Page 34 of Because You're Mine
“I wanted to find out if there has been any word yet.”
Mrs. Beecham shook her head. “The doctor is still with him. I will inform you as soon as there is any news. In the meantime, the maid will accompany you to the receiving rooms downstairs.”
Madeline prepared herself for an argument. “I would rather—”
She was interrupted by the click of the doorknob as the valet opened it from within. Falling silent, she waited as the doctor emerged.
Dr. Brooke was a man in his thirties, with a receding hairline and a pair of round spectacles that gave him an owlish look. He had a kind face and dark, solemn eyes. His gaze fell on Mrs. Beecham, then Madeline.
“I am Miss Ridley,” Madeline said, coming forward. “I came to ask about Mr. Scott’s welfare. I am his…companion.”
The doctor took her hand and bowed politely.
“How is he?” the housekeeper asked.
Dr. Brooke’s gaze encompassed them both. “Recently I’ve seen many cases like this. I’m sorry to say that this appears to be one of the worst. Rather surprising for a man of Mr. Scott’s usual health…but he does nothing in moderation, does he?”
“I’m afraid not,” the housekeeper replied ruefully.
“I’ll visit again tomorrow, to see how the fever progresses,” the doctor continued. “Unfortunately he hasn’t yet come into the worst of it. Cool him with frequent applications of water and ice. I suggest feeding him jellies, broth, perhaps a spoonful of milk punch now and then.”
“I have an old family recipe that calls for steeping eucalyptus leaves in brandy,” Mrs. Beecham commented. “Might I give him a dose in the evenings?”
“I don’t see why not.” The doctor paused, his gaze lingering on Madeline. “Miss Ridley, may I ask if you intend to help care for Mr. Scott?”
“Yes,” Madeline said firmly.
“Then I suggest that you limit your association with people outside the household. The fever is highly contagious. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that you may yet succumb to it.”
Mrs. Beecham regarded Madeline with a perplexed expression. “I suppose we’ll have to ready a room for you.”
Madeline understood the woman’s reluctance. None of Scott’s staff had had any knowledge of her existence before now. They obviously cared for their master and were wary of allowing someone to intrude on his privacy when he was helpless to prevent it. “Thank you, Mrs. Beecham,” she said quietly. “I assure you, my only intention is to help Mr. Scott…Logan…in every way I can.”
The housekeeper nodded, still looking troubled, and gave instructions to the maid. In the meanwhile, Dr. Brooke bid them farewell and departed in the company of the footman. Taking the initiative, Madeline slipped through the half-open doorway into the bedroom.
It was simply furnished and decorated, with no artwork except a view of clouds and sky painted on the ceiling. The room contained a very large bed with a plum silk counterpane and feather pillows piled three deep at the headboard. Scott lay covered with a sheet and light blanket, the counterpane folded back to his feet. He had been dressed in a suit of flannels, the top half unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He slept as if he had been drugged, the side of his flushed face buried in a pillow.
As Madeline entered, the valet placed a jug of water and a pile of folded linens on the bedside table. A small armchair had been positioned nearby, but Madeline chose to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slight shift of her weight caused Logan to turn toward her with an incoherent mutter, his eyes still closed. His breath scraped in his throat.
“It’s all right,” Madeline said softly, soaking a linen cloth in the water, wringing it out and laying it on his hot forehead. The coolness seemed to soothe him, and he relaxed deeper into the pillow. She reached out and dared to stroke his beautiful hair, as she had so often longed to do. It was soft and thick beneath her fingers, like dark silk burnished with mahogany.
She studied his face, the pallor of his skin emphasizing the stark beauty of his bone structure. His lashes lay in feathery crescents on his cheeks, the eyelids trembling slightly as he drifted through fever-induced dreams. Such a proud, solitary man, rendered helpless in sleep, his lips parted like those of a child. If she were in love with him, it would devastate her to see him this way.
Madeline sat without moving, trying to understand the dull pain that had settled in her chest. If she were in love with him, the ache would never leave. The memories of him would haunt her every day for the rest of her life…because there would never be another man like him.
Briefly she thought of her own dilemma. There was so little time for her. Perhaps it was already too late, and her parents had discovered that she had left school. If they had, they would be frantic with worry. They would look for her—and once they found her, they would browbeat and threaten her until she crumpled under the pressure. She would end up as Lord Clifton’s bride in spite of her best efforts to resist. Unless she were damaged goods.
She should leave here at once and find someone to have an affair with. No doubt there were far more willing targets than Logan Scott. She had never imagined it would have been so difficult to seduce him, not a man with his reputation. But she hadn’t bargained on his complexity or his unexpected scruples. He had refused to dishonor her, and she wouldn’t fool herself into thinking she could change his decision.
She wasn’t needed here. Scott had servants to care for him, the services of an excellent doctor, more friends and acquaintances than he could count. He would recover without her help. Frowning, Madeline watched him sleep for a long time. She sat by the bed, changing the cloth on his forehead or spooning a few drops of tonic between his lips when the cough became troublesome.
Every now and then a servant came to ask if Madeline required anything, but she refused. Except for those brief intrusions, it seemed that there was no world outside the bedroom. Minutes stretched into hours, until the afternoon sky began to fade and evening shadows approached.
Just as Madeline considered sending for some beef tea, Scott began to waken. He stirred and blinked, his eyes fever-bright. Gently Madeline removed the damp cloth from his head and resumed her seat on the edge of the bed. “Mr. Scott,” she said, smiling at him.
He stared at her as if she were a figure in a dream, his expression curious and slightly detached, and then an answering smile hovered on his lips. He spoke in a rusty voice punctuated with harsh coughs. “It seems…I’ll never get rid of you.”
Madeline poured a glass of water and helped him to drink, keeping her hand on the glass and sliding her arm behind his head. Unsteadily he leaned back against her supporting arm as he took a few listless swallows. He was very heavy, and the muscles in her arm began to strain from holding him. When he had had enough, he turned his face away, and she eased him back to the pillow.
