Page 59 of The Gentleman's Confession
She stared at it. She had missed that hand.
With a brave and, perchance, foolish breath, she took it and let him pull her to her feet.
He didn’t let go.
But then again, neither did she.
His hand was warm. Very warm. His eyes dull and his cheeks ruddy. She frowned. “Miles, are you well?”
He raised his brow. “Why are you here? I have no more lessons to teach you.”
“I wish it were the truth. Apparently, you have much to teach everyone.” She slipped her hand from his and stepped back, stumbling on a tree root. Miles’s hand came up to catch her, but she waved it off. “I, er, brought you some biscuits from Mrs. Manning, but you were not at the church. Miss Hardwick was, however, and I overheard her talking to her cousin about a book you published.”
Miles eyes grew from almond shaped to as round as chestnuts. “How did they know?”
She walked sideways to spare Miles the worst of her dress. This had not been the most graceful month of her life. She again took a seat on the bench, effectively hiding her dirty backside. This time, she sat closer to the biscuits and far away from the edge. “Your book is a favorite of many, it seems. A shame you did not share it with your closest friends.”
“You are angry with me?”
“No.” She stared at him. She could stare at him forever. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Certainly. I know you value your privacy. I might also be slightly jealous that so many others have read it and I have not.”
He studied her. “It’s about love and relationships.”
She swallowed. “A topic you are passionate about.” Did she really say that? Her cheeks burned. “I, of course, know little about the topic, which is why I need a copy, I suppose. What is love anyway? I daresay, I will never understand it.”
“Love?” Miles walked to the bench, sinking into his normal place, facing the stream with eyes glassed over. “It’s a natural emotion. Some would even say they wish they had greater power to suppress it.”
Something was definitely off about his color and the tone of his voice. “You are not well, Miles.”
He laughed bitterly. “For once, you see me plainly.”
Her brow pinched. “Should you return inside? Perhaps lie down?”
He didn’t answer.
She was by his side in an instant, throwing out all her reservations about touching him and setting her hand to his head. “Miles, you’re burning with fever! We need to call a doctor and get you home to bed.”
“No doctor.”
“Tom, then. Or Paul or Ian?”
In one short motion, his head fell on her shoulder. “I will not trouble them.”
Her pulse raced, and she wanted nothing more than to smooth his curls with her hand and be the one to comfort him. “Why can you not trouble them? I cannot carry you to your horse.”
“Can’t you try?”
She looked down to see a glimpse of a grin. She sputtered a laugh. “Certainly not.”
She should pull away, but he was ill ...
“Would you carry Mr. Bentley?”
“You’re being absurd.”
