Page 11 of A Castaway in Cornwall
The maid mumbled something and went on sleeping.
Laura gave up. She watched the man for a few minutes, but his shivering continued. Remembering the story Miss Chegwin had told her about the poor widow who saved a sea captain, Laura pulled back a corner of the bedclothes and carefully climbed in beside him.
She had never been in bed with anyone before. What did one do to warm a cold body? Was proximity sufficient, or was physical contact required?
She edged closer, until her shoulder touched his arm and her hip his leg. She was covered, she reminded herself, and so was he—well, except for their legs. And he was insensible, so really, she bolstered herself, there was nothing scandalous in her actions.
His convulsive shivering lessened but did not stop altogether.
She rolled to her side, her face near his shoulder. Reaching out hesitantly, she put her arm over his torso, relieved to find his chestrising and falling with regularity. She felt the hard muscle of his arms beneath the nightshirt, and the leanness of his belly. Her own body flushed, embarrassed by the intimate position. Hopefully, her nearness would have a similarly warming effect on him.
As if vaguely aware of a presence, the man turned his head toward her and murmured something into her hair. A name, perhaps. Honora? Three syllables murmured too softly and too quickly for her to gather any impression of his speech. Then he slackened again and said no more.
Being so warm and tired, Laura felt her eyelids grow heavy. She decided she would close them, just for a few minutes.
Sometime later, she heard a gasp and jolted awake. Morning light shone through the shutters.
Newlyn stood nearby, staring at her, brows high and eyes round asO’s. “Miss, what’ee doing? What would yer uncle say?”
What would Mrs. Bray say, is the more frightening question, Laura thought. She whispered back, “He was shivering again. The doctor said we had to keep him warm.”
Deciding to refill the warming pan, Laura folded back the blankets and swung her legs from bed.
Just as the door opened.
Her uncle and Mrs. Bray stood framed in the open doorway and drew up short to see Laura sitting on the edge of the man’s bed. Eseld’s wide eyes appeared over her mother’s shoulder.
“What is going on here?” Mrs. Bray demanded.
Laura stood, thanking heaven they had not entered a few minutes earlier.
Her uncle’s brow puckered. “Is he wearing my nightshirt?”
“Sorry, Uncle,” Laura said sheepishly as she retrieved the pan. “We were following doctor’s orders to keep him warm.Newlyn, please refill this.” Laura turned her burning face away, tucking the blankets more securely around their patient.
“Doctor? I thought Dr. Dawe was still away?”
“He is. I meant Perran Kent.”
“Ah ... A boy delivered a message about the wreck last night, and Perry dashed out without a word of explanation.”
“A boy? Did not Treeve Kent deliver the message?”
“Treeve?” Mrs. Bray frowned. “Why should it be Treeve? He left the house earlier, some important meeting of the parish council, he said. Rather ruined our evening, first Treeve, then Perry leaving. A sorry party for Eseld.”
Important meeting?Laura doubted it.
“You saw Treeve?” Eseld asked, expression anxious.
Laura didn’t want to hurt her feelings or raise her jealousy, so she said, “Only in passing. He ... must have left his important meeting when the ship fired its guns. People came running from all directions.”
“Including you.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Bray’s disapproving gaze moved from the still man to Laura. “Well. It isn’t seemly for you to be alone in here in your dressing gown.”
Laura gestured to the tongue-tied maid, cowering in the corner. “Newlyn was with me all the while.”
