Page 60 of The Moonstone Marquess
For a man who had avoided feelings for all his life, he was surely awash in them now.
He could not stop staring at Phoebe.
She was seated in one of the rickety kitchen stools, looking as magnificent as a queen on her throne as she cradled his niece on her lap.
Imogen rested her head on Phoebe’s shoulder while Phoebe tended to her, cleaning her mouth and then gently pressing another wet cloth to her forehead. She smiled at him when he set the lamp on the table and knelt beside them. “She doesn’t have a fever. It was just too much cake and excitement.”
He tucked a finger under Imogen’s chin. “Duckling, how do you feel now?”
“Better,” she said, her voice soft and weak.
“Tell you what, Imogen,” Phoebe said. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight so I can watch you if your tummy ache returns? Would you like that?”
Imogen nodded against Phoebe’s shoulder.
“I’ll keep a pot close if the need arises again,” she said, now turning to Cormac. “She’ll also be more comfortable knowing I am close. I’ll wet a handkerchief and add a little cologne to it. This should help chase away any remaining nausea.”
“Will you take me into your bed and nurse me like this if ever I fall ill?” he teased.
She laughed. “It would be too much like letting the wolf in among the lambs, don’t you think?”
“You forget, you are Phoebe the lioness. I think you would easily defeat this wolf. Certainly claim his heart.”
“Phoebe isn’t a lion, Uncle Cormac,” Imogen interjected.
He chuckled. “I know, duckling. I was just teasing her. Shall I carry you up to bed now?”
She nodded.
“Phoebe, is it all right? Lead the way with the lamp while I carry her upstairs. I won’t stay. I just want to be sure she is comfortably settled.” Lord help him, he was eager for Cain’s return. He was so desperate to marry this girl, but could do nothing without his friend’s consent. She was not yet one and twenty years of age and could not act on her own.
Lord, how the mighty have fallen,he thought. Never in all his years had he imagined himself being desperate to marry. Phoebe wasn’t even trying to land him as a husband. He was lost to her anyway, no matter that she had not put the least effort toward catching him.
This had to be true love on his part, did it not?
Perhaps on her part, too.
She was naturally compassionate and kind. Was she feeling pity for him and mistaking it for love?
He carried Imogen upstairs while Phoebe led the way with her lamp.
When they reached her bedchamber, Phoebe pointed to the bed. “Set her down on the right side.” She placed the lamp on her bureau beside a basin and ewer, then opened one of the bureau drawers to remove a handkerchief. She poured a little water from the ewer to moisten the handkerchief, wrung it out, and then applied some cologne to it.
The sweetly pungent scent filled the air. “I’m going to rub a little on your wrists and neck, Imogen. The scent of it will make you feel better. I’ll also apply a little to your forehead. The water may feel a bit cool, but it will soothe you.”
“All right.” Imogen nodded and smiled up at both of them.
Phoebe sat beside her. “Do you think you can sleep now?”
Imogen nodded again and shut her eyes tight.
Phoebe looked up at him and grinned.
Cormac felt another hard tug to his heart.
This was what he wanted so desperately for himself. He had never understood why his brother was always so happy in his home life, even when his daughters were crying and his wife was relentlessly chattering at him the moment he walked through the door.
But he understood it now, saw how bonds grew stronger through good times and bad. His brother was loved by his wife and daughters, and smart enough to appreciate what he had.
