shake, as though he could shake away the madness, as though he could forget all those amber moons that had been lined up above the street just a moment ago. "Did you see it?" he asked harshly.
"See what?" She went to the window, frowned, and turned concerned eyes on him. "Andrew, are you all right?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he snapped, turning on his heel. He was trembling. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, wanting only to flee before he ended up telling her of the strange moons and lights he'd just seen outside that very same window.
Before he ended up telling her that he was going mad.
But she was there, her hands gripping his rigid forearms. She pulled them down, dragging his fists away from his face, seeing the panic in his eyes. Her gaze was dark with concern. He shut his eyes as she palmed his forehead. "You're ill. You're sweating. You're as white as the tip of a beagle's tail."
"Celsie, leave me alone. Go away. Go away, now."
"I will, after I make sure you're all right."
"For God's sake, woman —"
Her grip around his wrist was fierce as she dragged him away from the window and back toward the bed. "Stop acting like a foolish man and sit down for a moment. You were ill this morning, too, weren't you? That's why you fell during the duel. Oh, don't think you can deceive me, Andrew. Gerald didn't stun you with his sword; you're ill. And you need to rest."
"I'm fine, I just . . . need some food, that's all."
"Andrew, sit."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. Sit!"
He had no chance to recover from his amazement at being the first human on earth, surely, to be given an obedience command, before she shoved him down and backward. Andrew sat. Somewhat stunned, he allowed Celsie to tug off his boots, to remove his stock, to sit on the bed beside him and lift a concerned hand to his brow to check for fever.
The devil, but he had never had anyone fuss over him before. Maybe his mother had, but he'd been young when she'd died, and he sure as hell couldn't remember it. His life had been spent in self-imposed solitude. He'd never craved affection of any sort. But now, here she was touching him. Worrying over him. What a novel feeling. What a nice feeling.
Embarrassed, he smiled a little weakly. "I suppose you're going to tell me down next."
"Actually, that's exactly what I was going to tell you." She completely missed his feeble joke and stood back, studying him narrowly. "Well, you're cooler now, but you still don't look well at all. I'm going down to the kitchens to find something for you to eat so you won't have to wait for a meal to be prepared. Some food, hot tea, and a nightshirt ought to be just the thing. Now, get under those covers and don't move until I return, is that clear?"
